Remember what Holly was like when she first came?”
Holly had been a bit like Melanie, a pretty girl who was attracted first to Priest and then to the commune.
Holly grinned ruefully. “I admit it. I was lazy. But eventually I started to feel bad about not pulling my weight. Nobody said anything to me. I just realized I’d be happier doing my fair share.”
Now Garden spoke. A former junkie, she was twenty-five but looked forty. “Melanie’s a bad influence. She talks to the kids about pop records and TV shows and trash like that.”
Priest said: “Obviously we need to have a discussion with Melanie about this when she gets back from San Francisco. I know she’s going to be very upset when she hears what Flower and Pearl have done.”
Dale was not satisfied. “What bugs a lot of us …”
Priest frowned. This sounded as if a group of them had been talking behind his back.
Dale swallowed. “Her mobile phone and computer.”
There was no power line into the valley, so they had few electrical appliances; and there had grown up a kind of puritanism about things like TV and videotapes. Priest had to listen to his car radio to hear the news. They had come to look down on anything electrical. Melanie’s equipment, which she recharged at the public library in Silver City by plugging into an outlet normally used for the vacuum cleaner, had drawn some disapproving stares. Now several people nodded agreement with Dale’s complaint.
There was a special reason why Melanie had to keep her mobile and her computer. But Priest could not explain it to Dale. He was not a Rice Eater. Although he was a full member of the group and had been here for years, Priest could not be sure he would go along with the earthquake plan. He might freak.
Priest realized he had to end this. It was getting out of control. Discontented people had to be dealt with one by one, not in a collective discussion where they reinforced one another.
But before he could say anything, Poem weighed in. “Priest, is there something going on? Something you’re not telling us about? I never really understood why you and Star had to go away for two and a half weeks.”
Song, supporting Priest, said: “Wow, that’s such a mistrustful question!”
The group was falling apart, Priest could see. It was the imminent prospect of having to leave the valley. There was no sign of the miracle he had hinted at. They saw their world coming to an end.
Star said: “I thought I told everyone. I had an uncle who died and left his affairs in a tangle, and I was his only relative, so I had to help the lawyers straighten everything out.”
Priest knew how to choke off a protest. He spoke decisively. “I feel we’re discussing these things in a bad atmosphere,” he said. “Does anyone agree with me?”
They all did, of course. Most of them nodded.
“What do we do about it?” Priest looked at his ten-year-old son, a dark-eyed, serious child. “What do you say, Ringo?”
“We meditate together,” the boy said. It was the answer any of them would give.
Priest looked around. “Does everyone approve of Ringo’s idea?”
They did.
“Then let’s make ourselves ready.”
Each of them assumed the position they liked. Some lay flat on their backs, others bent into a fetal curl, one or two lay as if sleeping. Priest and several others sat cross-legged, hands loose on their knees, eyes closed, faces raised to heaven.
“Relax the small toe of your left foot,” Priest said in a quiet, penetrating voice. “Then the fourth toe, then the third, then the second, then the big toe. Relax your whole foot … and your ankle … and then your calf.” As he went slowly around the body, a contemplative peace descended on the room. People’s breathing slowed and became even, their bodies grew more and more still, and their faces gradually took on the tranquillity of meditation.
Finally Priest said a slow, deep syllable: “Om.”
With one voice the congregation replied: “Omm …”
6
The meeting at the governor’s office was scheduled for twelve noon. Sacramento, the state capital, was a couple of hours’ drive from San Francisco. Judy left home at nine forty-five to allow for heavy traffic getting out of the city.
The aide she was to meet, Al Honeymoon, was a well-known figure in California politics. Officially cabinet secretary, he was in fact hatchet man. Any time Governor Robson needed to run a new highway through a beauty spot, build a nuclear power station, fire a thousand government employees, or betray a faithful friend, he got Honeymoon to do the dirty work.
The two men had been colleagues for twenty years. When they met, Mike Robson was still only a state assemblyman and Honeymoon was fresh out of law school. Honeymoon had been selected for his bad-guy role because he was black, and the governor had shrewdly calculated that the press would hesitate to vilify a black man. Those liberal days were long gone, but Honeymoon had matured into a political operator of great skill and utter ruthlessness. No one liked him, but plenty of people were scared of him.
For the sake of the Bureau, Judy wanted to make a good impression on him. It was not often that political types had a direct personal interest in an FBI case. Judy knew that her handling of this assignment would forever color Honeymoon’s attitude to the Bureau and to law enforcement agencies in general. Personal experience always had more impact than reports and statistics.
The FBI liked to appear all-powerful and infallible. But she had made so little progress with the case that it would be kind of difficult to play that part, especially to a hard-ass like Honeymoon. Anyway, it was not her style. Her plan was simply to appear efficient and inspire confidence.
And she had another reason for giving a good account of herself. She wanted Governor Robson’s statement to open the door to a dialogue with the Hammer of Eden. A hint that the governor might negotiate could just persuade them to hold off. And if they responded by trying to communicate, that might give Judy new clues to who they were. Right now it was the only way she could think of to catch them. All other lines of inquiry had led to dead ends.
She thought it might be difficult to persuade the governor to give this hint. He would not want to give the impression he would listen to terrorist demands, for fear of encouraging others. But there should be a way to word the statement so that the message was clear only to the Hammer of Eden people.
She was not wearing her Armani power suit. Instinct told her that Honeymoon was more likely to warm to someone who came on as a working Joe, so she had put on a steel gray pantsuit, tied her hair back in a neat knot, and carried her gun in a holster on her hip. In case that was too severe, she wore small pearl earrings that called attention to her long neck. It never did any harm to look attractive.
She wondered idly whether Michael Quercus found her attractive. He was a dish; shame he was so irritating. Her mother would have approved of him. Judy could remember her saying: “I like a man who takes charge.” Quercus dressed nicely, in an understated kind of way. She wondered what his body was like under his clothes. Maybe he was covered with dark hair, like a monkey: she did not like hairy men. Maybe he was pale and soft, but she thought not: he seemed fit. She realized she was fantasizing about Quercus in the nude, and she felt annoyed with herself.
She decided to call ahead and check the parking. She dialed the governor’s office on her cell phone and got Honeymoon’s secretary. “I have a twelve noon meeting with Mr. Honeymoon, and I’m wondering if I can park at the Capitol Building. I’ve never been to Sacramento before.”
The secretary was a young man. “We have no visitor parking at the building, but there’s a parking garage on the next block.”
