Izzy told him fine, invite any of the Seminole and Miccosukee bigshots who would still take his phone calls.
Shiva said, “No, I’m done with them. To hell with those assholes, they treat me like a disease. I’m not trying anymore. Billie Egret’s people. The Egret Seminoles, her aunts and uncles. They’re the important ones.”
Shiva thought for a moment, concentrating, before he added, “We’ll let the first blast be a surprise. They’re out there in the ’Glades, not thinking about it, when they feel the earth shake. The second time, though, that’s when we make sure they’re at Sawgrass.”
Izzy told him, okay, invite Billie Egret and her relatives, anybody he wanted. Told him to get a couple hundred of his Ashram disciples, too-a thousand if he could-at his resort in the Everglades.
He said, “You start your group meditation. Use the breath drummers, all the bells and whistles. I’ll detonate whatever time you say. Morning’s good. Cameras going. Act surprised. Then like you knew it was going to happen-all that spiritual power focused. You’re good with facial expressions. Like a politician.”
Shiva said, “I don’t have to give any hints. It’s prophecy. Seminole prophecy from Tecumseh.”
Izzy said, “What ever. I leave all that to you. Best-case scenario, they accept you as the real deal. Worst case, you’re the victim of another eco-terrorist attack. Public sympathy. Either way, the timing’s important.”
Shiva was nodding, “Yes, timing… which is why I’m thinking. .. what I’d prefer to do is make it later in the day. This time of year, we might get an afternoon storm. Lightning would be nice. Lots of lightning and thunder.” Shiva paused. “That far away from the blast site, will we hear the explosion?”
“I’m setting it a half mile or so from the resort, but it’s all underground. So a rumble maybe, not much. I’m guessing. I’m new at faking earthquakes, so who knows?”
“But we’ll feel it. On the reservations, the Miccosukee and the Seminole, they’ll feel it?”
Izzy said, “Oh, they’ll feel it. At Brighton and Big Cypress, twenty, thirty miles away. A little tingle through the ankles. The National Seismic Network has a monitoring station in Orlando, and the University of Florida has a tele-dyne, a seismograph, in the ’Glades near Flamingo. Their equipment picks up quarry blasts. So you’ll have proof. No one can say it was mass hypnosis, any of that bullshit.”
On Shiva’s desk were the notes he’d made during his conference call with his San Francisco people.
It had not gone well. They could not speak openly, of course-he had reason to believe that the Feds were monitoring his phone calls. But Shiva could hear the fear in the Ashram manager’s voice when he asked, “Do you know what the average prison sentence is in California for rape?”
Shiva got the clear impression that the manager would choose to turn state’s evidence against the Ashram rather than fight a felony charge.
Shiva looked at his notes briefly, then pushed them aside. He said, “Izzy, there’s one thing you need to understand here. We’ve got to make this work. Nothing-absolutely nothing-we can’t let anything get in our way.”
Izzy was sitting on an orange sofa that had carved teak armrests: elephants and jackals. He’d changed clothes. Was now wearing dress slacks, a satin dinner jacket, black-and-white loafers, his hair blow-dried and sprayed in place.
Coming into the room, he’d checked his watch: eight-fifteen. He wanted to wrap this up; hit the Friday night meat markets, have a few drinks and do some dancing.
Or maybe drive down to Coconut Grove, hop in the boat and check out Sally Minster’s house, see if she really had gone to Sanibel. The woman liked to walk around her bedroom in bra and panties; no idea someone could watch her from the water. He liked the thought of that.
Plus, he’d installed the two minicameras in her bedroom. Those videos could be interesting.
Sitting comfortably, showing how relaxed he was, Izzy replied, “I’m not letting anything get in my way, Jerry. I’ve got a lot on the line myself.”
Shiva said, “That means communication between the two of us is damned important.”
Izzy waited, thinking, Oh, shit, here we go again.
“I’m impressed with what you’ve got going, all the planning you’ve done, but I’m going to be frank. I don’t like the idea of you changing plans without even consulting me.”
“That’s what I’m doing now. Consulting-”
“No, no you’re not. You’re telling me. Two blasts, not three. In eighteen eleven, when Tecumseh prophesied the Mississippi earthquakes, there was a series of tremors-”
“Yeah, well, I don’t much care about what some dead Indian predicted two hundred years ago.” Izzy held both palms out, getting peeved. “You don’t need to know all the details, Jerry. I don’t want you to know the details. I have people in the right places. The whole thing’s set. So just take my word for it.”
Raising his voice, Shiva said, “ I make the decisions in this organization-”
“Not when it comes to covering my ass, you don’t. You want some stooge, find yourself another guy.”
Izzy fumed for a moment before he added, “Maybe it is time for me to quit. Maybe write that book I always wanted to do. Call it Behind the Curtain with Bhagwan Shiva. Start off with the gag where you made the one-armed girl whole again. How many people converted that night? Couple thousand? I wonder how they’d feel if they found out the truth-your one-armed miracle girl got paid a bundle… and so did her twin.”
In barely a whisper, Shiva said, “Don’t threaten me. I won’t tolerate it. Other men have threatened me, other organizations, and you know what happened to them.”
Izzy allowed himself to smile. “Who you think you’re talking to- Jerry? I’m the one who makes it happen. Which is why you’d better be telling the truth about the money.”
“You’re worried? It’s already been deposited into a numbered account. The trustee I’ve appointed-”
Izzy interrupted, “I’ve talked to him.”
He had, too. The man’s name was Carter-a banking tycoon before he’d joined the Church of Ashram and was soon elevated to Shiva’s inner circle: the Circle of Twenty-eight.
To Carter, Izzy had said, “If you don’t answer your cell phone the instant I call, if the account numbers aren’t kosher, guess who I’m gonna come looking for first? Don’t even try to hide.”
Shiva referred to the money as a “bonus” not a payoff.
Izzy made a good salary working for the church. He’d invested in stocks and property. He’d done okay.
A few years back, he’d done what he’d always dreamed of: bought his own island. Made a sizable down payment, anyway. The island was in Lake Nicaragua, just a mile off the coast from Granada, a fun little town. His island was a hundred acres of palms, waterfalls, a beach so white that it hurt his eyes.
The bonus was big enough that he could pay off the island and build the house he wanted: native stone, tile roof, ceiling fans. Big enough that he could quit, hire servants, enjoy the local women, do anything he desired for a long, long time. Which meant no more hanging out at Palm Beach’s Chesterfield Hotel. No more dancing at the Leopard Lounge, seducing aging socialites. No more crossing the bridge into West Palm, searching for hookers.
Which is why Izzy patiently listened to Shiva say, “All I’m telling you is, if it works, we both benefit,” before he replied, “The question now is, when do you want the second blast?”
Izzy got up off the couch, adding, “You gave me some dates, if you can stop being pissed-off long enough to listen.”
He pulled a spiral notebook from his inside jacket pocket, and began to read, “May second is the last day of Ridvan-that’s three weeks from now, a Friday.”
He looked up. “What the hell’s Ridvan?”
Mulling it over, Shiva said, “A prophet, Baha, found enlightenment near Baghdad in the Garden of Ridvan. That’s where God spoke about another messenger. A prophet who would usher in an era of peace for all mankind.”