Goddesses Never Die

by George B Mair

  ‘Every dame who figures on marriage will do what the sacred tarts did in Acro-Corinth. For one day they’ll be forced to give themselves to anybody who fancies them. It will be an act of giving. And they’ll be hep on either kif or acid, or both. Which should mean a first-class public orgy, which should trigger off a lot on onlookers. And boysy boy! These dames should lay eggs of every colour even within my own lifetime. The Mother Goddess will become a fall guy, conditioned and hypnotised into doing what we say. She’ll hang out in the Jerusalem Temple, and what she or her successor says will go. But what she says’ll be what I say. And that’s how it’ll tick.’

  Grant stared at him with open interest. ‘You seem pretty sure of yourself.’

  Lofty smiled. ‘I am. Because right now I’m still carrying stuff which could knock out most of the mob outside. And it’s so well camouflaged that not even the old woman’s spies could have rumbled it.’

  Grant looked at him steadily. ‘Care to wise me up?’

  Lofty eased himself in his chair and grinned. ‘Maybe. But in my own time. Meanwhile let it ride that I can drop these guards with total safety, make the chopper, and even kill most of the crowd. Including you,’ he added gently. ‘So take it from there, Grant, because in my estimate you’ve got about one hour maximal to live. And I’m not kidding.’

  Grant nodded. The penny had dropped. Lofty was carrying five aces and calling the trumps. He pressed a bell and stood up. ‘Now the girl,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve been told that she could be carrying my child, so I’m kind of interested.’

  Lofty smiled. ‘You’ll be more than that before we’re finished. But ring by all means and we’ll have the next session à trois. So over to you, because this is going to be fun to watch.’

  Mehmet Ali appeared within one minute of ringing the bell and glanced round with an expert eye. ‘So you’ve come to some sort of understanding. Or is it a case of eating and drinking because shortly one of you may die?’

  Lofty raised his glass of orange juice. ‘Death is the only thing so common as birth, and the only thing more common than birth is conception. So why worry about death? What’s the difference between one year or ten to men who live fully, and when one thinks in terms of eternity? Be your age, Mehmet Ali, but if you feel like a small bet I’ll wage a grand at five to one that you get drunk on nectar and play an electric harp before I do.’

  ‘Miss Dove,’ said Grant curtly. ‘Keep to business. You said we could meet her and this seems to be a suitable time from our angle if it’s okay by her.’

  The Turk again smiled, but this time with genuine amusement. ‘All times are suitable for Miss Dove when she decides to allow others to work out their destiny. She simply waits until they ask. And when they ask, then she gives.’ He bowed politely. ‘She should join you in a moment, and a boy will bring some passion-fruit juice. That is her favourite drink and we always keep some in the deep freeze in case she drops in. But if you gentlemen wish something stronger you’re very welcome.’

  Lofty shrugged his shoulders. ‘Loading the dice? Alcohol, my boy, is just the job when there isn’t something cooking or when a guy isn’t in the hot seat. But alcohol won’t help our thinking processes much, and I’ve a hunch we’re going to have to think good. Or am I wrong?’

  Mehmet nodded politely. ‘It is possible that you may have to do even more than think. But you are welcome to anything.’

  Grant broke the silence which followed. He knew his own reactions to alcohol to a T, and that incredible book, Gods, Men and Wine, written by Dennis Wheatley’s stepson, William Younger, had been an essential part of his reading for years. ‘A double daiquiri,’ he said. ‘With not more than one dash of Angostura bitters. And on the rocks.’

  Mehmet spoke rapidly to a youth near the door and as the boy trotted off at the double he switched off the air-conditioning. ‘Miss Dove prefers when it is a little warm,’ he explained. ‘But she will put it on again if you wish.’

  The girl arrived while he was speaking and all three men turned, involuntarily, to stare. She was now wearing a form-fitting gown of Chinese silk brocade cut with mandarin collar and gathered at the waist with a golden sash, but woven with an intricate design of cockle-shells, tiny golden fishes with turquoise fins, and faultlessly designed doves whose white sheen was enriched by the deep purple of the material. Her shoes were of crimson velvet trimmed with gold braid, and an orange hood, knotted under the chin, framed her ovoid features, while the sheerly silken hair which was one of her strongest physical attractions cascaded almost to her waist.

  The blend of colours was irrational and would have clashed on almost any other person, but the incredible sheen of her silver hair somehow blended everything into a synthesis of perfection. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘now that you’ve stared for long enough how about offering me a seat?’

  Lofty was first to move, but he contented himself with edging his own chair a shade further away from Grant to make room between them. ‘Since when did you ever want a man to help you in anything?’ he said dryly, while Grant stood up, fixed the cushions on a deep divan and motioned for her to sit down.

  She smiled amiably and Grant saw that she was half-laughing at him. ‘My dossier says that your manners are always perfect when you want something. This time it seems to be me, so what had you in mind?’

  Grant remembered her obsession that they must tick along the same lines, and her apparent satisfaction when she had told him how she felt that they had reached some peculiar rapport which seemed to give her confidence. ‘This man,’ he said slowly, watching her eyes for every flicker of expression, ‘has an idea that the world is set for global revolution, that he figures to be the boss man of the future and that the Mafia’s going to set up a sort of combined temple and switched-on United Nations H.Q. in Jerusalem. Seems he’s got an idea that the old lady can be made to play his game and that enough people have been got at to guarantee success plus a new religion.’

  ‘Plus,’ said Lofty briefly, ‘a new God and a new set of commandments. In fact, a new sort of way of living which might eliminate the colour bar, cut out major wars, stop currency catastrophies and establish a new set of values. All clear?’

  The girl nodded. ‘All clear. And old hat. My people suspected that a few years back, began to get proof by the late ‘sixties and finally taped you in various places this month. You score on only one count. None of us expected you to break one of the first Mafia rules and come up here with no buffer to take the rap if someone rumbled you.’ She paused and glanced for a second towards Lofty. ‘There must have been some pretty big motive to make you break cover and take even one far out chance of being rumbled.’

  ‘Not really,’ he said, though his eyes hardened. ‘Some business is so big that only the top man can cope. I’ve already told Grant that from time to time all of us in this racket have to take a chance. So I took mine and I’ve done it before up here. But the stakes made it worth while.’

  ‘The stakes being?’ asked Grant curiously.

  Lofty shrugged his shoulders. ‘You murdered some of my key men. Or rather that old buzzard did. And we had come to collect her. If you’ve heard any news flashes you’ll know that things have begun to happen. So the minute she hits the West and has her first television interview we’re all set.’

  Both Grant and the girl stiffened with interest. ‘Your own set-up, or have you bought time?’ asked Grant.

  He laughed. ‘I’ve got enough TV stations laced to cover the world, plus gadgets laid on to neutralise every other mike on the air. We’ll beam everything on familiar wavelengths, but my own back-room boys have fixed a device which can let our own sound and vision through while still blocking others even on the same frequency, which is pretty remarkable. So I figure to clean up. The world will get the impression that it’s watching the usual channels, and since our organisation is pretty slick we aim to have a minimal sixty hours clear before the real story behind the news breaks. But by that time we’ll have taken over everything that matt
ers.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked Harmony gently.

  Lofty waved his hands expressively. ‘Paris and London, New York and Dallas, Buenos Aires and Sydney, not forgetting Tokyo, Moscow, New Delhi, Teheran, Cairo and Rome.’ He relit his pipe. ‘And I was forgetting,’ he added, ‘we’ve got stations in Hong Kong, Andorra, Cape Town, Madrid and Brasilia. So—to coin a phrase—we cover the world. And,’ he added dryly. ‘I’ll let you into another secret, since it won’t help you. We’ve got a character actor who, when he’s made up, is the spit image of H.H. the Pope. So can you imagine the sensation there’ll be when His Holiness is seen greeting that old dame on the goggle-box.’ He puffed contentedly at his pipe. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. We’ve also got doubles for the Patriarch of all the Russias, the Greek Big Boy, Nasser and Hussein, even Castro and the White House mob. And then, of course, we’ve had to think about Africa, so two or three coons have been squared and we’ve also got a passable double for the Secretary of U.N.O.’ He sighed with the deep satisfaction of a man who has thought of everything and knows that he holds all the aces. ‘Squares have sometimes asked what would happen if Christ came back to earth and was interviewed on telly. And the answer’s always been pat. Not one solitary living creature would believe him. Not even if he turned the Beatles into a miraculous quartette of Daddy Long Legs. But no one has ever asked what could happen if Christ or some other God like that old bitch we saw this morning was given red-carpet treatment by just about all the world leaders who matter. The result should be sensational. Especially when orders come over the air to rub out all opposition as heretics and erase the five per cent establishments which matter.’

  ‘And meanwhile,’ asked Harmony gently, ‘where will these other people be? In jail or something?’

  Lofty grinned. ‘Or something. They fade. Pronto. And teams have been laid on to see there’s no mistake. Take it from me, Grant,’ he said seriously, ‘this time we can’t lose.’

  Grant’s mind was working overtime. The thing was possible—given apparatus which could jam normal broadcasting yet let through other waves on the same beam; given that there was a team of expert actors to impersonate world leaders; given that the actors could put across a message of revolution; and given that the real leaders were bumped off in some strictly private fashion. Only one small point still interested him. ‘How about money? That set-up must have cost a fortune.’

  Lofty grinned. ‘We’ve been saving for two generations to get this going. Ever since a far-sighted predecessor of mine saw the possibilities of a goggle-box. Then we’ve got enough millionaires who’d like to add a few zeros to the fortunes. So they chipped in the odd million as an investment. Not forgetting, of course, that crime does pay. How many millions did the U.K. ever get back out of the mail-train robbery? That was a fortune for someone. And the same goes for the whole world. So there’s no cash shortage. And since scientists work in a kind of dwam, except that a lot are fed up with low salaries and so forth, it wasn’t too difficult to get the right men organised to fix the radio angle.’

  ‘And so,’ said Harmony, ‘where do we go from here?’

  Lofty again smiled. But this time both Harmony and Grant knew that it was exclusively for the benefit of guards who had now become a shade less alert. ‘This time,’ he said mockingly, ‘I walk out with the Mother Goddess, and most people here die the death—including you two.’

  Grant found himself tense with anticipation. ‘You sound pretty cocksure,’ he said at last.

  Lofty nodded and slowly tapped out the ash from his briar. ‘I am. And I guess you’ve got a short time to live. But you’ve got that only because I want to know a few things too. And since I’ve been so free with my own information the least you can do is to say “snap” and wise me up for a change. One point only.’ He pointed to Harmony’s clothes. ‘This rig’s got a reason behind it. So if you want to die quick tell me the story. But if you want it slow, nice and lingering like, then try to pull a fast one.’ He watched her feet fidget restlessly and pressed his advantage. ‘Start now or you go fast—and permanent.’

  Chapter Ten – ‘You almost made me angry’

  Grant had prepared himself for almost anything which could happen, but Harmony’s approach was one of the least expected. She remained apparently relaxed, though swinging her left foot a little but with her face serene as ever. ‘My clothes mean a lot. Purple isn’t only a symbol of royalty it’s a colour which some experts in the supernatural associate with “evil”. Cockle-shells and fish represent a part of ancient Crete where the Mother Goddess worshipped by the Kings of Minos had a cadre of priestesses who symbolised the Goddess’s power over everything in the sea. But if you look carefully you’ll spot that my golden sash looks like a serpent, symbol of the Goddess’s control over everything on the surface of the earth. While the doves, of course, show what she can do for the fowl of the air. So this gown is really a trinity of symbols showing my power over everything. But there’s more to it than that because these doves are the doves of Picasso; the doves of peace; the doves of left-wing socialists; the doves, if you like, of idealists who want to change things. So does that answer your question?’

  The Australian stared at her sarcastically. ‘No. Why do you wear them? What’s cooking?’

  ‘Because,’ said Harmony, ‘it can also be used as a sort of uniform, and it’s so commanding that almost any girl with a slim figure and long hair could wear it so as to be mistaken for myself. People will look first at the clothes, and only later at a face, which is not very well seen when hair falls all round it as mine does.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning simply that at least fifty other girls all over the world are wearing the same things right now while we speak. You see,’ she added slowly, ‘you made one mistake. We didn’t expect you to touch Nepal, but we did know that you were off to the Far East. So we followed you, and my people marked all that you did both in Karachi and New Delhi. Though I’ll agree that you did a dramatic disappearance there and had us all guessing until you turned up at the Park to meet Sam Coia. But that was partly because we were preoccupied with other things: especially your capo near Agra with whom you spent just over three days.’

  Lofty’s eyes had darkened, but his voice had become suddenly low and sinister. ‘How did you know he is a capo?’ he said at last.

  ‘Was,’ said Harmony gently. ‘Was. Not is. You may or may not have known that his family were worried because his memory was said to be failing. Or is that news to you? Anyhow his medico is one of our staff people and on a biggish salary, since he treats a lot of Asiatic high-ups, though he’s now earned all he was ever paid by one news flash. Because it meant that your man couldn’t possibly have remembered all your instructions. Anyhow, using drugs the medico got one fact which really mattered. Your man had had your conversation taped in case he slipped up on something, and he had later transcribed the tape to paper and made a series of micro-dots. So our only real problem was to find the micro-dots.’ She smiled with genuine mirth. ‘Easy when you know how, isn’t it? Anyhow, it came out on questioning under pentothal or something that the micro-dots had been put into the sort of capsule they use for sleeping pills and then sewn inside the seam of an overcoat. This coat usually hung in a cloakroom near the front door of the capo’s villa so the doctor paid a routine visit to the family one evening and went off with the wrong garment. Returning, of course, in the morning to explain his mistake and collect his own. But meanwhile having given the capsule to my own people, one of whom had done a trip to the Taj from Delhi just to be handy in case something broke.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Do you want me to underline everything in red ink? None of us are children. One of our experts blew the dots up, got the story translated and referred to H.Q. for comment. And the story, as you can guess, was pretty well all you’ve said here. Or what I figure you must’ve said here. It was a broad outline of a plan plus some detail about the location of your telly stations, and fell short o
n only one thing. You hadn’t told him where you had placed the jamming devices. So it became kind of urgent to cope with the very real possibility that somehow you might get a message across to the world.

  ‘Now the world, it seemed to us, would be more keen on a goddess that looked easy on the eye than on an old woman turning the scales at two hundred pounds plus. So some fast-organising got this rig-out tailor-made for a stand-in team of students and hippies who tick my way. And there are maybe more of these than you think. But, like you, we decided to tie it up with the old days and so the shells, fish, snakes and so on. Makes quite a story, and we’ve now got enough genned up snake-priestesses to cover most of the stations you listed. While,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘sad though it may seem, there’s a strong chance that your side’s going to be a goddess short in addition to your capo who died “suddenly”. Short of one, with a team of one. Get me? And when our people broadcast, if ever they do—which doesn’t necessarily follow—their instructions could be a whole lot different from what you had in mind. For example, they would take advantage of the situation to do a heap of bluffing, rouse what you would call the “goodies” and simply eliminate in one or two “nights of the long knives” a whole lot of people who, from our angle, would be better dead. Now does that make sense?’

  The Australian nodded curtly. ‘Could be done. But I still say you’re bluffing. And, anyhow, how did you figure on signalling them?’

  ‘From here,’ said Harmony. ‘Just from here. There’s a radio phone link south with a few of my men standing by to cope when news breaks. Any signal they collect could be beamed with appropriate instructions to the world within an hour or two, and our own operation would then move into action.’