by Ulf Wolf
The most critical voice of all was raised by the nationally syndicated political program “Nation Today” which did not stop short of insisting that the authorities responsible take immediate action “for the good of our nation.”
:
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.
“He will?” said Roth.
“The fair thing to do,” said Ruth.
All eyes on him again. “I suppose,” he said.
:: 116 :: (Berlin)
Two weeks later to the day, the large square and lawn outside the Grimm-Zentrum on the Humboldt University Berlin campus had—with customary German efficiency—been converted to an open-air auditorium to house the well over one hundred thousand attendees that the school and the authorities anticipated.
Earlier that morning—a cloudless, mild-for-the-season winter day—a few stray technicians were putting the finishing touches to the arrangements. Seats had been seen to for the senior faculty and invited, important—as opposed to student—guests, the chairs numbering two hundred forty-four in all. In four perfect rows.
The PA system had been tested and tested again, then again, just to be sure, and all was in working order.
It was an important event, everybody seemed to think so. So important that security had been stepped up beyond the normal German attention to detail, for there were always one or two crackpots in a crowd this size. No chances taken.
A little later that morning, under an overcast, though not rain-threatening sky, the arrangers ran through their verification checklists one last time, just to make sure.
All was in working order, green lights all around.
:
Two things Ruth had not expected: the size of the audience, and that they would give her a standing ovation as she ascended the short stairway to the stage and approached the microphones—four in all, two sets for each bank of speakers (one m
ain, one for backup).
She had been told that there were well over one hundred thousand people in the crowd. But that’s only a number, the crowd itself, one that large, is a different matter altogether. And all were there to see and hear her, and all standing up and clapping now. It was a little daunting. But then again, this is why she was here, to do her best to point the path.
She waved into the storm of applause in an attempt to quiet it, but her wave had the opposite effect. So she smiled, and smiled again, and then looked around her to see if anyone knew how to turn this thing off.
No one did, so she simply stood there, waiting for the storm to subside. Which eventually, after a full two minutes, it did.
“If I were to build the perfect prison,” she began. “How would I build it?”
Her words quieted even the residual murmurs, and now there was utter silence. Even the birds and the trees (for there was a slight breeze across the square) seemed to hold their respective breaths so as to let her voice be heard by all.
“I will tell you.”
In the heartbeats that followed, Ruth took in the broad carpet of humanity spreading before her, who almost to a man, woman, boy, girl felt that she was looking right at them.
“The best prison you could build, the best possible, the perfect prison, would be a prison that the prisoners would not want to leave.
“It would be a prison they would so enjoy, where their confinement was so agreeable that only the very, very few would even recognize it as a prison.
“Only the very, very few would try to escape such a prison.
“And of these very, very few, fewer still would eventually find a door, or a trace of one, and from this search and from these discoveries of well-hidden doors grow our various religions.”
Still no bird, nor rustle of leaves. Nor voice. Nor sound.
“But all too soon,” she continued, “these religions forget their founders and the true search for doors and instead turn into good solid business or into comfortable and guiltless living and in the end they choose to forget, all over, that this planet of ours is indeed a detention facility, and as soon as any soul still crazy enough to keep insisting that indeed there are doors to be found and truths to be discovered has been safely incarcerated and drugged or electro-shocked into safe oblivion, that, as they say, would be that. You’d have the perfect prison.”