by Ulf Wolf
“And you, I take it, oppose that motion?” said Welles.
“Oh, no. Not at all. I would like this to go to trial as well,” said Ruth.
“You do?” Welles wanted to make quite sure he had heard her correctly. From across the aisle, Jones and Simmons turned to Ruth as one to make sure that ears were not deceiving.
“Yes, I do,” said Ruth in a clear voice, impossible to misinterpret.
“Well,” said Welles, a little relieved. “We’re all in agreement then.” He briefly consulted a docket printout: “Trial is set for August the 5th.”
“Your honor,” said Ruth.
“Yes.”
“I have a request.”
“What is it?”
“I request that the trial be publicly televised, live.”
Jones and Simmons, again in unison, rose in protest. “Your honor.”
Welles looked over at them.
“We object,” said Simmons. “That’s an absurd request.”
“I concur,” said Jones.
“Absurd or not,” said Welles. Then turning to Ruth, “That’s not up to me, my dear. That’s up to the trial judge.”
With that Welles wielded his gavel and smacked an end to the proceedings.
:
On their way back to Jones’ LA office, he put it as nicely as he could. “I want Matthews to co-chair.”
Simmons, who was as surprised as Jones at Ruth Marten’s intelligence, could only agree: remaining on the case was not an option, the media would have a field day with that. She had given it thought, though not a second one. Her BIA affiliations, though a matter of record, had not been publicly known. Now they were.
“I agree,” is all she said.
:: 123 :: (Pasadena)
If Meredith Simmons and Otto Jones and their increasingly nervous employers had hoped that the successful indictment of Ruth Marten would temper the spread of her lectures on the Internet—which was indeed their hope—they had miscalculated to a ridiculous degree, for if anything, the much publicized indictment, as well as the now much anticipated upcoming trial, did nothing but fuel this fire.
Many liberal media parallels were drawn between Ruth Marten and a host of past martyrs who had all been persecuted or prosecuted (the modern version of persecution some opined) for their beliefs. Much was now also being made in several quarters of Ruth Marten’s doctoral thesis on the convergence of science, philosophy, and religion, voicing the view that hers was a message whose time had indeed come (which was cause for further hand-wringing concern among the powers that be—with a close eye on the now oft-reviewed consumer statistics).
On the other side of that aisle, the more conservative outlets (those more closely allied to Big Pharma and now also the Medical and other consumer-dependent establishments) were calling for Washington to enact new, and more precise laws that would directly address the threat caused by this renegade New Age phenomenon. It was felt that inciting to civil unrest and disobedience, as charges, were too vague and too loosely applied to stop this outrage in its tracks. However, those charges were the cards the prosecution had dealt themselves, and they would now not only have to live with them but to succeed with them.
Many outlets had also begun a countdown to the August 5 trial date.
:: 124 :: (Pasadena)
It was not in Ananda’s nature to worry unduly, but in this case “unduly” seemed nowhere in sight.
Despite many attempts, he could not persuade Ruth to retain professional counsel, despite the fact that money was no longer an object—both KCRI, Clare Downes’ station, and Abbot White’s diocese had offered financial as well as legal help, which she refused on all counts.
Kristina Medina had also called and offered “whatever she needed” to launch the best defense possible. She and her husband would provide any funds needed.
Again, Ruth declined, telling her that all she needed was a televised trial.
Even Julian Lawson, who had not spoken to Ruth for a while, called to see how he could help. Did she need any funds? A good lawyer? No, she told him. She was set. Thanks though. She really appreciated it.
What she did want help with, however, was to mobilize sufficient pressure from the media and other sources to convince the trial judge (who was still to be named among rampant media speculation as to who it might be) to let the cameras in.
“Don’t go overboard, though,” she warned Clare. “No one likes to be cornered.”
Clare understood—she, and her producer, had been around this block a time or two. Abbot White also promised to exert what pressure he could, though he was not sure how much good that would do. Was there anything else he could do to help? No, Ruth told him on more than one occasion, the important thing was that the trial be televised live. Given that, she knew what to do and how to do it.
It would all work out, don’t worry.
But he worried, Ananda did, as did Melissa, who stood to see her daughter jailed for the rest of her life should she be convicted.
Of course Ananda trusted Ruth, he always had, but had the Tathagata ever been in such trouble? Yes, as Giordano Bruno, surely, but at that time not as much had been at stake. Nowhere near as much. Today, she was being heard, millions were listening and taking her advice, her mission gaining true traction. That was what was at stake, so much more than simply a life, as was the case with Bruno.
Was there a way to plea bargain her way out of this? The thought had barely taken root before she virtually roared inside his head, no way. Absolutely no way.
Well, of course that was not an option, he realized that. Of course. But how could he help but worry?
How could he help but worry when the prosecution seemed so utterly unworried, for while Otto Jones could not discuss the case—and the prosecution lead attorney was very clear about that—he seemed to be interviewed daily on some station or other, always with the confidence of a man who has unlimited funds and resources behind him. Was there even the smallest shadow of a doubt that he, and his team—which is how he spoke of the prosecution—would win this case? No, there was not. Of course not. He wouldn’t go so far as to call it a formality, but he certainly implied that it was.
And so, fresh from another Jones interview, he would try again to dissuade her, but she refused to even listen. “Ananda,” she would answer. “Let it go.”
And he tried to let it go, to leave it all with Ruth, as she asked him to, but he failed. Instead he sought Clare’s advice. Was there anything else KCRI could do? Or any station? Some sort of campaign?
No, she told him. And believe me, I have tried to work an angle, but this was now a matter for the court. Ruth was, don’t forget, under house arrest. She could not talk about the case to any media. And the best Clare could do, she told him, was to muster as much media demand as possible to have the trial televised.
And that was the good news—well, that’s how Ruth saw it anyway, though Ananda was very much in two minds about it—that even those stations that sided with Jones and the prosecution, all wanted to provide live coverage, so as the trial date approached, the call for cameras in the court room was almost unanimous among U.S.—as well as world-wide—television.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said to her as he finally managed to let go any notion to do other than to trust and watch.
“I do,” she answered.
:
“I guess,” said Jones, “that there is no way to pull these lectures from the Internet?” It was a statement more than a question, and a rather ridiculous one at that, for he knew as well as anyone that the genie was out, had been for some time, and that there was no way for anyone to coax her back into the bottle.
Lara Matthews answered anyway, “There isn’t.”
Simmons, equipped with new sales figures—collected weekly now from her association members—looked out the window at the nearby mountains, as if suspecting the answers may lie somewhere among them. Then she looked back at the three folders on the table in front of
her, and passing one to each of Jones and Matthews said, “It’s worse than we, or anyone, had expected.”
She opened her folder, and waited for Jones and Matthews to open theirs. “As you can see,” she said. “It is obviously not only our members that are being hit by this meditation hysteria. Bayer, Merck, Pfizer, Eli Lily, they all are staring at not only declining but crashing sales. Pharmacies are not running out so the wholesalers are not running out, so there’s no new orders and no need to manufacture so much. This,” and she points at the graph of combined association sales for the last three weeks, “is not only disturbing. This is a catastrophe in the making.”
Jones cleared his throat as if he was going to say something, but didn’t. Instead he looked at that graph for a while, then turned a page and began examining another statistic.
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 h
er 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?”