September 19, 1957 — Washington, D.C.
The deed was done. For better or worse. Ted McIntire thought it would be for the better. But one way or another the die was cast.
“BBC Archives – London, UK. Agence France-Presse – Paris, France. Norddeutscher Rundfunk (NDR) – Hamburg, West Germany. Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) – Toronto, Canada,” he recited. It was their final list. Each of them would receive two reels—the st two. And, like the camera operator had done, they’d beled the st reel, VIEW FIRST. But the rest of the bel on the outside wrapper—the first of two yers of brown paper concealing the sturdy metal canisters—was a lie.
Film Reel – Educational Use Only
The Parnassus Findings: Uncensored Interview. A candid discussion with Helena Blythe, author of The Parnassus Findings:A Private Inquiry into the Intimate Lives of American Women.
Contents May Be Considered Adult or Politically Sensitive
For Academic Use Only – Not for Broadcast
DO NOT X-RAY
“No red blooded man with access to high quality projection equipment will resist viewing this,” Hal said as he and Ted looked at four wrapped bundles. Eight reels in total. “and all we need is one of them recognize what they’re holding, and send it up the corporate dder.”
Four packages, each bound for a separate location, would be sent via registered U.S. airmail—likely out of Washington National or Idlewild, by way of Pan Am.
“The Canadians will get theirs first,” Hal noted, “but they’ll take the longest to make up their minds. The Germans will have to dub or subtitle it. Same with the French. My money’s on the BBC.”
They had each taken two bundles and two locations far apart. Hats, gsses, and long coats, in random combinations were enough to throw off any requests for descriptions. And given that the four locations were the busiest in all of DC neither man thought that anyone would have any memory at all.
“Good luck,” they wished each other before shaking hands and leaving Ted’s apartment. They would not be seen together again unless work required it. It would take a week before all four news agencies had the film in hand. But neither man could predict how long each would require to act on what they had received.
They’d acted immediately, assuming that once the senator viewed the film he would pce all 34 reels under lock and key. And they had been correct. When Hal arrived at work the morning of Wednesday, September 18th, all the reels were gone. And when he inquired, no one would tell him where they’d been moved.
A secure location, was the only expnation he received from his boss.
“I’m still signed for them,” Hal had protested. It was true, but it was a red herring—a cover story in case anyone wanted to know why he was curious. His boss had produced the chain of custody log to show that someone had signed for them at 6:01 AM, three hours before Hal had arrived. He couldn’t read the name, but it didn’t matter. He was off the hook, officially speaking, for the film, and he did what his boss expected him to do. He smiled and returned to the processing b.
Whoever had taken the reels had inadvertently done him and Ted a favor by expanding the pool of suspects. Whoever mailed the film to international broadcasters would now be harder to trace. For themselves, the two men had agreed upon the simplest of alibis if/when they were questioned.
I don’t know.
The Salem Witch Trials—the original ones—had been a local phenomenon, terrorizing a small community out of sight of the rest of the world. The ongoing ones—which had caught Thomas Larsen so spectacurly—had been reported around the globe, and as a result had made many enemies. He and Ted had chosen the most vocal of those enemies and sent them gifts. He thought they would use it.
He hoped to God that they would.
September 25, 1957 — Washington, D.C. and London, UK
A package containing two reels of 16mm film arrived at Broadcasting House, Westminster, London, at 2:00 PM GMT. Though it only needed to travel one floor vertically, it was 3:00 by the time it nded on the desk of Ray Latham, Technical Supervisor, BBC Film Unit. It had company. The only thing that distinguished it from the others was its point of origin. So it wasn’t until 3:30 that the return bel caught his eye—and his interest.
During that ninety minutes, 3,670 miles away—or 5,905 kilometers, depending on which side of the pond you pnted your feet—Jonah Merrin, U.S. Senator from Wisconsin, was attempting to bend the head of the Government Printing Office to his will.
“It’s unethical, Senator,” Clyde Thompson said for the umpteenth time. “We filmed the hearing to have a record of what transpired. Not to manufacture a fiction.”
“You are a government office, Mr. Thompson. And I am a government official. I requested the filming. I have a right to use it as I see fit.”
The two men had been circling the issue—and each other—for the time it took that package to travel one floor and then three-quarters the length of it. By the time Ray Latham finally peeled away the outer wrapper to read the sacious (if false) inner bel, Jonah Merrin had progressed his argument to:
“It’s not unethical. I’m merely asking you to boil down six hours of testimony into an hour’s broadcast—with enough time for commercials.”
Clyde Thompson didn’t believe a word of it. He had no idea what each of the Senator’s “choice selections” would show when spliced end to end. But a gnce—and twenty-seven years of experience—told him one thing: you don’t take a clip from the beginning and put it at the end unless you’re rewriting the ending. Not for the first time, he wished he’d seen what was on those st reels. Too te now. The film was gone. No one seemed to know where it went.
Film Reel – Educational Use Only
The Parnassus Findings: Uncensored Interview.
A candid discussion with Helena Blythe, author of The Parnassus Findings: A Private Inquiry into the Intimate Lives of American Women.
Contents May Be Considered Adult or Politically Sensitive
For Academic Use Only – Not for Broadcast
DO NOT X-RAY
A wide grin spread across Ray Latham’s face.
It looked like Wednesday was movie night.
He scribbled two identical notes on scraps of paper, stashed the American gift in his file cabinet, and stepped out of his office.
“I don’t have the film anymore, Senator,” Clyde was saying, just as Ray dropped the first note on Tony Winslow’s desk. “And I don’t know where it is.”
“Let me worry about that,” Jonah replied. “I can have it back here first thing tomorrow.”
Clyde was already resorting to his final argument as the second note nded on Pip Hardcastle’s desk.
“It’ll take time to complete. This is a great deal of splicing.”
Bring popcorn, Ray had written on Pip’s note. As far as he could remember, it was Pip’s turn.
“Put your best man on it,” Jonah Merrin commanded.
Clyde heard the tone and cadence of the Senator’s request and wondered how many times he’d seen The Ten Commandments.
You’re no Moses, Senator, Clyde thought to himself. And Hal is going to hate this.
7:00 P.M. GMT, September 25, 1957 — London, UK
Two men sat on a couch in a third-floor studio while a third threaded the reel beled VIEW FIRST into the projector. A selection of snacks and brown ale bottles crowded the coffee table.
Ray quickly took his seat and picked up his drink just as the ste appeared:
SENATE SUBCOMMITTEE ON INHUMAN ACTIVITIES
DATE: SEPTEMBER 17, 1957
ROOM SH-216
REEL #34
CAMERA B
Operator: I. METZGER
Assistant: W. MARTIN
SOUND: AURICON SYNC
The trio shared eight seconds of confused silence before the ste disappeared and the hearing room filled the screen.
“Who were you experimenting on at your so-called Northke Institute of Technology, Mr. Larsen?” The man’s voice had the clipped aggression of an attacking barrister. To Pip, it sounded like something else as well.
“Does he sound like Charlton Heston?”
“It’s Dr. Larsen, Senator. And we don’t experiment on anyone—or anything. I’m a geneticist. I’m developing a framework for linking the effective number of breeders to demographic stochasticity in iteroparous species.”
“Was that English?” Ray asked.
“You’re not a doctor, Mr. Larsen. You’re an impostor.”
“Where’s the smut?” Tony asked. “What the hell are we watching?”
Ray got up, retrieved the outer wrapping, and read the bel.
“It’s supposed to be an interview with Helena Blythe. She wrote that book about sex in America.”
Pip frowned. “Is this the interview? Should we switch reels?”
“It said to view this one first.” Ray checked the bel again. The voices on screen continued.
He was about to change reels when Moses raised his voice.
“You’ll sit in that chair and answer my questions until HELL FREEZES OVER, Larsen! I know what you are—and soon the whole world will know!”
“What’s happening?” Pip asked as the image and sound began to stutter. He knew enough about Auricon sound-on-film to know this wasn’t normal.
“You want to know what I am?” said a voice no longer quite human.
The camera panned—and all three men stopped breathing.
“What the—” Tony blurted, just as the screen fred to white.
“Did you see—” Pip began, but the camera had turned again to catch the Senator—Moses, or whoever he was—cowering under the desk. From the angle, it almost looked like he was praying.
The three men sat frozen for nearly four minutes, until the reel ran out.
Without speaking, Ray rose and loaded the second reel. They watched all eleven minutes. Then they rewound the first and watched it again. At the start of the second reel, they’d read the ste three times:
SENATE SUBCOMMITTEE ON INHUMAN ACTIVITIES
“This is the Salem Witch Trials,” Pip said. “That’s what they’re calling it in Australia. The American’s investigation of unhuman—inhuman—activity.”
“I thought that was all bollocks,” Tony muttered. “Just some toffs shouting to win votes.”
“That wasn’t bollocks,” Ray said. His heart still raced, and he felt like the ale might come back up. “That was a bloke transforming into an angel. Or damn close.”
“This wasn’t a mistake,” Pip said. “Nobody accidentally mailed us film of Senate hearings when they meant to send American smut. That bel was a lie — someone wanted us to see this.”
Ray nodded slowly. “Someone risked a lot to get this here. And there’s only one reason they’d send it to the BBC.”
They looked at each other, unspoken agreement thick in the air. It was Ray who said the words aloud:
“The seventh floor needs to see this.”
The time was 8:00 P.M. GMT. Almost 6000 kilometers away in Washington D.C. it was 4:00 P.M. EDT. Senator Merrin was enjoying his second whiskey sour and, at least for the moment, thought he had the world by the tail.
