Goddesses Never Die

by George B Mair

  She looked carefully towards Grant, assessing his every reaction. ‘Already they’ve got at least eleven pilots addicted to LSD and they figure to find out how to fuse enough bombs to scare the pants off anyone who opposes them. U.S. nuclear devices are very sophisticated fuse-wise. But the Mafia can get round almost anything, and even that can be done when the time comes.’

  Grant drew a deep breath. ‘So what can we do?’

  Harmony smiled broadly. ‘You know that as well as we do. This Boo-hoo phoney has to be bumped; any mafiosa guard which may be around has to be liquidated; a depot holding tons of both acid and pot has to be blown up or destroyed and we’ve to get the names of those pilots. The world may be in a mess, but the sort of hippie paradise the Mafia aims at would be worse.

  ‘The Mafia began long ago with real classy intentions, to protect Sicily against corruption by invading powers, but now the thing’s gone screwy and it aims at world power. Make no mistake, David. They aim at being the power behind the Presidential chairs in every country which matters. The Crown would go in England, not forgetting Iran and Cambodia. There would be a global upheaval, but the puppet front to this upheaval will be an old woman who is being put across as the new Messiah. And with her history and know-how she can do it well enough to convince even some top political brass. In fact a few have already met her and she sold them the message: liberation from fear; peace and goodwill through all the world; control of China by elimination of the so called baddies, and a new Russia in Asia worshipping at the feet of the Mother Goddess while Columbia television teams fly to the high mountains to photograph her in her glory and sell the story to the West’s sick, sad, sensation-drugged society. And that’s how they figure it will go. But leaving the Mafia with world control of dope, a non-stop unending market for drugs, and the destruction of all that remains of decent religious principles. Free love will take the place of marriage; acid will replace wine at sacraments; Boo-hoo hippies will take confessional and tell their victims what to do . . . which could mean rubbing out undesirables, bumping off “straights” as a penance; and, above all, a crazy mixed-up brew of tainted Hindu-Buddhism will be fused to a few Christian beliefs to make the new faith acceptable to all the West. So this is religion gone haywire, though tailor-made to suit the deepest perversions of the masses. But the goddam thing is that it shows signs of working.’

  ‘How come?’ asked Grant curtly.

  Harmony became more serious. ‘Remember the Tashkent conference? When the goodies tried to square that Kashmir affair? President Ayub was a fabulous guy, but at least one junior was nobbled and later disciplined into doing anything.

  ‘Then Macau. Remember the 1966 disturbances? Some of that was controlled from Peking, but there were a few free-lances who were hep on kif and they alone made enough converts to start an underground movement. One day Peking may find that this little Portuguese enclave is now a Trojan Horse.

  ‘Nor should we forget Hong Kong. Kowloon’s walled city is a city within a city. Probably not even we would get into it for long. And why? Because it’s filled with addicts trained to jump when the boss man gives the order. And one day an uprising could throw the British into Stanley Bay or Typhoon Shelter, leaving a hippy-Mafia caucus of dangerous men to run the show.

  ‘Then there’s Vietnam. The V.C. behaved pretty good till 1968 when they began a series of atrocities which shocked even hardened newsmen. But the leaders of these bands who chopped their own nationals in the delta were also hippy-Mafia types. And it is because some broke under questioning that we really got on to this at all.’

  Grant suddenly interrupted. ‘Who are “we”?’

  Harmony studied her thumbnail and then lit another cigarillo. ‘Okay. I’ll be frank. America has links with south-east Asia, and I work for one of them. In a way I’m a sort of Amer-Asian opposite number to yourself.’

  ‘And Lu?’

  The man spoke softly and almost self-effacingly. ‘I work alone because Mongolia has few people like myself. I was trained in America chiefly, but I’m now working as a free-lance for any organisation which will try to liberate my country, one part from Russia and the other from China. My aim is a united independent Mongolia. And right now my interests lie with Miss Dove.’

  ‘A difficult job,’ said Grant quietly. ‘But where do you come in vis-à-vis this Mother Goddess creature?’

  Lu shrugged his shoulders. ‘At first thought she might seem a good idea, a sort of rallying point for forces which would free both the U.S.S.R. and China from their present rulers. But I look a little further. If she succeeded it would be to drive my people into the hands of the Mafia. Moreover,’ he added curtly, ‘I am a Hinayana Buddhist, so I must fight people who try to corrupt my faith.’

  The idea made sense as Grant looked on Lu with a new respect. And then: ‘Sorry, Harmony. You were saying?’

  The girl was still serious. ‘Then there’s this colour problem in the States. Some of the Negro leaders are also addicts. And addiction is a funny thing. A character called Dr. Louis J. West has said that in the States “Marijuana is the glue which holds the hippie movement together and LSD the sacrament that provided it with spiritual identity.” But there is more than that to addiction. Marijuana isn’t so frightfully dangerous, but if you are weak-minded you promote yourself to LSD, which is a damn sight more dangerous. And from there it’s a short step to “speed” or the methadrines which are even more damaging, while in the end most of them have a go with heroin and get really caught, because that one is a killer. But LSD kills unborn generations. It alters sex chromosomes and can make an addict propagate a degenerate species with ballsed-up emotions and physique. In fact one real heavy session on LSD can produce a child with congenital malformations and a nutty brain, while by that time the parent is having hallucinations or depression, or both. So we’ve got to kill this thing at source or else there’ll be an epidemic of retarded children in the States worse by a thousand times than what the world saw from thalidamide.’

  ‘And where is the source?’ asked Grant gently. ‘Not in these parts, surely! If I were you I’d try Palermo or Messina, because Palermo is virtually the capital city of the Mafia.’

  Harmony grinned. ‘We’re way ahead of you, David. That angle will “go” automatically as soon as we get the names. Rome will co-operate and Washington should clean up the Capo Nostra. So everything hinges on that.’

  But Grant knew that this could be impossible, since, in the Mafia set-up, a ‘buffer’ was used to transmit orders from the capo and top brass to underlings who carried out instructions. And it was this technique which protected top Mafia from the law.

  ‘You forget something,’ said Harmony gently. ‘In this we are the law. Given the names, the rest becomes easy.’

  ‘So what’s the next step?’ Grant felt that the girl had a planned campaign at her finger-tips and would operate on schedule. ‘And can you rely on Charlie to get rid of Sammy? Not to mention Narain? Will he talk when he finds he’s a guest short?’ Another thought crossed his mind. ‘Then there’s the bearer! He kidded he was sleeping. But he must have heard the shots. Can you square him? Seems to me there’s too many people with some dirt on each of us. Can they all be squared?’

  Lu nodded agreeably. ‘Have some more tea, Doctor. But as you were saying. They can be squared. The bearer is a Hinayana Buddhist and will do as I tell him. While Narain is also one of us, but scared of a Chinese take-over along Tibetan lines. He also dislikes hippies, in spite of what he said to you this afternoon.’ Ly smiled sourly. ‘You must forgive, but we discussed your conversation before making this approach.’

  Grant mentally recapped, and then: ‘Tomorrow one of us must go to the Park in the hope that we can be mistaken for Coia. Maybe we can change his passport photograph for one of my own. But if we get the addresses and names he mentioned it could be a help.’

  Harmony nodded agreement. ‘That’s a must. And then we strike camp, make by car for an airstrip and touch down eventually near the M
other Boo-hoo.’

  Grant smiled. ‘Travelling as hippies?’

  ‘Sure. And without asking for permits to leave the valley. Lu knows a taxi-man who will avoid check points and get us into open country without fuss.’

  ‘After which?’ said Grant.

  ‘After which we play it by ear and end up in an aircraft.’ Harmony rose to her feet and nodded towards Lu. ‘I want a word with the doctor.’

  The man touched his fingers in front of his chest and walked backwards to the door. ‘My house is yours and I’ll be in my work-room if you need me.’

  They watched the door close and then the girl sauntered over towards Grant. ‘You feel you can work with me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You feel that you can work with Lu?’

  Grant smiled thinly. ‘Of course.’

  She studied him thoughtfully. ‘You take things cool. Maybe too cool. You don’t register enough emotion.’

  ‘Takes all kinds to make the world,’ said Grant quietly. ‘But I can move when I have to. What bothers you?’

  Harmony whistled a few bars from Traviata. ‘You like women.’ It was a statement of fact and not a question.

  ‘Of course. But I’m fastidious. Only some women.’

  ‘And I’m one?’

  He waved his hands expressively. ‘Probably.’

  ‘And you want me?’ Her voice was flat, neutral and her eyes half-closed.

  ‘Until you warned me off. Now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘So you aren’t loyal to either of your mistresses.’

  He flushed slightly. ‘We’ve got a clear understanding. They don’t expect to monopolise me. So, like Lu, I’m free-lance.’

  Harmony stubbed out her cigarillo. ‘They say that professional dancing partners can’t reach the top unless they sleep together. In this racket maybe a couple who must work together can’t really estimate each other’s potential till they’ve done the same. Or am I wrong?’

  Grant forced a smile, though his tongue had suddenly gone dry.

  ‘You see,’ she continued, ‘we’re going to operate using off-the-cuff techniques. Now if they are going to work, or if we are going to be a team, we’ve got to know each other better. I want to know how you react to things. I want to judge your stamina. I want to see how you respond to the unexpected. And if you’re wise you’ll want to know the same. Our lives might even depend on some snap estimate of how the other one ticks. Or am I wrong?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Grant at last. The girl had him guessing.

  She held out a hand. ‘Then stand up and let’s hit the hay. We’ve a lot to learn about a lot of things before morning.’

  ‘And Lu?’ said Grant quietly.

  Harmony laughed aloud. ‘Lu is my man. I’ve already told him to have his best guest-room prepared: and we checked you out of Narain’s an hour ago. Everything is nicely legal and this could be a sort of honeymoon.’

  Grant looked at her sourly. ‘Honey, chile,’ he said at last, ‘this might be a honeymoon without the honey before we’re finished.’ Another thought crossed his mind. ‘Charlie! Can he be trusted?’

  The girl’s grip on his hand tightened. ‘His wife is soon to have a baby and he knows that if he rats on us Lu will have him destroyed. Charlie should be okay.’

  ‘And my baggage?’

  ‘Right beside my shortie nightie, David. Lu had it brought over while I was talking. Everything’s under control, so are you. Coming?’

  He looked her over impersonally. ‘I’m coming. Though for me blood and honey don’t mix too well. But I’ll see you so far.’

  Her hands flickered down his thighs. ‘I’m sure you’ll play good, David. But I’m not an easy lay. Or did I say that before? Tonight you work for your honey.’

  Chapter Five – ‘I like being on top’

  Lu appeared as though by magic as Harmony angled Grant towards a staircase which led to sleeping quarters and baths. The Mongol had the usual Asiatic gift for being unobtrusive, but Grant had begun to feel that he had also a ‘thousand and one nights’ flair for appearing like a djinn when he was least wanted. ‘You have come to an arrangement, Miss Dove?’

  His voice was carefully non-accented, but there was the faintest query at the end of the sentence.

  ‘Sure,’ she nodded, ‘and get one of your boys to fix tea in around fifteen minutes. Okay?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Unless Dr. Grant would prefer something stronger.’

  Grant shook his head. There were times in life when it could be an advantage to remain in full control of all one’s faculties, and he had an instinct that this was one of them. ‘But I would like to know what happened to Coia,’ he said. ‘Or is it so easy to get quit of a body in Nepal?’

  Harmony smiled with unexpected mischief. ‘For some people almost anything is easy. Charlie has friends, and by now Coia should be sizzling beneath a fire somewhere on the hills. He was taken up to a camp where Charlie has pull and I imagine he ought to be fairly well cremated before we hit the hay.’

  Grant stared at Lu with unabashed curiosity. ‘You feel he can be trusted?’

  ‘No man can be fully trusted,’ said Lu, ‘but you may sleep better knowing that we have some influence over Charlie. He is particularly attached to his wife, so we offered her better quarters than that miserable hovel and now she’s staying in a house controlled by one of my friends. A good doctor is seeing her daily, and she’ll go back to Charlie when the baby is a week or two old. He will see her soon, but make the journey blindfold, and he will find that she is living—by his standards—in luxury. You see,’ said Lu apologetically, ‘one has sometimes to think of everything and Charlie’s most vulnerable point is his wife. Then, of course, he likes money and will be paid well when my own witnesses among the hill tribe confirm that he has carried everything out according to plan.’

  ‘And that damage to the bathroom floor?’ said Grant. ‘When Harmony was shooting a cockroach through the left eye?’

  Lu nodded with understanding. ‘Repaired before Narain returns in the morning.’

  ‘And the bath?’

  ‘Cleaned, Doctor. Relax. Everything is arranged. We have several people available when trouble breaks and all are reliable. Tonight’s affair was quite unimportant.’

  ‘And the immigration authorities?’

  Lu again waved his hands expressively. ‘Narain’s guest-room account has been squared. He will simply notify the powers-that-be that Coia left unexpectedly. A search will then be mounted and nothing will be discovered.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Grant.

  ‘Because a well-founded rumour will soon reach the Minister of Internal Security suggesting that Coia is wanted by Interpol—which he is—that he did a moonlight flitting, and that he was last seen heading for Nagarot, which is about eighteen miles east and over seven thousand feet up. Local enquiries will suggest that an unidentified man arrived this morning and went off on a solo climb. It will be assumed that he has fallen into some ravine and that he will lie there for eternity.’

  Grant paused. ‘You rely on several people.’

  Harmony squeezed his arm. ‘But they are our people, David. So relax and come to bed. Tea later, Lu. We want a bath first.’ She smiled slightly, a swift, enigmatic smile which failed to touch her eyes, and then Lu was gone, gliding towards kitchen premises while Harmony pointed upstairs. ‘A bath, then tea and we’ll see what sort of man you really are, David. Coming?’

  He touched her arm and silently they walked on a long, putty-coloured, Tibetan carpet which covered polished wood. The bedroom was vast and commanding a view towards the gardens. A balcony suggested an ideal place for breakfast, and the bed was a four-poster in crimson lacquer with heavy brocade side curtains.

  ‘Worth a packet,’ said Harmony easily. ‘Provided, of course, you could get it back home. Early nineteenth century and with a mattress that feels like an air cushion. Lu does his guests well, and there will be some small chow with tea. So you won’t go hungry
. But first a good wash.’

  The bathroom was larger than the average British bedroom. The bath itself was sunk to near floor level and large enough to hold three or four people. Its duck-egg blue tiles fitted faultlessly with hardly an overlapping edge, and there was an abundant supply of hot water.

  Harmony turned on the taps and walked towards Grant. ‘My zip, David. This top needs an acrobatic act to fix if I’ve no assistance.’

  Grant slowly drew down the zip as the girl turned round. She dropped the top with a deft wriggle of her shoulders and lifted her arms. ‘Ease this shift thing over my head. I wore it because the temperature dropped ten degrees after Karachi and I was a bit cold, but Lu’s got central heating going so now I’m okay. But mind my hair-do.’

  He cautiously stretched the neck and slipped the singlet over her silver hair which had been caught up by the clasp on the side of her head. And then she deftly undid it to let a cascade of silver drop over her breasts. ‘On second thoughts I’ll wash it. Lot of dust around today.’ She pointed to her pants. ‘Maid me, David. A zip down the side and then I’ll be free, white and twenty-nine.’

  Grant still played it cool, though the sight of the girl’s long lean thorax excited him and the touch of her tawny skin was awakening desires which could become important. He zipped her down from waist to ankle, slipped off her sandals as she lifted each foot, and breathed the more heavily when she stepped out of her orange pants. Her figure was faultless. Each muscle was defined like that of an anatomist’s model, and he saw that her limbs were built on Olympics lines. She was, at worst, a trained athlete, and at best a near champion.