Miss Buddha (71 page)

“That should do it,” declared Jones.

“We’re done?” said Fielding hopefully,
checking his watch again.

“We are,” confirmed Jones.

“What, precisely,” deliberately using what
she already thought of as one of Jones’ favorite words, “happens
next?” said Amiri.

Although Jones had been prepared for
questions along those lines, the intensity of this one took him by
surprise. “Two things,” he said. “First, we will issue a press
release based on the two signed conference letters. Secondly, I
will meet with representatives from the Justice Department to get
the ball rolling.”

“How?” said Amiri, almost
adding
precisely
again.

“How will I meet, or how will the ball get
rolling?” said Jones, not as a flippant response, he truly didn’t
know which she meant.

“How are you going to get the ball
rolling?”

Jones was not prepared to answer this, for
fear of admitting how choreographed this entire process indeed was.
Instead he said, “It will roll, and soon at that.”

Amiri was nothing if not perceptive, and she
took this slight rebuke of her question as the sign that this
much-shorter-than-she-had-expected meeting was indeed over.

“Fair enough,” she said.

“Any other questions?” said Jones. Which he
followed with “Good” before entertaining any.

The meeting was indeed over.

:

Ruth Marten was arrested by
Federal Agents on the 2
^nd
of May, 2030. It was a Thursday.

::
121 :: (New York)

Another conference room. This one is also in
New York, but about forty blocks north and three avenues west of
the United Nations building.

It is the
2
^nd
of
May, 2030. It is a Thursday.

Three individuals: Otto Jones, who has
resigned his thirty-day stint as counsel for The Church of Crystal
Faith (now that his Faith Summit mission has been brought to a
successful close) to now reapply himself to his main, and actual
client: The Biotechnical Industry Association, along with its
pecuniary interests.

The second individual present is Andrew
Callahan, FBI’s Los Angeles Bureau Chief, just arrived on a red-eye
with marching orders to accommodate Jones and BIA any way he can.
Career and future depending on it, or so he has been led to
understand by those whose task it was to know and relay such
things.

The third person present is Meredith Simmons
who is BIA’s in-house counsel and chairperson, and, as such, also
Big Pharma’s point-person in this thornier-by-the-day and
bottom-line disastrous Ruth Marten affair.

“This
just
in,” said Jones with a smile.
“Ruth Marten is in custody.”

Meredith Simmons finished pouring her
coffee, held up the coffee pitcher, “Anyone? A refill?”

Jones and Callahan both indicated that they
were fine, thank you.

She sat down and took a long look at Jones.
“In custody,” she said slowly, as if tasting the words. Nodded even
slower. Then sipped her coffee, which she took black, no sugar. She
then, carefully, placed the mug back on its coaster. “This is good
news, Otto. And the initial indictment? What was the charge? As
planned?”

“Two charges,” said Callahan, fielding the
question. He held up two fingers. “Inciting to civil unrest.”
Folded one finger back, “And inciting to civil disobedience.”

“No problem with the judge?”

“None,” said Callahan. “He owes us. Well,
owed us. From what I understand, this settles our score with him,
whatever that score was. Besides, he apparently doesn’t care for
our wunderkind.”

“Who
is
the judge?” she wanted to know.
“Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“You can ask,” said Callahan. “No matter.
It’s Thomas Welles.”

Otto Jones smiled and said, “Yes, Tom. We
have met.” He didn’t care to elaborate. He did add, though, “Seems
like we are in good hands.”

“Is Welles going to preside at the trial?”
asked Simmons.

“No,” said Callahan. “No, that wouldn’t fly.
And even if we could arrange that—which I’m not sure we can—that
would look rather suspicious.” Then, after some reflection, he
added, “And might invite a successful appeal.”

“I can see that,” said Simmons. “When’s the
post-indictment?”

“Arraignment is tomorrow. Afternoon,” said
Jones.

“Welles?”

“I assume so,” said Callahan.

“Let’s not assume anything,” said Simmons.
“Can you confirm.”

“Will do.”

“Is there any doubt that the charges will
stick?” she said.

“None,” said Jones. “Should be a formality.”
Callahan nodded his agreement.

“The preliminary?”

“We will ask for a May 20 hearing,” said
Jones. “I’ve confirmed with the clerk, that’s a good date.”

“Welles?” said Simmons.

“Oh, I doubt that,” said Callahan.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps it’s just me,” said Simmons, “but I
would feel a lot more comfortable if Welles handled the
preliminary.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Callahan. Then,
remembering what had been said about career and future and full
support, added, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That would be much appreciated,” said
Simmons. Then she turned to Jones, “And you, you’ll be ready to try
the case?”

“That will not be a problem. We have a lot
already, and I’m sure we’ll have two or three months to mobilize
everything before the trial. Judging by the Los Angeles Federal
docket, I don’t see a trial date until late July or early
August.”

“Who is handling the arraignment?” Simmons
wanted to know. Addressing Callahan, but it was Jones who
answered.

“Lara Matthews. An associate of mine. I
would have handled it, but, as you can see, I am here.”

She did not smile at the joke. “And your
associate…?”

“She’s quite competent,” said Jones.

“I hope so,” said Simmons. Then, apparently
viewing an internal calendar, “May 20. That gives us less than
three weeks. Is that enough time?” She sipped he coffee and
regarded Jones over the rim.

“Plenty.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am very sure.”

Simmons said nothing in response, just
replaced her cup on the coaster—again, carefully.

Then she said, “I’d like to second
chair.”

If this took Jones by surprise, he didn’t
show it. “Good idea,” is what he said, without hesitation, and
quite believably.

She nodded in agreement. Then said, “What
about her counsel? Do we know?”

Callahan shook his head. “No. No word yet.
But what I do know is that she represented herself at the initial
arraignment—which just concluded as a matter of fact. Bail was not
granted.”

“Ah. So, she’s in custody?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Callahan.

“And will remain in custody until the
preliminary?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“Well, at least she’s off the streets,” said
Simmons.

Jones said nothing, but smiled at her
observation. It would be hard to preach from a cell.

:

Very few papers and none of the television
and radio stations had nothing to say about the Ruth Marten saga (a
word some papers had now begun to use). Several stations hailed her
arrest as something finally being done about this woman. Many of
the papers, including the Washington Post and the New York Times,
highlighted the dangers of millions of young people swallowing Ruth
Marten’s message “book, line, and thinker” as one pundit put it,
parading an impressive string of mental health professionals to
warn the public about buying these “quick emotional fixes” which
sometimes were worse even than illegal drugs, a few of them
suggested. Parents had a duty to protect their kids from such
dangers. “Finally,” one of them concluded, “our government has
risen to its responsibility to protect the public.”

The Los Angeles Times, on
the other hand—and as ever seeing conspiracy behind every
bush—challenged the FBI to produce some
actual
evidence to sustain these
absurd charges. The FBI, in a rare press release response, said
that the time and place for “
actual
evidence, as the Los Angeles Times puts it” was at
trial, and perhaps the editors and conspiracy seekers at that
august institution could refrain from jumping to their usual
conclusions until then.

Many of the papers, and some of the
stations, reviewed the New York Faith Summit, and published heavily
annotated versions of the two conference letters signed by all
attendees. These letters, in and of themselves, The New York Times
maintained, constituted ample evidence that Miss Marten was indeed
a threat to the internal peace of the nation.

Most, if not all, media outlets made no
secret that they were looking forward to an interesting trial.

:

The post-indictment
arraignment took place the following day, Friday May
3
^rd
.
Again, Ruth Marten insisted on representing herself.

She entered a plea of Not Guilty, and also
requested that she be released on her own recognizance.

Judge Welles, who again
presided, agreed to release her, but ordered her to be placed under
house arrest until the preliminary hearing, which was set for the
20
^th
of
May. He also stipulated no fewer than three guards at any one time
to keep an eye on the Marten household, mainly for her own
protection, he added.

:

Back at her house after a night in custody,
Ruth, along with Melissa, Ananda, Clare Downes (who was taking very
good notes about all that was happening, both for Ruth’s sake and
for her editor’s—which Ruth was fine with) and Agent Roth (who Ruth
said she could not do without) gathered around the kitchen table to
take stock of things.

True to Judge Welles’ word, three of Los
Angeles’ finest were posted outside and in plain view, two of them
already busy telling people (several of them reporters) to move on,
nothing of interest here, and that means you, too. And no
pictures.

Inside, Ananda could not suppress the
feeling that a gaping abyss was on the move and threatening to soon
swallow the Tathagata and her mission into its oblivion. He tried,
though not very successfully, to put up a brave face.

Ruth noticed. “It’s not the end of the
world, Ananda.”

He looked up from his gnarly hands,
clutching each other for bony comfort. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure.”

“Judge Welles may owe the FBI a favor or
two,” said Roth, as if that was precisely on point. “But he cannot
indict on meaningless charges.”

“What are you saying?” asked Clare
Downes.

Everyone was now looking at Roth, waiting
for his answer. “What I’m saying,” said Roth. “Is that they have
evidence to back them up. The FBI is not resourceless, the charges
may well stick. And a jury may just convict.”

“That’s what I am afraid of,” said
Ananda.

“It’s Bruno all over again,” said Ruth,
mainly to Ananda. Along with a smile.

Ananda smiled, too, though not happily. More
in appreciation of Ruth’s gesture.

“Who’s Bruno,” said Clare and Roth with one
voice.

Ananda looked at Ruth who looked at Melissa.
Who’s to explain?

“Giordano Bruno,” said Ruth. “Burned at the
stake for speaking the truth.”

“There are parallels?” said Roth.

“You could say that,” said Ruth.

“One of Ruth’s earlier lives,” said
Melissa.

To Roth, that pattern harmonized. He nodded,
yes, he understood. Clare, however, did not.

“You
were
this Bruno?” she
said.

“I was,” said Ruth.

“And this is Bruno all over again?” As if
verifying a quote.

“This is Bruno all over again. Tried for
threatening the vested interests of his time,” said Ruth.

“Yes,” said Clare—though still grappling
with the notion. “I guess that is what you are doing, threatening
the vested interests of your time.”

“That is precisely what I am doing,” said
Ruth.

“That is precisely what you are doing,”
echoed Ananda.

Then—as if the outcome of Bruno’s threat to
vested interest finally settled on their collective
consciousness—no one said the next thing.

Until Ananda, worried as always about the
Tathagata, said:

“We need to find the best lawyer we can
afford.”

“I am sure the station will help,” suggested
Clare.

Melissa agreed, she made that clear.

“I can suggest one or two,” said Roth.

“No,” said Ruth. Perhaps a little louder
than she had intended, or perhaps precisely as loudly as she
intended. “I am defending myself.”

“An indictment is one thing,” began
Ananda.

Ruth looked at him with what could only be
described as interest at what was going to come next. Ananda knew
that look. Did not continue.

Roth looked around for support. Was he
hearing this correctly? “Are you serious?” is what he said.

“Perfectly,” said Ruth.

“No,” suggested Clare.

“No,” demanded Melissa. “That’s the dumbest
thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I can do this,” said Ruth to her mother.
“Trust me, it’s the best way.”

“I don’t care how old you are, or how many
Brunos you’ve been, you need a real lawyer. I’m not risking you
going to jail for the rest of your life.”

“For the rest of her life?” Ananda almost
cried out.

“Actually,” said Roth. “She stands to do
just that. These charges now fall under the anti-terrorist statues.
They carry very long, to life, sentences.”