Capitol Reflections (27 page)
“What the hell are you talking about? Have you been sampling some of those outlawed drugs?”
“I don’t have time for comedy, Carl—not today. Transpac sent me a file that I downloaded this morning. It’s on avian flu.”
“Hold on, Gene. Let me check last night’s computer log.”
Several minutes of static filled McMurphy’s ear before Carl Richey made it back to the phone.
“Son of a bitch, Gene. You’re absolutely right, but I don’t have a clue as to what its significance is. For what it’s worth, it’s another BioNet file from the CDC, and it went through our computer system last night. I’m guessing our program automatically bounced it up to you since the file originated from the CDC, just like the seizure stats. We have that enhanced AC-IV processing chip in our PCs just like you guys and gals up in Rockville and Atlanta. Works like a charm and forwards all the info lickety-split.”
McMurphy sighed. “Yeah. Works like a charm.” Richey was an educated man, but his down-home manner aggravated the associate commissioner to no end. He wasn’t in the mood for country chitchat.
“Thank you, Carl.”
“You got it big guy. Just call whenever—”
McMurphy hung up the phone. He didn’t have time for Richey’s bullshit.
Without a second’s hesitation, he called the head of Tabula Rasa and related how he’d gotten the unexpected file on avian flu.
“Don’t worry,” came the raspy voice. “A reverse probe detected tampering with BioNet by Menefee and a friend of hers. That fire has been contained.”
“Understood.”
The line went dead.
McMurphy believed in the goals of the “secret organization” with which he was associated. They were a government within a government with a true patriot for a leader—a man who understood that the good of the many did outweigh the good of the few. Sometimes extreme measures had to be taken, blood had to be shed. After all, most people had no idea what was really good for them. Someone had to step up to the plate to make sure things didn’t get out of control.
Still, McMurphy never liked talking to the creepy man with the raspy voice. He preferred watching him on television.
Gwen had sent several e-mails to Jan over the past two days in an attempt to notify her about gmcmjr. There were no responses.
“To hell with iPrive,” she said angrily. “I’m going to call her up on a landline and talk about the price of rice if I have to.”
Gwen’s call to the CDC bounced to several different people, each involving five minutes on hold. At last, a male voice said, “This is Watkins. How may I help you?”
“As I told the other four people I’ve spoken to in the last twenty minutes, I’m calling for Dr. Menefee.” Gwen had been careful not to identify herself to anyone on the other end of the line.
The man paused. “I’m afraid she’s no longer employed here at the Center.”
“What the hell are you talking about? She’s the director of—”
Gwen broke off abruptly. No contact from Jan. Jan “no longer employed” at the CDC …
The game she was playing had just changed. Adrenaline spiked and Gwen became acutely aware that she could be in real danger. She only hoped Jan was safe. She put the receiver back in its cradle. Further questions were useless.
It was time to call the one person who might help her. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
The Excelsior’s private lounge was relatively quiet at this time of day. Mark and Billy relaxed over their drinks, after another racquetball match that Billy won handily. At least Mark was getting more competitive.
“That was a great piece you did on Pequod’s, Mark,” commented Hamlin. “We appreciate the compliments.”
“No thanks necessary. I call ’em like I see ’em.” Mark was never entirely comfortable when a subject liked a piece, even though in this case, he’d found it easy to praise Pequod’s. Mark’s investigative projects were long-term, though. If there was something darker under the company’s impressive veneer, he’d find it, and the innocuous puff piece he’d just published would give him easier access. “Still, I’m flattered by your observations.”
Mark’s cell phone rang as he began to say something else. “Excuse me for a moment,” Mark said, turning away slightly.
“No problem.”
Mark’s face relaxed into a smile mixed with mild surprise. “Hello yourself,” the reporter said. “It’s been a while … how have you been?”
There was a pause, after which Mark said, “Okay then. I’ll be in touch.”
“An old flame?” asked Hamlin when Mark had tucked his cell into a Nike bag.
“A good reporter never reveals his contacts,” answered Mark.
“That was an old girlfriend all right. And judging from the look on your face, I’d say she was pretty important to you at one time.”
“You’re working my side of the street, Billy.”
“Like you, I have to be able to read people.”
“I suppose,” Mark said. His interest in exploring Billy Hamlin further had disappeared entirely. “Well, Billy, I have to be running now. When’s the next time you’ll be in New York?”
“Not for two months. Why don’t you hop up to Seattle and mix some business with pleasure. I’ll show you Pequod’s up close and give you another chance to beat me at racquetball.”
“I might just do that,” said Mark, standing. “As you can probably tell from how easily I hop up to the City, Washington’s a little too claustrophobic for me. I’ll use any excuse for a few days away.”
“We’ll set it up, then.”
“I’d like that.”
34
Gregory Randall was more than just agitated. “Apoplectic” was a more apt description. He’d tried to call Henry for the past thirty minutes, both at his Senate office and on his cell, a number that only five other people knew. If Henry was busy, all he had to do was push “3” on the keypad to send Randall’s assistant a programmed text message explaining that he was in an especially important meeting but would call back as soon as possible. Today, however, the senator was not responding. His office staff said he was unavailable, and there had been no text message.
No one kept Gregory Randall waiting. From Fiji to Vatican City, Randall expected his calls to be answered.
Randall tried Henry’s office again and was informed that his call was finally being put through. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t get many headaches, but when he did, there was only one remedy: a lovely Asian beauty massaging his temples and neck.
“Good morning, Gregory,” said Henry. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“Cut the bullshit, Henry. Where the hell have you been?”
“I was on the phone. First with the majority leader, then with the president. The majority leader I can blow off for a few minutes. The president? When I get word his call is imminent, I have to keep the decks clear.”
“Then why didn’t you signal me, Henry?”
“I guess my cell’s on the fritz, Gregory. Sorry about that. I’ll have to check the vibrate setting. Or maybe the battery’s just low. Technology is so complicated these days.”
“Technology is what keeps you and me in business, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, but you’re going to die an early death if you don’t learn to relax. We’ve been through this before, Gregory. You know perfectly well I provide you with complete access day or night.”
“Yes, so let’s get to the point and cut the health lecture. Is Karn sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“Karn is dead in this town, Gregory. Why do you ask?”
Randall paused. “I don’t trust him. I don’t want to hear him babbling his gospel of all-natural products because he’s pissed over the confirmation hearings.”
“I don’t either, but you’d be the first to know if he was causing trouble.”
“Are operations proceeding as expected on your end, Henry? As you know, we’re at a critical stage right now. Things have to run with clockwork precision.”
“They always have and it won’t be any different this time.”
“Very well. We’re done. And get your damned cell phone fixed.”
Henry knew the CEO, smooth and controlled in front of an audience, was an incessant worrier who often became agitated behind closed doors. His tantrums were as legendary as those of Trump and Turner. Randall’s nervous disposition caused the senator to laugh out loud. He’d felt his cell phone vibrate several times during the past thirty minutes, but once in a while he needed to give Gregory a subtle message that they were partners enjoying a symbiotic relationship. Despite Gregory Randall’s enormous wealth, he needed Henry—and badly. If a slight delay caused Randall to get a migraine, so be it. Henry was a U.S. senator and intended to sit in the Oval Office one day. Randall was not the only megalith in this relationship.
He pushed the button on his phone bank and spoke casually.
“Roberta, could you come in here for a second?”
“I’m sorry, Senator. Ms. Chang has left for the day.”
“All right. Thanks.”
Henry’s annoyance with Roberta Chang was growing. He had a meeting with party bigwigs in an hour and his chief aide had left for the day without notifying him. And she’d taken all his notes along for the ride.
“Is everything okay?” asked Roberta Chang.
Randall hung up the phone and turned over in bed.
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