Miss Buddha (63 page)

:

Agent Roth muted his television and leaned
back into his still (though inexcusably old) very comfortable sofa.
The now silent talking head seemingly went on to discuss the
numbers of views Ruth Marten’s lectures had garnered (and continued
to garner) online. Graphs were displayed that were scaled in the
millions. The rising line was (deliberately, he thought) colored
dangerously red to alert one and all to onrushing disaster.

Jobless now—Anderson had (probably by edict
from above) accepted his resignation on the spot, no questions
asked, and effective immediately—Roth felt relieved, the
self-affirming relief you feel when you no longer have to proceed
against your conscience. And this, the mute talking head now doing
its best to look alarming, was nothing if not a ratification of his
decision to leave. This was the power at the very top of the food
chain flexing its muscle. He was witnessing the efforts of those
who could pull strings strong and far-reaching enough to make all
but the most independent (or stupid) station or paper jump in
unison.

Frightening, really. And to his mind, this
all but confirmed that Ruth Marten’s message held truth—or those
who stood to lose would not be so over-the-top panicked.

::
115 :: (Los Angeles)

Sitting down in what he thought of as his
study, the now former agent George Roth flicked open his laptop and
waited for the welcome screen.

He would have her phone number in one of the
reports, which, in an unusual lapse of procedure, the FBI had not
asked him to relinquish. There, found it.

He placed the call.

An old male voice answered on the fifth
ring, “Marten household.”

“Ruth Marten, please. Can I speak to
her?”

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m sorry. My name is George Roth, and I am
as of this morning no longer employed by the FBI.”

“I see.”

“Is she available.”

“For what purpose?”

“I need to warn her.”

“I take it I can trust you,” said the man
with surprising confidence.

“You can trust me.”

“Then, why don’t you come here,” suggested
the man.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have the address?”

“Yes, I do.”

:

The roads were slick from the rain and
crawling along with the rest of them it took Roth a baker’s hour to
drive there.

They were expecting him, for the door opened
even as he reached for the doorbell. Ruth’s mother, Melissa was her
name, was not smiling. In fact, she looked concerned.

“Mr. Roth?”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

He was expected indeed. The old man he had
spoken to (he assumed) stood up to greet him. Ruth Marten sat on a
sofa beside someone he could not immediately place, then did: Clare
Downes. Yes, he remembers taking note of their friendship. No
camera crew, thank God.

He took the old man’s hand.

“Ananda,” said the man.

“George Roth,” he replied.

Neither Ruth nor Clare arose. He nodded to
them, and they—almost in unison—inclined their heads in return.

“Here,” said Melissa Marten, indicating an
armchair. He sat down and felt very much the focus of intense,
almost palpable attention.

“You said,” began Ananda.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes.” But what then left
his mouth seemingly did so on its very own volition, for he had
certainly not planned to ask:

Looking straight at the young woman named
Ruth Marten he said, “Did you speak inside my head?”

“What?” Ananda, obviously surprised.

Ruth Marten looked up at the old man, then
over at George again, and smiled. “You heard?”

“Yes, I did.”

“So I did.”

“You did?” said Ananda.

Again, Ruth looked at the man, who he knew
was eighty-one, but who, up-close, didn’t seem it, or seemed much
older. “Yes,” she said.

He shook his head, slowly. In wonder or
exasperation, Roth couldn’t tell. One or the other, though. Or
both.

Then no one said anything for so long that
Roth grew bewildered, and self-conscious, to boot. The girl, for
Ruth Marten was nothing more than a young girl in person like this,
smiled at him. No one else did. Then her mother finally spoke,
“Ananda said you wanted to warn us.”

And so the world came rushing back in all
its ugliness and danger. “Yes,” he said. And again, “Yes.”

“About what, George?” said Ruth.

How best to put it? “I was working for the
FBI until last Friday, when I resigned. I resigned because I was
asked, ordered in fact by my boss, to arrest you. Or to arrange to
have you arrested, rather.”

“On what grounds?” Melissa said, obviously
shaken.

“On any grounds.”

No one said anything, so he continued. “I
have, we have, been keeping an eye on you over the last month or
so.”

“We figured as much,” said Clare Downes.
“But why? How serious is it?”

“I didn’t know at first. I figured it was
just routine. All that attention you’re getting. You are going
viral, I’m sure you know that.”

Ruth nodded.

“Well,” he continued. “You have turned into
a financial threat.”

Again, no one responded, obviously waiting
for more.

“The pharmaceutical companies have noticed a
drop in sales.”

Clare Downes was the first to connect the
dots.

“They don’t need their mood pills,” she
said.

“Looks that way,” said Roth.

“Explain,” said Ananda.

“The best I can make out,” said Roth, “is
that Ruth’s lectures inspire such hope that people feel less
reliant on chemicals to manage their emotions.”

“And you perceive the pattern,” said
Ruth.

Which caught Roth by surprise. “You see
that?” he said.

She nodded.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” said Melissa.

“Agent Roth—or, former agent Roth—has an
amazing aptitude for discerning patterns, even the minutest
patterns,” said Ruth. “He’s quite the wonder.”

“Are you?” said Melissa, looking straight at
Roth.

“Well, yes,” he said.

“And what is this pattern you perceive?”

“As I said,” he began. Then, losing the
thread, he regrouped. “As I said, the pharmaceuticals, who guard
their profits very jealously, to say the least, have noticed a drop
in sales, and they ascribe this—correctly, as far as I can see—to
Ruth’s lectures, and their online spread. People take heart, and
they turn to non-chemical solutions to their problems. This does
not sit well with Big Pharma, the pharmaceutical companies, who are
now lobbying vehemently for the government, for anyone in
authority, to do something about her.”

“As in?” said Clare Downs.

“As in, manufacture whatever situation or
evidence necessary to arrest her as a threat to public health.”
Well, that was the case, wasn’t it?

Melissa Marten looked like she had been hit
by a truck. She was not taking this well. The old man Ananda had
closed his eyes, but he was certainly not asleep, his face was
etched in concentration.

Ruth turned to Clare Downes. “Can they do
that?”

“Oh, yes,” replied the reporter. Then, for
emphasis, “Yes, they can.”

“Yes, they can,” added Roth just to
underscore the threat.

Ananda opened his eyes, “What would you have
us do?”

“Have you do?” said Roth. “I’m not in a
position to have you do anything, I’m out on a limb enough as it
is, by warning you.”

“You need to help her,” said Ananda.

“I can’t do that,” said Roth.

“You need to help her,” repeated Ananda.

“I can’t do that,” repeated Roth.

“Is there anything
you
can
do?” said
Clare. Then, quickly, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Roth wasn’t sure which way she was talking
about, but understood that she had not meant to offend him. Of
course he was right about not being able to do anything, well, not
much in any case. Bureau business was bureau business and he was
bound by his oath—whether still employed by it or not—to secrecy
about its doings. About its suspicions and actions.

“None taken,” is what he said, which brought
a smile to Clare Downes’ lips. Some sort of bull’s-eye.

“I know about your allegiances, even if
you’ve been terminated. You are, from what I understand, legally
muzzled,” she said.

“Yes, that is the case,” agreed Roth.

“But haven’t you already broken some rule or
other by coming here, by warning us?”

“That, too, is the case,” said Roth. “But I
couldn’t not do that.”

Clare Downes nodded. “So,” she said. “Since
the cat seems out of the bag, at least a whisker or two?” She left
it at that.

Good point. This had been
in the back of his mind even before he made that call. “All right,”
he said. “You must understand that over a third of all prescription
drugs sold today are psychotropic, and more than half of the
profits made by the pharmaceutical industry, are from these
psychotropic drugs. And this is a rising statistic, a rising ratio.
Managing mental states with drugs is the most valued cash cow of
that industry. And it is an industry that for one will never take a
challenge to its profits lying down, and that for two is both very,
and I mean
very
well-funded and well connected.

“I guess my question is, I
guess
the
question
is: how far are they willing to go?”

“Incarceration didn’t seem too far,”
suggested Ananda.

“That’s right,” said Roth. “And once
charged, and kept under wraps, the discredit machinery will grind
into gear, and that can be devastating. All with the purpose of
restoring their sales and profits.”

“But there is nothing, is there?” said
Ruth.

“To charge you with?” said Roth.

“Yes.”

“No. Not yet. That was my assignment. To
find, or manufacture if need be, something that would stick.”

“Like what?” said Clare Downes.

Roth shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know. I
didn’t give it any thought. I refused to go there.”

“But what would you anticipate? Where might
they go with this?” asked Ruth.

Another good questions. “Since they cannot
prevent you from lecturing, you are a professor after all, with a
curriculum to teach, and since they cannot prevent or restrict
video-recording of your lectures,” looking over at Ruth as he said
so, “they cannot—not as far as I can figure—accuse you of public
sedition or some such. My guess is that they might resort to the
old faithful: illegal drugs.”

“As in planting them somewhere?” said Clare
Downes.

“As in planting them somewhere,” confirmed
Roth.

Mother and daughter looked at each other and
then at Ananda and Clare Downes in turn. They were indeed taking
him seriously.

Then Ananda said, “Would they go further
than this?”

“They will go as far as it takes to restore
Big Pharma sales. At least that’s my take on it.”

“And that is how far?” said Ananda.

“All the way,” said Roth.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” said
Clare Downes.

All eyes on him now.

“Yes, it does,” said Roth.

“Christ,” said Downes. Then straightened
where she sat, “So, what would you have us do, Agent Roth?”

He wasn’t quite sure whether he was being
baited or not, but whatever, he chose not to rise to it. “If there
is such a thing in this scenario as ‘lying low’ that’s what I would
do.”

Ananda and Ruth Marten exchanged looks.

“I’m going to Germany,” said Ruth. “I’ve
been invited by the Humboldt University of Berlin. They want me to
address the faculty, students and guests.”

“And you’ve accepted?” Though Roth strongly
suspected the answer.

“I have,” said Ruth.

“Pretty much the opposite of lying low,
then,” said Roth.

“Pretty much,” confirmed Ruth.

“Don’t go,” he said. “They might try
something drastic, and if so it is always best done on foreign
soil.”

“What do you mean?” said Ananda.

“It is always easier to deny involvement in
another country. Much less transparency and oversight.”

“So that
is
what you mean,” said
Ananda.

“I’m not saying that I know of any plans,”
said Roth. “But I would never underestimate the power and reach of
the pharmaceutical lobby.”

“Are you really serious about all this?”
said Clare Downes.

“Why else would I be here?” said Roth.

“Good point,” she answered.

“Mr. Roth,” said Melissa. “Why are you
telling us this? Why should we believe you?”

“Because he’s telling the truth,” said
Ruth.

Which startled Roth. How did she know? For
she did, didn’t she?

“I am telling the truth,” he told Melissa.
“And why? Put it down to fairness, I guess. I resigned because it
was not, it is not, right. I believe Ruth to be a profoundly good
influence on the students who share her lectures over the Internet
and who send them viral. I believe that Big Pharma shares none of
her concerns, they are only interested in their profits, end of
story.”

“Amen to that,” said Clare Downes. Then she
asked him, “Were you ordered specifically to manufacture evidence,
a pretext to arrest Ruth?”

“Not in so many words,” said Roth. “There is
always deniability involved in these situations. It’s more a matter
of ‘do what has to be done.’ Never, or seldom, a direct order to do
something illegal.”

Clare Downes shifted uncomfortably, looked
at Ruth. “Perhaps you ought not to go.”

“No, I’m going,” said Ruth.

“Ruth,” said Melissa.

“I’ll be fine,” said Ruth. “Agent Roth will
help us.”

“He will?” said Ananda.