Capitol Reflections (36 page)
The reporters did not throw their usual follow-ups at Henry. Given his words on his aide’s depression, they didn’t pester him for details.
It didn’t hurt that they also knew that the senator would have roasted the first one who dared use the death of his aide as a fishing expedition for scandal.
The call came at 11:15 sharp, just as it always did.
“Good morning, Henry.” The man coughed. The man must be a heavy smoker, Henry thought for the hundredth time. His voice was as raspy as sandpaper.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Let’s get right to the matter at hand, Henry. You’ve been careless, and you know I don’t like carelessness.”
“In what way have I been careless, sir?”
“Are you aware that Roberta Chang was attempting to leak sensitive information to Edward Karn, information held by Gregory Randall?”
“No, sir. I wasn’t.”
There was an ominous pause at the other end of the line.
“Did you know of Chang’s whereabouts before her death?”
“She’d been taking considerable leave time because of the death of her mother.”
“Well, Senator, she wasn’t so distraught that she couldn’t find time to sleep with Gregory. She took pictures of documents in his briefcase in the hotel room. Fortunately, Randall brought the matter to my attention in time. You dropped the ball, Henry. You should have had a much tighter rein on Ms. Chang.”
Henry was a seething volcano, but he knew better than to erupt while on the phone with a man of such power. “Obviously, sir. I’m terribly sorry.”
Henry was aware that Chang occasionally slept with Randall, and though he’d grown suspicious of his aide due to her aloof manner, he had no idea she was attempting to compromise operations.
“You need to redeem yourself, Senator.”
“How would you like me to do that, sir?”
“Too many people are starting to snoop around. We have detained some of them. Others still pose a threat. I think it’s time you pay attention to Mark Stern. He could be a formidable opponent.”
“I know just what to do regarding Mr. Stern.”
“Good. Have a pleasant day, Henry. And be careful.”
There was a final cough at the end of the line before Henry heard a click.
“Goddamn!” Henry shouted. He wanted to strangle Randall.
Gregory should have notified Henry’s office instead of going over his head. Henry had experience in taking care of such matters. Instead, he had been humiliated, receiving a rebuke from one of the most influential men in the country. He despised Randall.
But he also needed the corporate wizard and his connections. Henry made a small fortune from his dealings with Randall, and a small fortune was what it was going to take to put him in the Oval Office.
For now, he’d turn his attention to Mark Stern. On
Washington One-On-One
, Henry had refrained from commenting on Stern’s counterculture background. Now, he’d leak the info at his disposal, with a little embellishment, and discredit the bleeding-heart liberal reporter.
Washington One-On-One
, Henry had refrained from commenting on Stern’s counterculture background. Now, he’d leak the info at his disposal, with a little embellishment, and discredit the bleeding-heart liberal reporter.
“All in a day’s work,” Henry said, regaining his composure and once again assuming the persona of an amiable Democrat who cared for widows, children, and orphans.
46
Mark and Gwen spent a fitful night tossing and turning in separate beds. It was more than a little strange for Mark to have Gwen that close and yet that far away.
Easy boy. She’s married and pregnant. They don’t get much more “off-limits” than that.
Easy boy. She’s married and pregnant. They don’t get much more “off-limits” than that.
Up at dawn, they went to a coffee shop across the street and then returned to the room. Gwen showered while Mark went online and began doing research. He also placed a call to Lonny Reisman to see if his friend had been able to refine BioNet’s original findings and another call to the paper to let them know that he was still alive, still undercover, and still “working on a killer story.”
“So what’s up?” asked Gwen, emerging from the bathroom wearing a fresh blouse and pair of denim jeans, her hair still slightly damp. Mark admired her for a millisecond—all that he would allow under the circumstances—before returning his attention to the laptop screen.
“I’ve just spoken to my friend at Active Healthcare,” Mark said. “His company has stats in the form of millions of claims and doctors’ reports. The seizure pattern goes far beyond what BioNet found.”
Gwen’s eyes opened wide. “How so?”
“The trend also exists in small to midsize cities. Muncie, Hattiesburg, Pensacola, Modesto, Carlsbad, Flagstaff, and dozens that you might not even recognize. Mandeville, Louisiana. Garden City, Kansas. Jamestown, North Dakota. Farmington, Arizona. Essex Junction, Vermont. The list goes on and on. There are seizure spikes everywhere, although the actual number of seizures, fatal or otherwise, is naturally much smaller in these populations. They would probably have shown up in a system as sophisticated as BioNet sooner or later, but Lonny’s outfit has a much richer data feed.”
“Then the crisis is far worse than we could have imagined.” Gwen retrieved the pictures she had taken of Gene McMurphy’s map. Red dots marked the cities, large and small, that Mark, BioNet, and the AE files had found. Gwen clenched her fist. “We’ve got to notify somebody, Mark, before this continues. I took an oath to protect the health and welfare of this nation’s citizens.”
“I know, I know. But we’ve been through this before. We don’t know who to trust right now. We need some hard data.”
“Showing what? That Marci was aware of a very dangerous man named Dieter Tassin? We already have that, and a sex slave story is not exactly going to provide the attorney general or the FDA commissioner with useful information on this case. I’d say we’re way off course. We already have hard data on seizure activity.”
Mark loved opportunities like the one Gwen just lobbed to him.
“Okay, then. Follow this. I’ve been using the
Wall Street Journal
database on consumer spending to find out what people have been buying during the last year. It’s highly accurate. What Lonny Reisman’s data does for medical trends, the
Journal’s
database can do for spending patterns. It can pinpoint very specific data on almost any product that’s out there.”
Wall Street Journal
database on consumer spending to find out what people have been buying during the last year. It’s highly accurate. What Lonny Reisman’s data does for medical trends, the
Journal’s
database can do for spending patterns. It can pinpoint very specific data on almost any product that’s out there.”
“I can tell by the look on your face that you think you’ve found something.”
“It appears so. First, my research indicates that cigarette purchasing patterns have remained very stable. The number of young people starting to smoke pretty much equals the number of people who quit or die from lung cancer or emphysema. There’s just no trend indicating that cigarette sales are up.”
“But that misses the point. The number of packs sold isn’t as important as what’s actually in those packs.”
“Yes, and we need to continue to consider that. But one product that has skyrocketed in sales is coffee.”
Gwen shook her head. “And I’m sure you could say the same for a thousand other products—various auto makes, appliances, iPods, clothing, what-have-you. Besides, gourmet coffee is popular these days. So what? There’s just nothing in coffee that can cause a seizure. Caffeine is the active ingredient, and while it certainly alters metabolism, it just doesn’t affect the seizure threshold.”
“You’re so sure that tobacco can be tampered with, but you won’t entertain the possibility that—”
Gwen’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out and flipped it open.
“No!” Mark said emphatically.
He was too late.
“Hello—”
Mark leaped up, grabbed the cell, and clicked it off.
“Shoot,” said Gwen. “Reflex. That was dumb. I guess I was hoping it was the hospital since they have my cell number.”
Mark looked at the number of the missed call. “The call wasn’t from an area code anywhere around here.”
“That means we hit the road again, doesn’t it?”
“You got it.”
They packed hurriedly, paid their bill, and got back in the Suburban.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going?”
“Do you know of a lab where I can get a coffee bean analyzed?”
“I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“Gwen, the plants at the bottom of the map in your pictures? It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but they look like coffee plants.”
Gwen leaned her head against the window and sighed in frustration. “The best place to go is Quantico. Jack has a lot of Secret Service buddies who work there. I think we’d get in with no problem, and they have a lab at the facility.”
“Quantico it is,” declared Mark. “Before we even get there, I’ll have you convinced that coffee is behind all this.”
47
The voice belonged to Peter Tippett. Jan was sure. She was no longer groggy from drugs, and the tinny little buzz coming from the brass button at the top of her jeans had an unmistakably British accent.
“Peter? Where are you and why am I talking to my belly button?”
“That’s unimportant. Just do as I tell you. Tell your captors that you’re sick. Feverish, nauseous, dizzy.”
“But—”
“Just do it.”
Jan took a deep breath and called out. “Hey! Somebody! Help me!”
There was no answer.
Jan stood and tapped on the door of her cell.
“Can anyone hear me?”
A small window at the top of the door slid open. “What’s all the racket about?” The face outside the cell belonged to the man Jan now thought of as “pocket protector man.”
“I don’t feel … so good. I think I’m … spiking a temp. Queasy. Vision … blurred.”
The window into the cell slid shut.
Thirty minutes passed and nothing happened.
Minute thirty-one, however, did not disappoint. The cell door swung open, revealing a bald man wearing thick glasses and a doctor’s lab coat.
“Hello, luv. Ready to—how do you say it in America—blow this Popsicle stand?”
Jan laughed. “Peter? What … how … I mean … ”
“I was detained in a small facility next to this one. The glasses belong to one of the idiots who brought us here, the lab coat was in a closet with medical supplies, and I decided to give myself the sexy Yul Brenner look.” Peter glanced at the body on the floor and Jan’s eyes followed. “Pocket protector man” was out cold. “Before I disabled my captors, that unfortunate man guarding you called my building and asked his colleague to summon a physician. I knew they didn’t want us dead, so I gambled that they’d look for a doctor.”
“How on earth did you disable them?”
“I have a black belt in tae kwon do. In technical terms, I kicked the crap out of them.”
“And you just walked in here after that?”
“Essentially, yes. My impersonation of a doctor threw that little geek lying on the floor long enough for me to gut-kick him into next week.”
Jan embraced the ersatz doctor, realizing instantly how good it felt to hold him. “You never cease to amaze me, Peter. I never would have guessed … ”
She suddenly stood back. “And how is it that you can talk to me through a button on my jeans?” She sure was glad he was on her side.
“Just about anybody can buy a small radio like that online these days. Most bona fide spies use devices smaller than a pinhead. I put it on your jeans a few days ago as a precaution. Now, enough chat. Let’s get out of here.”
Jan and Peter left the building, enabling Jan to see she’d been held in one of three small buildings somewhere in the countryside. Peter escorted her to a white van, started the engine, and drove down a dirt road leading away from the compound.
“I had a disturbing conversation with someone, Peter. He said terrorists had infiltrated America’s food supply and that we were compromising government operations to handle the threat. You know, I’ve heard stranger stories coming out of the government. The feds have done a great many unorthodox things since 9/11. This guy may have been a straight shooter.”
Peter laughed and took out his cell phone camera. “Did the man look like this?”
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