Miss Buddha (73 page)

Matthews was the next to speak. “I see that
you’ve included non-pharmaceuticals.” An observation. Perhaps a
question.

“It is across the boards,” said Simmons.
“From fast foods to hospital admissions. Sales are down all
over.”

“She’s delivered quite a blow to
consumption,” said Matthews.

“One way of putting it,” said Simmons.

“Do you think it’s deliberate?” said Jones,
as if the idea had just struck him—which it had. Studying Matthews
now.

“Do I believe she is on a mission to wreck
world finances? No,” said Matthews. “But her message obviously
seems to take the place of normal consumption.”

“Among her devotees,” clarified Jones,
though it sounded like a question.

“Among her devotees, of course,” said
Matthews.

“Does she continue to lecture?” asked
Simmons. “She’s, what, in protective custody masquerading as house
arrest?”

“She’s under house arrest,” said Jones. “But
not enjoined from lecturing, so, yes, I believe she still is
lecturing.”

“And those lectures are being videoed and
posted on the Internet?” said Simmons.

“Of course they’re being videoed. She’s
under house arrest,” said Jones.

“Of course,” said Simmons. Of course.

Then Matthews—who liked to cut to
chases—looked at Simmons and said, “What’s your point?”

Simmons didn’t understand, and her face said
as much.

“With these statistics? clarified Matthews.
“It’s nothing we didn’t know, or saw coming.”

Simmons gave Jones a “What, is she kidding?”
look, then turned to Matthews. “It’s ammunition.”

“For the case?”

“Yes.”

“Inciting to civil unrest and disobedience?
Those are the still the charges.”

Simmons did not appreciate being lectured
at, which is how she saw it. “Of course they are still the charges.
But this trend, this broad, confirmed trend of less medication,
less hospital admissions, speaks clearly that many who should
receive help and treatment are no longer receiving it. Which will
lead, I am positive, to civil unrest.”

“That’s a stretch,” said Matthews.

Jones had to admit he enjoyed seeing the two
of them fight. Both brilliant, neither a punch-puller. His money
was on Matthews.

“There is,” said Simmons, and herself
assumed a lecturing tone. “There is a normalcy we call the social
fabric. It should be at rest. Today, this fabric is being torn to
shreds by the defendant, and that will—axiomatically—lead to
unrest.”

“She’s not charged with ripping the social
fabric,” said Matthews. “Though, if Congress keeps its word for a
change, we may soon have that on the books as well. As a crime, I
mean.”

“We have what we have,” said Simmons. “We
cannot amend the charges at this point. But what we have is plenty
enough. I can provide a string of witnesses, both from my
association and from our sister associations, as well as from the
hospital industry, to testify that they—and they are experts—that
they are truly worried about the health of the nation as a whole,
especially if this trend is allowed to continue.”

“That will be useful,” said Jones. Then
added, “Most of the attendees at the New York Faith Summit report a
continued decline in attendance, their flocks being hijacked by
this Marten phenomenon they report. And most have agreed to testify
to this at trial. We will be able to paint a picture of growing
unrest as the normalcy of accepted religion is losing its grip on
the spiritually wayward.”

“The question is,” said Simmons. “Do we have
enough?”

“To convict?” said Jones.

“Yes, to convict. Of course, to
convict.”

“I’d say we have plenty. However, we will
have to be very alert at jury selection to ensure we don’t wind up
with twelve meditators.” He meant that as a joke, at least
partially. Simmons was not amused. Matthews was.

“Talking of which,” said Simmons. “How are
we going to find a jury that has not heard of Ruth Marten?”

“That’s not going to happen,” offered
Matthews. “Unless we want them deaf, dumb, and blind.”

“So how do you propose to arrive at an
impartial jury?” said Simmons.

“The way that I read this, and we have a
firm on this full-time, is that we are going to find only two kinds
of jurors: the pro-Marten, and the anti-Marten. There is no middle
ground here. Everyone’s heard of her, no matter where we relocate
the trial, if that were an option. And everyone who’s heard of her
seems to have an opinion which is either for or against.”

“So how do we seat an anti-Marten jury?”
said Simmons.

“We don’t,” said Matthews. “The best we can
hope for is fifty-fifty, that is if Ruth Marten knows anything
about selecting jurors, which she may not. What we then must try to
achieve is that our six anti-Marten jurors are more anti than the
other six are pro.”

“Okay,” said Simmons. Then turning to Jones,
“And your firm, your juror experts, what will they give us?”

“Selection criteria. The questions to ask,”
said Jones.

Simmons did not respond. But made a note of
it. Then asked, “How many peremptory challenges will we have. Any
idea?”

“My guess is between ten and sixteen. It’s
up to the judge,” said Jones.

“And your experts will determine who we can
challenge for cause?”

“Yes,” said Simmons. “That’s what they’re
paid to do.”

“And they’re good?” Again Simmons.

“They’re good,” confirmed Jones.

Simmons, who they were all well aware of was
funding this venture, fell silent again, weighing options. Then
speculated, or asked, “There is no way we can complete the
termination, the attempts?”

Jones and Matthews exchanged glances. Well,
she was the client, after all. “No,” said Matthews. “Well, let me
rephrase. It could probably be done but at this point it would be
counterproductive.” Again, Jones and Matthews exchanged a glance,
and Jones nodded, fine, go ahead.

“We had a feasibility study done,” said
Matthews. “They determined that with all the video lectures now
online, and her spreading notoriety—she is considered a physics
genius as well—were we to make her a martyr on top of it, well, it
would only spread her word farther and faster. As I said, it would
be counterproductive.”

“So you had considered it?” Simmons asked,
with the hint of a smile, faint approval.

“Yes,” said Jones.

“But ruled it out?”

“Yes,” Jones.

Then Simmons took both of them in again,
looked from one to the other and back. Straightened in her chair,
collected and stacked her papers in front of her. Got to the point,
“This must not, this cannot fail.”

“We know that,” said Jones.

“Whatever the cost, whatever you need. She
has to be convicted, she has to be sentenced to a long jail
term.”

“Have you considered the martyr angle of
that?” asked Matthews.

“We have,” said Simmons. “It is a factor,
but not one to outweigh the advantage to land a conviction on the
books. That would pave the way for Congress to outlaw her
activities, and those of her followers.”

Matthews nodded. Yes, she could see
that.

“So,” said Simmons. “Anything, anything you
need. Money is no object.”

“We appreciate that,” said Jones. “And we
will not disappoint.”

::
125 :: (Los Angeles)

The same conference room two weeks later. The
same team huddle: Simmons, Jones, and Matthews. Simmons noticeably
more agitated. She has not slept much lately, shadows under her
eyes bearing witness. Jones and Matthews visibly affected by the
situation as well. Simmons hands out new statistical data.

“It’s only getting worse,” she says. “This
trial cannot get underway soon enough.”

Jones leafs through the graphs and figures.
“More of the same, I take it.”

“BIA combined sales are down over forty
percent. That, no matter what spin you put on it, is a catastrophe.
Catastrophe.” She taps her copy of the report, “Our member stocks
as sliding, too. Drastically. More like crashing. The same holds
true for our sister associations.”

Simmons took her two colleagues in with a
long look, then said, “The pharmaceutical industry as a whole is in
trouble. The whole industry. You’d think there was a
conspiracy.”

“That’s rich,” said Matthews, under her
breath, and more to herself.

“Sorry?” said Simmons, who didn’t hear.

Matthews shook her head, “No, nothing.”

“Well, that’s one thing we can be certain
of,” said Jones. “There is no conspiracy afoot to slay the
pharmaceutical industry.”

“In some way,” said Simmons. “I wish there
were. At least that would give us a more tangible target. This is
more like a phenomenon. Like a natural disaster. It seems, what’s
the word?”

“Spontaneous,” suggested Matthews.

“Precisely,” said Simmons.
“It’s just happening. People are going off their meds, or cutting
down drastically, of their own accord. As if told by their
physicians. But they’re not. No one’s
telling
them to do this. It’s just
the Marten woman’s lecture, and they say nothing about going off
their meds, do they?”

“It is not
just
happening,” said
Jones. “I don’t care whether she’s telling them to ditch their
prescriptions or not, she is the root cause. It’s Marten’s
meditation mumbo-jumbo. We
know
that.”

“Yeah, of course, you’re right,” said
Simmons. Then added, “Speaking of which, one of our senators has
just introduced a bill that will outlaw meditation as a practice. A
federal crime, five years mandatory.”

Jones nodded, he’d heard. To Matthews, on
the other hand, this was news. “Outlaw meditation?”

“As a practice, yes.”

“How could they, possibly?”

“It poses a threat to the national economy,”
said Simmons. “Take a look at the figures. It’s not just
pharmaceuticals that are suffering. It’s medical, too. And consumer
goods, fast foods, coffee, entertainment. You name it. Sales are
down, and heading further down. Aren’t you keeping up on the stock
market?”

Matthews nodded, she was, yes. But that was
not entirely true.

“Well, that should tell you something,” said
Simmons.

“We’re only two weeks away,” Jones. “Two
weeks. Do you think the world can manage to stay afloat another two
weeks?”

“Of course,” said Simmons, who wasn’t sure
whether Jones was kidding or not.

“The trial will put an end to this,” said
Jones.

“I sure hope so,” said Simmons. “The woman
really is a threat to the nation.”

Neither Jones nor Matthews answered. No
disagreements there.

:

As the media began putting two and two
together and link the Ruth Marten phenomenon to the near
devastating drop in sales nationwide, especially in the Big Pharma
and fast food sectors, every pundit in the country seemed to weigh
in with what needed doing to fix this.

Opinions ranged from the all-out
conservative view that Ruth Marten ought to be shot without
cigarette and blindfold for her obviously non-American activities,
to the other side of the spectrum where the New Age Liberals (or
NALs as they were soon to be called by their critics) lauded the
freeing of the country’s chemical slaves and the return to a life
of love and harmony.

For the conservative outlets, the Marten
trial needed to happen now, not in a week or two or three while the
drop in consumption continued to wreak havoc with the nation’s
economy. Whether intended or not (which was considered irrelevant
at this point) Ruth Marten’s actions were obviously inciting to
civil unrest and disobedience. She was—look at the effect, for
crying out loud—clearly guilty. The trial would only confirm the
obvious and set things to right.

Look, clamored the New Age Liberals in
response, how can a message of loving-kindness and still reflection
incite to unrest? These were sheer contradictions in terms. The
trial would prove her innocent and confirm the country’s return to
spiritual health.

However, no matter how vocal (and hopeful),
the NALs were outgunned by at least two to one in every state of
the Union, and by now, a popular vote would probably have Ruth
Marten banished for life, if not executed on the spot.

:

By this time, Ananda—who insisted on
following the story developments more closely than was good for
anyone’s health—was beyond worry. In fact, he had by this time
entered the stillness of the inevitable where the state of affairs
was neither benevolent nor malevolent. They were just that, the
current state of affairs.

He had resigned himself to the fact that his
beloved Tathagata was not going to seek representation by counsel,
no matter how dire the news and the economy; that she was indeed
going to speak for herself, insisting that this was the way out,
the way to stir the sleeper and steer the seeker, as she put it,
and often.

Ananda could not see it that way, but in the
prevailing stillness this was just another fact, neither good nor
bad. Ruth’s mind was made up, and would so remain. State of
affairs.

Of course, the Tathagata had no intention of
flying blind, and with two weeks and a weekend to go before the
trial, they had again gathered in Melissa’s house, the war
council—as Ananda thought of it: Ruth, Ananda, Roth, Abbot White,
Clare Downes, and Melissa.

Ananda did his utmost to appear composed,
though neither Ruth nor Melissa were fooled by his mask of
stillness and easily saw through to the worry beneath.

Ruth, on the other hand, was as calm as
always, almost jovial, which stoked Ananda’s concern even further,
lest she would overlook things in her unexplainable buoyancy.

Agent Roth—the most practical of the
lot—spent virtually every waking hour gathering what intelligence
he could, from what sources he still trusted, to gauge the lay of
both the political and legal land.