The Prophet Motive by Eric Christopherson Read Free Book Online Page A

G’night.”
    One of the other men inside the tent blew out the lantern light. Ben’s voice dropped to a whisper in the dark. “But it’s only a three-day commitment, counting tomorrow, John, and you did tell me you were unemployed, right?”
    “Got a job interview Monday. G’night.”
    The next morning, John continued playing hard to get. He asked for a lift back into the city, and Ben remained by his side all the way to the trailhead parking lot, where three old school buses—each painted in Partridge Family psychedelia—idled as people boarded. Scrambled across the sides of the buses in cartoon balloons were numerous radical slogans. Species Equality Now. Recreate Wilderness—Level LA .
    After all the camping equipment had been loaded onto a trailer, the buses finished filling with people and a psychedelic caravan rolled out onto the road. Ben soon resumed trying to talk John into attending the Eco-Warrior Boot Camp.
    John waved a frustrated hand. “Tell you the truth, I don’t care that much about the environment.”
    “Well, you should!”
    “Tell you the truth, I came out here for the free food.”
    “You get free meals at the farm,” Ben said. “And besides, it’s a beautiful, spiritual place, and—”
    “I told you, I have an interview.”
    “There will always be other job interviews, John.”
    “Why are you pushing me so hard?”
    “I wouldn’t push this hard with just anyone. But you’re special, John. I think you’re one of us. Haven’t you felt, well, kind of a special connection with me? With everyone here?”
    “Now that you mention it, you people do seem to agree on everything I have to say.”
    “That’s because we’re like you. I’m like you.”
    “Yeah? You got VD too?”
    “That’s, uh . . . not important right now.”
    “That was a joke.” Nobody laughed in a cult. At least not spontaneously. Only when expected. Programmed.
    “Oh, a joke,” Ben said. “I see. What’s important is we’re really like each other.”
    “You said that already.”
    “And you, me, and everyone aboard this bus, and the other buses—we’re all the kind of people who, deep down in our souls, really want to make a difference. Do the right thing. Send the right message. Save the world.”
    John laughed. “Save the world!”
    “Don’t laugh. You’d be surprised at what supremely dedicated people can do when they work together for a great cause . . .”
    Ben wouldn’t give up, just as predicted, and his bulging eyes wouldn’t waver from John’s. It was overbearing as bad breath.
    He let Ben cajole him for miles, all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge, before finally giving in. “Well, I’d have to make a phone call.”
    “No problem! We’re back in the city now! I’m so glad you’ll be joining us, John! You’ll have an awesome adventure!”
     

    The buses idled in a public parking lot at the west end of Fisherman’s Wharf, unloading about two dozen deserting recruits amid friendly—and not so friendly—jeers. From her window seat beside Aura, Marilyn observed the diaspora, the merging of the deserters with the flood of tourists along the sidewalks.
    There go the lucky ones , she thought. Lucky to escape this madness . To have lovers, friends, families, jobs, and other strong ties pulling them back into their own communities, despite the cult’s hard-sell sales pitch, its cunning overtures .
    She considered how many ties of her own had been cut in recent years—with her Nana passing, with the loss of her mother to breast cancer, with her uprooting from hometown Boston after Denny Saddler broke her heart—and suddenly the assumption that her own expertise in cult psychology made her the perfect choice for this adventure seemed short-sighted, foolish, self-indulgent. All she really had to come back to were goldfish—assuming the neighbor she’d enlisted to feed them followed through. It made her vulnerable. Like John Richetti.
    The buses barreled on. From San Francisco, they