“Looks like you did pretty good without the gun. I’m proud of you.”
With a last regretful look at the small yellow cabin, Marcie reluctantly started down the road and away from the farm. The dirt road hit gravel, blacktop, then paved highway, and finally freeway, all the way to the Albany Exit and the broad street that would take her up to the hills overlooking Berkeley. She drove slowly, looking for the address Richard had given her, irritated with the traffic and the fog that was beginning to drift over the neighborhood.
The house isn’t so bad, she thought, looking at the Spanish-style home. It does have some charm.
A low white-painted stucco wall surrounded the front of the property, and an iron gate opened to the walk leading to the front door. Behind the wall, she could see a rose garden and, to the left, a driveway. She looked for Richard’s car, didn’t see it, and once again checked the address on the slip of paper she held.
The first thing that greeted her as she stepped into the kitchen was a sink loaded with dirty dishes and greasy pots. Near the washer, a basket held a huge pile of dirty laundry, much of it tumbling to the floor. Half-unpacked boxes were everywhere in the house, some of their contents thrown on the floor. The rugs were down, the furniture in, the stereo set up. The bedroom had a charming little sun porch. But the bed was unmade, and dirty clothes and towels were piled in the bathroom. She went downstairs, laid John on the couch, changed his diaper, and nursed him. An ashtray on a nearby table was overflowing with roaches. She tried pushing away the disturbing thought that Richard needed her because he needed dishes washed and laundry done. Slowly, John’s sucking stopped. After carrying him upstairs and laying him on the bed, she tried to decide where to start.
The kitchen. All those dirty dishes.
She had just finished the pots and pans when she heard a key in the lock. In another moment, Richard was through the front door. Her heart gave such a violent leap that she thought she saw stars, then she was in his arms, kissing him as if there were nothing else on the earth.
“Richard … Richard …,” she whispered between breaths, and he held her as if he would never let her go.
“Come,” he said, picking her up and carrying her upstairs, running his lips across her mouth, her eyes, her neck. “I have wanted you for two long weeks, and we will never be parted again.”
Dear God, how good it felt to be loved and touched, to feel him surround her with his body and mind and spirit, to know he truly loved her and always would.
When they had finished their erotic embrace, Richard lit a joint, and they lay together, talking.
“You have to see Greta and Merlin’s land!” she cried. “It’s magnificent! Mountains everywhere you look. Creeks and redwoods. Large old oaks. Fruit trees and a garden.” Words tumbled from her faster than she could speak them. “And hot! You can take your clothes off and walk naked all day! You simply must see it!”
“Slow down,” Richard laughed. “I want to hear everything. I don’t have another appointment until seven. And Kathy wants to eat with us at Family of Man. She’s dying to see you.”
So between tokes, Marcie told him about the farm, the benefits of fresh goat milk for growing children, the clean air and water, the garden, yoga in the sunshine, making music under the moon, the river, friends living communally, playmates for John.
Richard glanced at his watch. “Sounds like a wonderful vacation. How much longer do you think John will sleep? I’d like to get going so I can make my seven o’clocker.”
“Richard, I was hoping we could get things together a little faster so we could move up there with Merlin and Greta. Should we really unpack all this stuff you’ve got lying around in boxes?”
“Marcie, I can’t move up to Humboldt. What would I support a family on? Besides, that’s Merlin’s trip, not mine.”
“But … but …,” and she lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You sent us away because it’s dangerous here. You told me the risks weren’t worth it anymore. You said something in you had been damaged. You were getting out of the business. That we were going to live up north!”
“I need to finish what I’ve started.”
“And what do you mean ‘Merlin’s trip’? Living a life in harmony with nature is ‘Merlin’s trip’?”
“No,” he answered, turning away at the tone in her voice. “The land. If I moved to the land, I wouldn’t have any control. Let Merlin make of it what he will.”
“But Merlin’s not worried about who owns it. He says it’s our home, too.”
“That’s not how it would be. Merlin would always feel resentful if I went up there. My energy’s too strong. That’s his trip. And that’s not what I’m good at doing.”
“When we lived together in the Haight and in Marin, what was that? Was that our trip? All of us together? Or your trip?”
“I made the decisions. At least, as far as business went. It was my business.”
“We’re really talking about two different things,” she said slowly, a knot forming in her stomach. “I’m talking about lifestyle, shared responsibility, communal or tribal living. And all you keep talking about is business. What is it with you anyway?”
Richard’s eyes gleamed. “I got it, Marcie. At least almost. I’m making the pickup this evening.”
“Got what?”
“A kilo of ET. Ergotamine. I can finally put together my own lab. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure it would come through.”
“A kilo? Of ET? You don’t intend to get out of business at all, do you?” she cried, shock, surprise, and anger in her voice. “Did you ever? All this time, these last weeks, I thought you were winding down. We were getting out, you said. I pictured us working the land. All of us. Our entire family!”
“Marcie, I’m not a farmer. That’s not my thing. I’m good at putting people together. And sooner or later, Merlin will need the money I’m making to keep that farm.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Marcie’s voice betrayed both her pride for Merlin and her anger. “He’s different on the land than he was in the city. More confident and capable.”
“Why, Marcie, you having feelings for Merlin?”
“Richard!” she spat at him. “What’s up with you? I feel like I don’t even know you!”
“Spread your legs for me again and I’ll let you find out.” He pulled at his mustache and lifted his eyebrows up and down.
“No,” she said miserably.
Once again, Richard glanced at his watch. “Seriously, Marcie, we’ve got to get going.”
“Oh, alright. I’ll get John. But you haven’t heard the last of this.”
“I have an uneasy feeling that you’re right,” he mumbled.
For the next week, Marcie hammered at him, at first gently, then with more desperation. She wanted to move, she informed him in no uncertain terms. She was lonely and needed communal living. Shared work and child rearing. A more spiritual relationship with the earth. On and on, until Richard lost his sense of humor.
“It’s come down to it, you know,” he said one evening, sitting beside her.
“What do you mean?” She would not meet his eyes.
“You have to decide what you want.”
Marcie remembered every moment at the farm—the breathtaking beauty, the peace of its solitude, Greta’s garden, the way John held Russ’s finger, Merlin’s manner with that man, Neil Bolton …
“The decision is yours,” he told her. “I’ve already decided how I want to live my life. I want you in it, but it’s only fair that you decide for yourself.”
“Are you sure?” Marcie asked, knowing already, stalling.
“My work, my career, my beliefs are here. I love you, and God knows I will never recover if you leave. I can’t imagine the pain. But I won’t ask you to stay if you’re going to be unhappy. If we’re both going to be miserable. You have to decide what you want to do. Either make a life with me … or make another for yourself.”
Marcie’s heart broke
at the words. It just wasn’t fair. Either way she turned, she’d lose—and John with her. But if she had to lose … she wanted it to be with Richard. The thought of life without him was more than she could bear.
“Richard …” She turned large, sad eyes to him. “I love you more than anything,” she whispered. “I don’t want to live without you. I’ll stay.”
He sighed, closed his eyes, reprieved. “I know things can be better between us. Better for you,” he promised. “We’ll work at it together.”
She nodded, but said nothing, not trusting her voice.
“Now, listen,” he told her, “in case anything happens to me, you have to know where I’ve hidden the base …”
Richard gave the instructions, but Marcie barely heard him. In case anything happens to me kept echoing in her mind. Fear once again took its place in her life. The walls of the room closed in, and she knew she could not walk outside and see across a deep valley to distant mountain peaks. Nor could she take off her clothes and feel the warmth of the sun while she worked in the garden. Or look up at the moon and hear the sounds of crickets and owls while she played music. Outside, a car motored by, and the fog blew cold off the bay. While he spoke to her, she could not help but close her eyes and try to keep inside the tranquility of the river and the land where she’d hoped to make a new life away from fear.
MYLES CORBET AND SUPERVISOR BREMER
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA
JULY 1968
Myles Corbet was a caged cat—a lone, territorial hunter pacing his room, refusing to answer calls, stalking through sheaves of papers. For the first few numbing days after running from the courthouse, he’d missed classes. Then, even more terrified of failing at his profession than in facing Dolph Bremer, he returned to school.
By week’s end, he’d stopped the aimless pacing, but late at night, when his other work was done, he would still turn his thoughts to the events of that day when he’d been summoned by subpoena to testify in the Jackson case. In those long sleepless nights, Bremer was a creeping fear. Before the court date, Myles had felt toe-to-toe with him, subtly wrestling for control, scoring points. Now he knew he’d only been fooling himself. The realization that he had failed because of his own lack of vision had been a blow. He counted on his innate perception of people—was confident of it, relied on it, allowed it to measure the course of his actions. When would the knock on the front door come? The angry men with the warrant for his arrest? Bremer’s payback. What would his father say? His mother? He shuddered as he lay in bed trying to find sleep.
Worse: Jerry knew his secret job. His cover was blown. How had Jerry become involved in the case? What was his connection to Max Jackson and Lance Bormann?
He imagined other victims who he’d had arrested waiting to exact revenge. In those moments, fear pumped his heart and accelerated his breathing. The sleepless hours passed, and all that was left of his life was uncertainty.
By the beginning of the third week when the cops didn’t materialize at the door, Myles achieved a sense of relief and false security. Maybe they were just going to let him go. Maybe the case hadn’t meant as much to Bremer as he’d thought. After all, he was not entirely responsible for his actions that day. He’d been forced into them by a long series of other people’s expectations.
He was seated at his desk when the phone he’d installed for police calls shattered the silence of the room. He jumped, an inky streak blurring the words of the sentence he’d been writing. His eyes opened wide with anxiety, mesmerized by the ringing. He tried to ignore it, to find his place on the page. The ringing continued. When he finally answered, his voice was dry, almost inaudible.
“Corbet,” Bremer’s voice was lively and friendly. “Finally decided to answer, huh? Listen, why don’t you come on down and have a little talk with me.”
Confused, Myles could think of nothing to say. Of all Bremer’s possible approaches, lightheartedness was the one he least expected.
“You probably think I’m mad at you, right?” he heard Bremer say. “Not so. You’ve done a damn good job. What’s one case? Come on down and we’ll talk about things.”
Myles’s breathing was rapid, hard. He was floating in that sea of unanswered questions again, couldn’t get his bearings. Bremer spoke in that paternal tone Myles had heard before. Once, he’d secretly sneered at it. Now, it oddly comforted him. Maybe everything would be alright after all. He was smarter than Bremer, wasn’t he? A small measure of the old confidence began to revive.
“Tomorrow. At three,” he said into the phone.
“Today. In an hour,” Bremer answered.
“Well, Myles,” Bremer’s smile was congenial, “have a seat.”
Myles sat opposite the supervisor, working hard to achieve a posture of nonchalance. He crossed his legs casually and looked directly at his opponent.
“You didn’t show up for court,” Bremer stated.
“Yes, I did. I was there.”
“I must have missed you.”
“My mother walked into the courtroom. I left.”
Bremer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Bormann told me.”
“She was with Jerry Putnam’s mother, Isabel. I wasn’t thinking when you’d first arrested me in the Commandant’s office. I’d told you Jerry was an old acquaintance. That first time … I was new at the job. I didn’t put any distance between my asking for the pot and you showing up at Jerry’s door. He knew it was me.”
Still, Bremer said nothing. Myles nervously kept talking.
“On the day of Jackson’s trial, both his mother and mine were going into the courtroom just ahead of me. If I had testified, my mother would’ve known everything. I couldn’t go in there. She doesn’t know about this part of my life.”
Bremer’s face became dark. “I’m not sure how it was done, but there was an investigator working with Lance Bormann. This was his doing. Why didn’t you come to see me afterward?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d do.”
“Now, Myles, you know you never need to feel that way. You’re on the team.” The paternal tone was back, but this time, Myles didn’t trust it. Anger darkened the circles around Dolph’s eyes. “When are your finals?”
“Next week.”
“What then?”
“Next quarter.”
“You realize you’ll have to leave the university for a while?”
Myles froze. He forced the word. “Why?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see your picture published in the Berkeley Barb. We won’t be able to protect you while you’re in Berkeley. Why not leave for a while?”
“Leave? Where would I go?”
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk with you today. Washington contacted me a few days ago—someone I know in the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs. They need an operator willing to work with Interpol in Europe. Germany. Loads of hash from the East are being smuggled into Germany in vehicles, then shipped to the States. There’s also the problem of the illegal purchase of ergotamine, the base for manufacturing LSD. It’s being routed through Europe before making its way here. Interpol needs someone good. And young. A fresh face. Someone who can infiltrate when necessary and be part of the group. You’re the best we’ve got. And you need … a sabbatical. I think it’s time you legitimately joined the team—became a full-fledged agent working for the BNE, on loan to the federal bureau. What do you say?”
Myles stood up and walked to the window, thinking. Bremer was right about several things. He was the best—or, at least, had been, until the Jackson case. And it was true that at the moment, he needed distance from the Berkeley scene. Germany. Many of the early German explorers in South America had written voluminous ethnobotanical notes. He could polish his German, transfer his status to exchange student, and still receive credit with the University of California. But only for one year. Then he would have to find a way back to California. An exchange student was the
perfect cover for this new job. The best part was that neither his mother nor his father would ever hear about what happened at the courthouse. And he had more than a suspicion that this offer by Bremer was not a request but, rather, his latest order.
“Yes,” he said finally. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
“Good man,” Bremer smiled.
They talked for the better part of an hour, Myles finally relaxing, even making a few suggestions. Whatever Bremer’s other faults, Myles had to admit that he was a natural-born leader. When Myles finally left the office, he felt good about himself for the first time in a long series of weeks.
The moment Myles closed the office door, Bremer picked up the phone on his desk.
“Phillips, come in here.”
In a few moments, Ted Phillips stood in the room, his arms leaning on the chair Myles had just vacated, wondering at the cold determination of his boss’s tone.
“I want to know everything … everything, understand … about that investigator. O’Brian. I want him tailed night and day. Where does he eat? How much money does he make? Who does he sleep with? When does he shit? You hear me? I want to know this man inside and out. You got that?”
If Myles had to leave the university, he was going to make sure that Jerry Putman knew the chess game wasn’t over, just like the times when they’d competed with pieces on the board. His first move was to go directly to his father, and with feigned uneasiness, explain about Jerry’s arrest for drugs and his time in jail.
“Why haven’t I heard about this before?” Philip Corbet demanded.
“I don’t think anyone wanted to be the one to tell you, Dad. In fact, it was kept very quiet by the Putnam family, for all the obvious reasons.” He spoke with apparent difficulty. “But I’ve become increasingly concerned because of Jerry’s special position regarding the research he’s doing with Professor Miller. It’s one thing to be an objective scientist like Dr. Miller, but if you’re a drug user, where can your objectivity lie?”
“I quite agree with you.”
A Nation of Mystics_Book II_The Tribe Page 19
