A Nation of Mystics_Book II_The Tribe

by Pamela Johnson

  Bergman blinked impatiently. Only when Myles began to discuss collecting information from suspects and placing the data on a computer, using passport identification numbers, did Herr Bergman begin to pay attention. He raised an eyebrow. “We do have some thoughts about using computers.”

  “Law enforcement will rely heavily on computers in the coming years,” Myles told him. “But for the moment, we can start assembling data.”

  “You’re right. It would develop some useful information. Very interesting.”

  Herr Bergman tapped his desk lightly with manicured fingernails. “Your sixth sense is working overtime. How could you possibly know I have a meeting this afternoon to discuss the use of a central computer?”

  “I didn’t,” Myles answered, surprised. “It just makes sense that the time is right and the technology available. Intelligence information must be transmitted quickly between Kabul and Los Angeles if we’re to have the same flexibility as the criminals.”

  “But there are also other issues,” Bergman replied with caution. “I suspect that some of your politicians would not be very happy about indiscriminate data accumulation. It could be that information collected on suspected traffickers would create files on innocent persons. There would be no verification of accusations and, in truth, no effective oversight—just a file. I’m sure you are aware that Interpol is not subject to scrutiny or supervision by any outside body.”

  He paused, letting this information rest between them. “Information shared among different countries,” he continued, “would mean that data would be subject to different national standards, different due process of law. Anyone with clearance would have access to the private lives of your country’s citizens. Would this not be an issue of some political sensitivity in your country?”

  “When it comes to drugs, the public will forego certain … rights … in an attempt to create a drug-free America.”

  “And we are talking about money. Major funding.”

  “I believe the money will be available, Herr Bergman. It is only a matter of time before the Congress of the United States is made to see that they have a fight against drugs on their hands. Last year, the federal Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs was created with a new budget of $43 million—over fourteen times the funding of the old Bureau of Narcotics.”

  Bergman pursed his lips together. “Tell me. What do you know about an organization called the Brotherhood of Eternal Love?”

  “Well-connected smugglers and manufacturers. Mystical fanaticism, coupled with criminal activities. Connected to a number of major acid chemists. I understand they have several warehouses of chemicals scattered around the States. We got a couple of those warehouses recently, and we’re holding warrants for at least a half dozen known fugitives. They have property in Hawaii, Canada, Central America. All over California. The Brotherhood ranch in Southern California took in that maniac Leary. Apparently, they’re linked to a large source for false IDs coming out of Santa Cruz.”

  Bergman nodded. “You are well informed. Your government has asked us to come up with a master list of Brotherhood names with their aliases traveling through Europe. I’ll give you the information I have. See if you can add to it.”

  “Gladly.”

  “Herr Corbet, tell me. Why are you working as an American agent?”

  Myles hesitated. The question was unexpected. Should he tell Herr Bergman that all he wanted to do was to get back to Berkeley and his studies? That he was working off a debt to Dolph Bremer?

  “Because drugs cripple our society,” he heard himself say. “Why should we allow someone to buy a pound of hash in Afghanistan for $l5 and sell it for $900 in the United States? That kind of money is immoral. A society focused on drug use will destroy itself. I believe we have the intelligence to stem the flow of international drug traffic.”

  “Have you had any experience with computers?”

  “I’ve used them for interpreting data on my research.”

  “Your school work—botanical interests, yes?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “This afternoon. 2:00. Please join us for the meeting,” he told Myles. “I’d like for you to share some of your ideas.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Let’s start collecting your data, Herr Corbet. When you return from Amsterdam, I will have ready for you an office and a small staff. You may have to do some traveling to get the system set up in the East.”

  “It shouldn’t take me long, sir.”

  “Oh … and Herr Corbet … you must allow me to offer my condolences. I heard about the unfortunate death of your father. I know his passing is not only your loss, but also a great loss to the scientific community.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The answer was without emotion. Myles still had not been able to grieve for his father.

  “My wife is giving a small reception tomorrow evening. Would you care to join us? You are more than welcome to bring a guest.”

  Myles immediately flashed on the willowy young man in one of his classes.

  “I’ll come alone.” He stood. “What time?”

  “I’ll send a car at 7:30. If that is agreeable?”

  KATHY

  MAUI, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS

  SEPTEMBER 1968

  Covered with the red earth of Maui, the Land Rover passed field upon field of tall, purple-green sugarcane. To Kathy’s right, jagged green mountains climbed toward a sky dotted unevenly with cumulous clouds.

  “What’s that?” she asked Julie, pointing to a long high ridge.

  “Haleakala Crater. A dormant volcano. Here,” she passed Kathy a joint, “tell me what you think of this.”

  Kathy toked, and within a few minutes, her body chemistry shifted to patterns and meditative thoughts. She settled easily into the seat—finals, the sale of the hash and Jerry’s remarkable mushrooms, the long flight to Maui—all over.

  “This is some strong herb,” she sighed, content. “Four tokes and I’m bombed.”

  “Keith and Annie grew a few plants here on the island. They’ve offered us a place to stay.”

  “It’s just fuckin’ outrageous stuff,” Kathy giggled, unable to believe that the stone kept rushing and rushing her body. “What do they have in the dirt here?”

  “Well, it’s really fresh. They’re thinking of putting in a full crop,” Julie smiled at her. “No borders to cross.”

  “Right. Just an ocean.” Kathy laid her elbow on the window and sniffed. “Speaking of the sea, the air smells like salt.”

  “A lot of people are thinking of growing. Bob’s up for it. Dharma. He was Bob’s partner on the Afghan scam. Even Christian.”

  “Christian?” Kathy asked lazily.

  “He put up the bucks for the Afghanistan trip.”

  Kathy suddenly sat up straighter, pushing against the stone. “Christian? Was … was he at your house when I was there? Blond. Intense blue eyes.”

  “Yes. How do you know?”

  “I met him. Accidentally. When I went out for the suitcase. He’s not here, is he?”

  Julie gave her a curious side-glance. “He’s staying with us.”

  Julie turned down a small dirt road. The driveway was lined with croton bushes, and the yard filled with hibiscus, bird of paradise, and palms. A large mango tree protected a small house from the sun. The single-room cabin was covered from mid-wall to roof by screens and open to the air, and because it sat next to a river, it had been built on stilts to avoid flooding during heavy rains.

  Inside the cabin, Kathy took a sliced papaya from Julie and looked around the room. The furnishings were spare—a covered mattress on the floor with an Indian bedspread, pillows, a few Asian rugs, books in a hand-carved wooden Indian bookcase, a small bureau with plates, cups, and wooden bowels. A ladder led upstairs to an open loft.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  “At the beach. Let’s get you set up, and we’ll meet them out there. We have a cabin for you on the path to the river where we ge
t our water. The mangos are ripe. Help yourself to anything. Just pull what you want off the trees. Oh, I almost forgot! Annie made you a swimsuit!”

  Kathy looked at the lacy crocheted suit that was the color of her skin, the suit bottom made so that it tied at her hips. When she tried it on, nothing showed and everything showed. A glance in the mirror, and she realized that over the last year, she had blossomed. Daily yoga and a vegetarian diet of organic food and whole grains and abstinence from white sugar and alcohol had given her solid health. Her hair was longer, dark, falling over her shoulders and arms. She was barefoot and connected with the earth. A warm breeze flowed against her skin. The humidity and smoke made her slow, relaxed, filled with a soft sensuality, something she’d not felt in many months. She sighed contentedly to the image in the mirror. She turned to thank Julie, to speak of how she felt.

  Julie smiled at the look of serenity on Kathy’s face. “Maui has a way of centering you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  At the beach, Julie parked near rambling morning glories, covered Shakti against the tropical sun, and strolled with Kathy toward the far end of the sand, where the waves picked up for body surfing. “Bob’s over there. See him? Hello!” she waved.

  Bob took Kathy in with his eyes, clearly happy to see her. “You made it,” he called, before throwing a heavy wet arm around her giving her a rough hug and kiss. “This is Keith,” he continued, making introductions, his voice loud, carrying over the surf. “And Annie and baby Alaula.”

  Kathy knelt next to them and laid a hand on Aluala’s tummy, sending the warm energy emanating from her palm into the child. “Thank you for having me,” she smiled at Annie.

  “Aloha, sister.”

  “And thank you for the suit!”

  On the shoreline, Christian and Dharma pulled themselves through surf to the beach. Bob tapped Kathy’s shoulder as she knelt at the baby’s side, and when she turned, it was to look up and into Christian’s eyes. “Kathy, this is a brother of mine, Christian.”

  She stood, watched him take in her body, and pushed her shoulders back, pretending she wasn’t wearing a garment that made her practically naked.

  “I didn’t know it would take so long to see you again.” Salt water dripped down his wet hair and beard, the expression in his light blue eyes even more profound than she’d remembered. “You left before dinner.”

  She smiled softly. “There was something I needed to do.”

  “This is Dharma,” Bob told her.

  Kathy regarded him, taller then the other men, thin, his blond hair shorter on his head, heavier on his chest, the first days of a beard and mustache on his face, a puka shell necklace white against brown skin.

  “Aloha!”

  Julie put Shakti down on a towel in the shade. “Bob, could you watch her for a few minutes. I’d like to get into the water. Come on, Kathy,” she called.

  At the edge of the ocean, Kathy walked into the water. The surf crashed heavily, then raced up to the shore, churning sand, trying to pull her feet into the sea. This ocean was more violent than the Gulf of Mexico, the water colder. At the right moment, she dove in between sets of waves, finally swimming past the breakers to float, letting the water rock her, taking away the too many hours in a car or plane, too many deliveries in brown paper bags and suitcases, too many facts memorized, papers written. She floated easily on the bed of the sea, eyes burning from the salt.

  “Want to swim out?” a voice asked.

  Kathy looked around, treaded water. Christian.

  Why not? Let’s see how we swim together.

  She pulled hard and strong, felt him behind, matching his strokes to hers. She turned, dove under, resurfaced, and felt him surface next to her. Again, she swam, away from the shore, fast, diving again, wondering if he would follow. When she emerged to take a deep breath, he was there, coming up beside her, his stroke part of her movement. His eyes laughed at the challenge she’d given him, and Kathy laughed too, a mouthful of water for the effort. Turning on her back, she began an easy backstroke toward the beach, him still at her side, and at just the right moment between the breaking of the waves, they pushed through the surf and waded to sand.

  The wet crocheted bathing suit stretched away from her body. She untied one string on her hip and pulled it tighter. But the top …

  “Need some help?” Christian asked.

  “Yes,” Kathy nodded, breathing hard from the exertion of the swim. “Could you retie the back?” she asked, holding the top against her breasts.

  Christian pulled at the string, lightly touched her, and made a bow, the whole small act completely erotic. Her heart picked up a beat, caught in her throat, at this first touch of his on her skin.

  “Thank you,” she smiled up at him. “You have talent. Do you practice at tying women’s swimsuits?”

  “Not generally,” he laughed. “I’m usually much better at untying them.”

  Kathy gave him a sidewise look, and once again retied the strings at her hips, grinning and slowly shaking her head.

  Christian pulled his hair away from his face and let it drip down his back. “Bob says you live in Berkeley. So do I. Take a walk with me down the beach.”

  So, he’s asked about me. By now he probably knows my business.

  Together, they began to stroll away from the group, wading through the water’s edge, foam lapping at their feet.

  “Bob also said you were going to school at Berkeley.”

  “Summer school. I just finished two classes. One in ethnobotany, called Plants and Man. Another in California history. Both amazing professors.”

  His voice was as relaxed as an old friend, and he was getting straight to what he wanted to know. “Do you have an old man? Someone special in your life?”

  The energy that had bounced between them in the living room at Bob’s house was there again, and she asked once more if she were ready for someone like him.

  “No old man. But lots of special people.”

  Christian leaned over to pick up a shell. He tossed it into the sea and watched it skip, three, four times in the water a wave had left behind. “How’d you meet Julie?”

  “Through a girlfriend.” Kathy looked back over her shoulder to where Julie was sitting. “I don’t think Bob’s absence was easy. Being pregnant and alone. Even with all the people around. Even Jeff.” She looked up toward him, wondering if he knew.

  “I heard. There are few secrets in communal living.”

  “When it came time for the baby, I spent a few weeks waiting with her.” Kathy smiled, remembering the hospital staff and the face of the attending nurse. “Julie chanted om through the whole delivery.”

  “She and Bob are thinking of moving to Maui,” Christian told her. “I think they need a change. There’s a lot of Heat in Laguna. People being followed. Mystic Arts staked out. Lots of snooping out at the Ranch. Bob might buy in with Keith.”

  “And try growing?”

  He raised an eyebrow at that and smiled. “Amazingly well informed for being on the island an hour?”

  “Julie told me. I’m part of her family. She knows what I do. It was natural for her to tell me. What about you?” she asked just as directly. “How do you fit into this? Are you part of Bob’s trip?”

  “I’m Bob’s friend. But we have separate trips. I just helped him out on the hash scam.”

  “Ah, the hash!” and she laughed. “Mine’s already gone. Except what we kept to smoke.”

  They’d reached the end of the sand, the way blocked by black lava rock, sharp and menacing. Kathy looked at him, tilting her head to one side. “Why’d you drop out of school?”

  “I found I had resources and money. Gifts to use wisely. What I was accomplishing was more important than anything happening in a classroom.”

  The answer was heavy with self-assurance, and Kathy was alert now to another danger. All the dealers she knew were arrogant to some extent, but this was a pretty high-profile crowd. If she were to spend time with him, where would t
hat arrogance take her?

  He added, “Like most people, my life changed when I took my first dose of acid.”

  She understood completely. Suddenly, she was flashing on the memory of her own first trip, the time since vaporized. On the outcrop of black stone where she stood slightly over him, she leaned in, taking his arm and speaking to his ear so he could hear clearly over the pounding surf, her voice low and filled with suggestion.

  “I love LSD. I love how I see things. The order it gives my life. I love the cleansing. The openness in body and mind. Seeing the interrelationship of all things. I love its timelessness. The way my body feels its age.”

  “Acid’s my real trip, you know.”

  There, at the edge of the sea, she watched the foolish grin on his face. He’d wanted to impress her, and he had. She gazed full into his face, searching, wondering, the naked truth of his words visible in the light that filled his eyes. The connection on the afternoon at Julie’s solidified, and she knew the bond they’d touched upon in that first meeting weeks ago was the real reason they’d both been drawn to Maui.

  “Producing acid,” she said softly, again leaning close so he could hear. “Oh, Christian, nothing’s more important than acid.”

  “And you? Bob says you mostly deal keys.”

  “I do other things, too … the hash … acid. Some mushrooms. But at the moment, I really don’t want to think about business. For a few brief days, I’d just like to be in the moment. Feel the sun and ocean. And, right now,” she smiled warm and openly, “enjoy your handsome face.”

  Christian helped her from the rock where she stood, and they began to walk back to the others. “We were thinking about driving up to Haleakala Crater some day soon and dropping. We’d leave early in the morning and spend the day. Would you like to come?”

  “Yes,” she told him. “I’d like that.”

  The sun had begun to settle deeper into the sky. Kathy watched Christian take a seat on a beach towel, cross his legs in lotus, close his eyes, and still his breathing. Before him, in the distance, the islands of Lanai and Kahoolawe sat quietly under white clouds tipped in gold. The ocean horizon became bright orange, layering upward in ever-paler colors, changing from moment to moment, slipping into pink hues and dappled with the first stars of twilight.