by Jake Devlin
“Back feeling better?”
“A little bit, still kinda tight down low. But this hot water and the jets feel great.”
“When we get out, I'll give you a massage if you think that'll help.”
“I'd like that. You're like the high priestess of massage.”
“Why, thank yuh, suh.”
“Oh, you know where the first priests probably came from?”
“You mean Catholic priests?”
“No, just generic, in general.”
“Like a priest class?”
“Yup, kinda like that.”
“Okay, I'll bite.”
“My guess is some caveman, soon after they developed a little bit of language, told another caveman that he knew something so secret that he couldn't tell anybody, but if he gave him a chicken” –
“A chicken?”
“Well, something like that; I just think 'chicken' is a funny word. Anyhow, if the guy gave him a chicken, he'd tell him the secret.”
“Like a little kid telling his sister, 'I know something you don't know, nyah-na-na-na-na-na,' and then letting her in on it if she gives him one of her toys or something?”
“Yup, sorta like that.”
“But what kind of secret?”
“Who knows? Could be anything our caveman could think of. A special way to cook eggs, a hidden place to hunt game, what happens to people after they die, or anything he could make up that he could sell as a mystery for which he had the answer.”
“A Neanderthal con man?”
“Oh, nice, Pam; good one. Yeah, a con man – or maybe a real inventor, like discovering fire or inventing the wheel.
“Anyway, he would only tell the secret to people who gave him a chicken or something of value.”
“'Ugh, want secret? Give chicken.'”
“Yup.”
“Um, want – wait. What then?”
“What when?”
“So he's got a chicken and he's told someone the secret. What then?”
“So now he's a priest, a secret-giver.”
“But will the guy give him another chicken now that he knows the secret?”
“Ah, hadn't thought that – well, he'd either have to come up with another secret or find new suckers – I mean customers – or” –
“Followers? Believers?”
“Sure, okay.”
“But the secret would have to be something that other cavemen couldn't find out on their own, so that hunting spot or cooking eggs or the wheel or fire probably wouldn't do. It'd have to be something that couldn't be discovered by just anybody.”
“Something that couldn't be proved one way or the other.”
“Right, something mysterious, unpro- – ah, something mystical.”
“Yup, that'd work, Pam. Something mystical. But he'd have to have a pretty compelling story.”
“Good marketing and PR.”
“Or a real compelling personality.”
“Charisma.”
“In a Neanderthal? Neanderthal charisma? What would that be, a loud grunt? The loudest roar?”
“Maybe just a big club.”
“But then he wouldn't need a secret; he'd just whack the other guy and take his chicken.”
“Or threaten to whack him.”
“Ah, Neanderthal extortion. Good one, Pam. But” –
“But? But what?”
“But that'd just be brute force, not a mystical secret. A thug, not a priest.”
“Ah, right.”
“But – lemme – ah; if the priest is successful, he might then hire the thug, give him something for protecting him.”
“Like a drumstick, maybe?”
“Or maybe a wing, or – or maybe he'd just let the thug bite the heads off all the chickens that came in.”
“Eww.”
- 68 -
June 29, 2013
9:57 a.m. local time
Undisclosed location
“Well, we've got some good news and some bad news, Doc. Which would you like first?”
“I haf a choice?”
“Of course.”
“Zen I guess ze bad news first.”
“Okay. We checked with the main office and your journals are nowhere to be found.”
“Vat? Impossible! Zey vere in ze monastery, und your peoples took zem avay viz all of my lab eqvipment.”
“Afraid not, Doc. They inventoried everything thoroughly as they packed it up, and the only journals they found were from this timeline.”
“Ach du lieber; scheiss. I don't believe you. Can I see zose journals for myself, at least?”
“Well, Doc, that's the good news.”
“Ja, Rona?”
“When we turn you back over to our clients next week, all of your lab equipment and your journals will go with you.”
“Nein, nein, nein – no, no, no, you cannot gif me back to zose Nazis!”
“Sorry, Doc. Orders are orders.”
“No, no, no!”
“And a contract is a contract.”
“But” –
“Sorry, Doc. No buts.”
“Look, Doc, we've come to like you, but there's nothing we can do.”
“Joel's right; no buts. Sorry.”
“Can I talk viz zem?”
“With whom?”
“Ze peoples zat made ze decision to gif me back.”
“No decision, Doc; it's a contract.”
“Please! Gif me a chance! I vill do anysing zey vant.”
“Sorry, Doc.”
“Wait a minute, Joel. Maybe” –
“Maybe vat?”
“I got an idea, Doc. Lemme talk with Joel a minute.”
“Ja, ja; I must use ze – ze bassroom.”
“Okay.
“Okay, Joel, I think he bought it.”
“Yeah; he's scared shitless of those people.”
“Good. So we go with Phase 2.”
“Your call, Rona. But I agree.”
“Okay.
“Okay, Doc, you can come back out now.”
“I need anudder minute.”
“Maybe he really is scared shitless.”
“Oh, Joel.”
“Sorry; couldn't resist.”
“I vill be right out.”
“Take your time, Doc.”
“Oh, Rona?”
“Yeah?”
“When we wrap up here, you wanna watch that new Elvis Parsley flick?”
“'Weight of the World'?”
“Yeah, the one with his wife, Potzz, and James Dean.”
“Don't know. With both of those guys pushing eighty and over four hundred pounds, they just don't have the sex appeal they did way back when. But the wife is cute, and so much younger than he is.”
“Isn't she? And he still has that great voice.”
“Yeah. But watching him try to gyrate his hips in that wheelchair is painful to watch. So I don't” –
“Oh, c'mon.”
“Okay, okay. Yeah.”
“Good.
“All set, Doc?”
“Ja, ja, all done. Now please tell me zis idea.”
“Okay. Sit down.”
“Zat's ze idea?”
“No, Doc; I just want you to sit down for this.”
“Ah, okay.”
“Good. Now, here's what we're thinking. There may – and I do mean 'may' – be a chance for you. Maybe if you write out all the reasons why you think they should not turn you back over, and we get it up the line, maybe – and again, only maybe – someone will read it who can stop the turnover.”
“Ja, ja, I can do zat, easy.”
“You also should put in all the details of how that kidnapping you set up happened: how you financed it, who you hired, how the thing was staged, where you went, and of course, how you got the gun and killed that guard. And the why for all of it.”
“Ja, ja, I can do zat, too.”
“And you'll have to be completely honest with everything. If they think you're not
telling the truth, they'll probably just go ahead and turn you back over. Got it?”
“Ja, ja, got it.”
“Good. You've got paper and pens, right?”
“Ja, ja.”
“Okay. We'll leave you to it, and we'll stop back in a couple of days, see how you're coming along.”
“Ja, ja; I should be done by zen.”
“Good. Okay; see ya.”
“Danke.”
“So what d'ya think, Joel?”
“I think he bought it. We'll see how much in a couple days.”
“Wyman, Dominika, he's all yours; keep a close eye on him, and if you can get any closeups of what he's writing, we'd appreciate it.”
“Yes, ma'am; we'll take good care of him.”
“Good. If you need us, we'll be in our quarters.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“C'mon, Joel. I'll make some popcorn while you get that flick ready to stream.”
“Extra butter on mine.”
“I know, I know.”
- 69 -
June 18, 2013
3:47 p.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“So fast-forward a few millenia and that priest class has evolved into a serious and fairly well-organized class of elites, passing out a limited view of a few of their secrets to the masses of peasants who keep bringing chickens and looking hopefully to the priests to help them feel better about their miserable lives, and the priests have built a whole mythology to ease their followers' anxieties, especially about the fact that they all know they're going to die at some point.
“And to reinforce the sheeple's continued loyalty and their own continuing supply of chickens, they set up lots of rules for behavior and a bunch of rituals to be repeated over and over and over … and over again.”
“And what about the thugs, the guys with the big clubs?”
“Well, by this point in time they're called soldiers, or guards … or whatever the word would be in – oh, in ancient Egyptian, just for one example. In any event, there's always some kind of force or show of force around any group of elites that claim to have some kind of secret mystical knowledge, both to enforce the rules the elites have set up to keep the serfs under control and to protect themselves from the peasants who might revolt or from any other threats to their belief systems or their status.”
“And maybe to force non-believers to join, right?”
“Yup, convert, surrender or die. I think Constantine did that back when the Nicene Creed was developed in – ah, in 325 AD or so. And think about the force and torture involved in the Inquisition.”
“And isn't that how the radical Islamists work, too?”
“Yup. And almost every set of elites would love to have that kind of power and control, be it religious or social or political or any of the many economic 'isms' that exist, from communism to socialism to capitalism. But whatever form it takes, it always includes some kind of force.”
“Enforcement, police or military power.”
“Yup. And that process is virtually the same in every secret society, to some degree, even if the content of their mythologies are totally different.”
“Process versus content. Hmm.”
“And then human nature rears its ugly head and people start to get greedy and competitive and aggressive.”
“Egos.”
“Yup. Go back to the Cold War; it was country level, CIA versus KGB. Today, Democrats versus Republicans; party level, opposition research and war rooms. International companies; business level, industrial espionage, sometimes hit teams. Boston versus New York, baseball level, rabid fans, informal. Same process, different content.”
“'My club's bigger than yours.'”
“Yup. And so 'I'm better than you.'”
“'I'm right and you're wrong.'”
“'I'm okay, you're a jerk.'”
“'My secret's better'n yours, nyah-na-na-na-na-na.'”
“You got it, Pam, you got it. But all of that discord and aggression is damned good for our business.”
“Security and bodyguards.”
“And the surveillance biz, and the assassination side, too. Oh, the R&D and manufacturing businesses, of course. Always trying to stay ahead of the game.
“And it's also been good for a business we're not really in.”
“Yeah? Which would be?”
“The conspiracy theory industry.”
- 70 -
May 11, 2014
12:16 p.m. local time
Bonita Beach, Florida
“Sorry; I can't get that image out of my mind.”
“I know, Ro, I know.”
“Disgusting Neanderthal.”
“I know. And crude.”
“When I put him in my novel, I de-cruded him somewhat.”
“Really? How?”
“Well, in the first and third questions, instead of 'fuck,' I had Monty say 'have sex with,' and then I changed the second question to 'And will this guy be able to give me a great orgasm?' His answer was 'Absolutely.' And his answer to the third question was 'Probably.' But I left the rest pretty much as what Frank said.”
“I can't believe women actually fall for that.”
“They do, Ro, they do; you just saw one.”
“I know, but” --
“And, Rosemary, in spite of his crudity, he gets right down to a very basic, built-in instinct: the mating instinct, and the fact that sex is supposed to be pleasurable. Maybe to balance out the real pain of childbirth. It's how we, and most all animals, evolved.”
“Or were created, for those who believe in that.”
“Ah, right, Gordy; don't want to offend anyone, do we?”
“Had some experience with some of 'em, Dallas.”
“'Never argue with a zealot,' huh?”
“Got that right.”
“And in spite of all the sophistication and pseudo-sophistication society has built up, and the prudishness and pseudo-prudishness, when you dig deep, all beauty regimens and fashion have the same underlying goal: to attract and keep a mate. And that goes for both men and women.”
“You know, Dallas, Gordy's had several men asking about Pam and JJ and the Mimosa Twins, and he's told them they're all just fictional, too.”
“But Jill and Carie are real, right? I mean, I've met them.”
“Yup, they're real, and they are sisters, not twins, only sisters. But I just used their names.”
“And their nicknames for each other.”
“Oh, right, Ro, right; Jillybean and Carie Berry. QH'd that.”
“How about Pam and JJ?”
“I've been getting a LOT of guys asking to meet them, especially since 'Defiance' came out ... with the part you wrote.”
“The one you put online?”
“Yup.”
“But are they real?”
“Sorta. I met a woman here when I was writing the Donne book, and I split her into both characters, different sides of her personality. She was Mrs. Ohio or Illinois or something in 1985 or 6 or 7, I think, and at 57, she still was stunning. Blonde and bright, gorgeous, sexy as hell, lives in South Carolina, I think; somewhere up there. And she had a wild and raunchy sense of humor. She told me the rodeo position joke within the first five minutes after I first met her.”
“The rodeo position joke?”
“Right, Ro; the one I had Paul tell at the first boat parade party.”
“I don't” –
“In the first book, Ro.”
“'Hang on for eight seconds,' Rosemary?”
“I – oh, right, Dallas, I think I remember it … I think.”
“Anyhow, she was here for a month or so one summer, and she's been back a couple of times since then, just for a few days each time. I don't think either of you ever met her.”
“I think I saw her once or twice.”
“You did, Ro?”
“I think so. I remember pointing her out to Barbara or Janet or somebody when she was talking with you, and
we noticed that when she was, she would take off some bit of clothing, like a sarong or coverup, and she was wearing a teeny red bikini.”
“Really? I don't remember that, other than the red bikini.”
“Bet that triggered your mating instinct, Gordy.”
“Uh” –
“Careful now.”
“I know, Ro. But at an instinctive level, yeah, I guess it did.”
“Built in, Rosemary; men can't help it.”
“Nor can women, Ro. Right, Dallas?”
“Right.”
“I don't” –
“Really, it's true, Rosemary, if you dig deep and think about it. But with men, it's more the visual stimulus than for women.”
“I think I'd agree with that, Ro.”
“Well, I guess I -- I'll have to think about that a lot more.”
“Hey, Dallas, got an idea for you. And, Ro, you might like this.”
“What might I like?”
“How about this? You said lots of women were wanting to meet your Monty character, right?”
“Yeah, hundreds of 'em.”
“Well, how about not telling 'em he's fictional? Instead, tell 'em he's real, he's usually on Bonita Beach and his real name is Frank?”
“No, Gordy, no! You'd only be sending him more victims.”
“Victims, Rosemary?”
“Yeah, Dallas; victims.”
“But it's their choice, isn't it?”
“I can't – I – he's a Neanderthal!”
“Some women like that, Ro.”
“Oh, Gordy, then they're stupid and gullible.”
“I agree, Ro, but I wasn't thinking of it like that. I was thinking maybe Frank would finally get totally worn out and quit. And if it brought more tourists to Bonita, that'd be good, right?”
“Well, I – yeah, but” –
“Hadn't thought about that part, Gordy. But Monty did get beaten up in my book; seven of the women ganged up on him.”
“Did they kill him, castrate him?”
“No, Rosemary, but it did leave him impotent.”
“He shoulda died.”
“Sorry; that would have been too easy. He lost what was most valuable to him. And he never got it back.”
“Well, that's something, I guess.”
“And he wound up with dementia, died in an institution six years later.”
“How old?”
“53, 54, I think, something like that.”
