America 1982-Chapter 375 - 38: Mr. Page’s Work Efficiency

Jim’s efficiency had always been remarkable, and by evening, he had returned the call.

At that time, Tommy was in Stephen’s backyard, personally setting up the grill to barbecue in an attempt to influence Stephen by preparing dinner with his own hands, hoping to sell his dream to Stephen to trick him into investing money.

"Your shrew of a Miss is with her two colleagues, trying to make a name for herself by investigating a religious organization in the New England area called Wicca," Jim explained what he knew over the phone.

With one hand holding the phone and the other wielding a brush, Tommy was applying a coat of amber honey to the barbecue. Hearing Jim’s words, he was taken aback, "Is that a variant of Christianity?"

"Not quite sure, Robert says it seems like some sort of witchcraft religion mostly comprising female followers. Television and newspapers reported on it last week. Wicca’s lawyers have approached both media outlets trying to shut them up, but obviously, no one heeds the warning. Are you sure you want Robert to cause trouble for that girl?"

"Religious organizations of that kind, it’s as easy for a few zealots to slaughter a journalist as it is to kill a chicken. It seems insignificant which side perishes, so for safety, I think Mr. Page should take her to Los Angeles for a break, keeping her away from such investigations," Tommy said before hanging up the phone.

Stephen sneered at Tommy while feeding the sausages he had laboriously grilled to the dogs: "Even the dogs don’t like the food you grill, Tommy, are you sure it won’t kill a human being?"

"Have you ever heard of W-I-C-C-A, Wicca?" Tommy frowned slightly as he asked Stephen.

Stephen repeated the word Tommy had said, chewed his gum for a bit, and then shook his head, "No, I’m sure I don’t know a woman by that name."

"It’s not a woman, it’s a religious organization. You’re better off staying away from these bizarre religious groups in America. Their cost of crime is even lower than that of Black people. The lower followers are like free hitmen for the higher-ups in the church and are also willing to bear all guilt and go to jail with steadfast faith." Tommy didn’t expect Stephen to have heard of this religious group active in the New England region and dialed Sophia’s number:

"Sophia, get Mr. Page to make a trip to Worcester City, Massachusetts, to bring Zoey to Los Angeles for a vacation. Mr. Wealthy has a new movie, and there’s a character based on her; he wants her to help pick the right actor to portray herself. Mr. Page knows Zoey, he met her at David’s wedding." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Hearing Tommy instruct someone to fetch Zoey, Stephen offered, "Need help? Shall I send someone to fetch your Mr. Page? My father’s Gulfstream III, made in ’82, is parked at the Los Angeles airport. He thinks the interior is too shabby and it’s too small for comfortable intercontinental flights, so he and my mother have flown first class with Air France to Paris."

"Have Mr. Page wait at the company; Stephen’s people will fetch him and take him to the airport." Tommy said matter-of-factly and hung up the phone: "Didn’t you say your old man didn’t inherit a penny? Gulfstream III, my future father-in-law has one too. A basic model also goes for about seven million and some."

"Just like I got into Stanford on my own merits, my father earned his money through hard work. Please, he’s been the Assistant Secretary of Health under two Presidents. Being a board director or CEO at any pharmaceutical company and taking home a little salary is more than enough to afford a light aircraft for transportation. Besides, he bought it secondhand. Originally, a pharmaceutical executive owned it, but lost interest after paying for it, so he sold it half-price to my father."

"The collusion between government and business in America, you make it sound as innocent and wonderful as a damn fairy tale."

"So, Zoey’s encountering trouble from them?"

"No trouble yet, but I feel she should stay away from those foolish religious followers. I don’t want to see Zoey gutted by cult members in the newspaper like Hollywood actress Sharon Tate," Tommy continued grilling, speaking as he worked:

"Those brainwashed idiots, ignorant and fearless, would do anything for their bullshit beliefs. But it doesn’t matter, Mr. Page will bring Zoey safely. He’s very organized and efficient in his work."

...

Massachusetts, Worcester City, morning, a common coffee shop.

In the booth at the back, Zoey opened her portable recording device, spread out her notebook, held her pen, and stared intently at the woman across from her.

The woman facing her, probably around thirty, had a woeful expression, dressed in cheap clothing, and like Zoey, had black hair; only hers didn’t appear as shiny and sleek. Her hands were continuously wringing each other on the tabletop, lips pressed tightly together.

Zoey pushed the coffee slowly towards the woman, "Have some coffee, it will help you relax. I promise you are safe right now, Silvia, no one knows I’m meeting you."

Silvia, the woman named Silvia, sipped the coffee tentatively, then with encouragement from Zoey’s gaze, began to speak slowly:

"The High Priest and the Prophet have said never to speak of church affairs to anyone."

Zoey almost simultaneously began taking rapid notes in her notebook with a pen.

"Not even to one’s parents, or even one’s own husband, can the teachings within the church be disclosed," the woman said, her eyes darting cautiously around as she continued in a low voice.

As Zoey wrote, she asked, "Why can’t you tell your family?"

"They said it’s because people are ignorant and they’re afraid that if the truth were told to them, they’d misconstrue Wicca as a Satanist church or a Luciferian assembly. But Wicca is completely different from those cults. There was once a woman who accidentally leaked information, and the next time she went to a gathering, the candles on the altar suddenly turned green as she lied to the High Priest, meaning the leaker was no longer one of our fellow practitioners. She was taken away by the enforcers within the church, and we never saw her again," the woman explained.

"I’ve already said in last week’s investigative news segment that it was magic tricks. We found out that your prophet, after being released from prison earlier, used to work as an assistant to a magician. During this period, he learned many magic tricks, which he then presented as ’magic’ in front of you all," Zoey said.

"Yes, it was your report on the news that made me start to doubt," Silvia lifted her head and cautiously glanced at Zoey. "Your reporting convinced me that the prophet had not really summoned any gods during the previous major ceremony."

Zoey continued to ask, "What do you mean by ’major ceremony’?"

The woman lowered her head and took several sips of coffee before replying in an extremely soft voice, "It’s a fertility ritual within the church, where gods would unite with the faithful, and the prophet would summon the gods to possess him and then unite with the devotees."

After hearing this, Zoey’s facial muscles clearly twitched subtly. Such ’major ceremonies’ really carried no goodwill; more than half of the cult organizations in the United States use similar excuses to deceive female followers into offering their bodies. And yet, there were always women who fell for it:

"How often are these ’major ceremonies’ you mentioned held?" Zoey asked.

The woman was silent for a long while before she gave her answer, "Weekly. For every ceremony, the High Priest selects five of the most devout followers to participate."

"How many times have you been selected to participate?" Zoey inquired.

"Five times. Since I turned thirty and stopped making large donations, I haven’t been selected anymore. The last time I participated in the major ceremony was three years ago," the woman said.

"What specifically made you start to doubt and waver about Wicca’s major ceremonies?"

"After you mentioned that the spells were just magic tricks, I started to think hard about possible doubts. Then, I remembered something that a real god would definitely not do," she said.

"What is it?" Zoey asked.

"I once accidentally saw the prophet secretly take some medication, and afterwards, I thought about it. My husband has also taken the same pills in the past two years, so I think, a true god wouldn’t need to rely on certain drugs to maintain union with five female followers."

Zoey stared dumbfounded at the woman in front of her, and upon confirming that the other party wasn’t joking, she took notes of the latter’s words.

Just as she finished, her phone rang. Zoey made an apologetic gesture to the woman while answering the call from her colleague, "What’s up? I’m gathering information."

The woman couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end, but she saw that Zoey’s eyes widened in surprise, "Vacation? Are you kidding me? For safety reasons, the program I work on is being temporarily suspended and I’m being forced to take a break? What safety concerns? What do the police say, was it the Wicca people? So, I can’t do anything?"

Quickly, Zoey hung up the phone with a look of anger on her face, and Silvia, sitting across from her, watched Zoey nervously, "What happened?"

"My department received a gift box. Upon opening it, we found a timing device inside. The incident scared all my TV station colleagues into evacuating. The bomb squad was called to dismantle it, only to find there was no bomb inside, just a box of chocolates," Zoey stated irritably:

"Pending the police investigation’s findings, for safety reasons, we are advised to cease all activities that could potentially provoke a response from the suspects, such as continuing the investigation into Wicca. In simpler terms, I’m on vacation. Judging by the police’s usual speed of investigation, the break will last at least two weeks. Obviously, it must have been the Wicca people trying to intimidate us. And because the gift box had no threat message, just chocolates, even if the police question them, they can’t do anything about it. They could claim it was just a kind-hearted viewer sending a box of chocolates to the TV station."

Outside the cafe, inside a public phone booth, bald Lotte Page, wearing a smoky gray jacket, saw Zoey end the call and instantly dialed her number. His eyes lingering on Zoey’s back inside the cafe, he spoke:

"Ms. Zoey Winters, I am Lotte Page, Mr. Tommy Hawk’s driver. He has sent me to pick you up and take you to Los Angeles for participation as a casting jury consultant in Mr. Stephen Binn’s new movie. I’ve checked with your TV station, and they said you’ve just started your vacation."