Capitol Reflections (31 page)
This is definitely not why I joined the Public Health Service
.
.
Minutes passed, but there was no sign of anyone from the cleaning crew.
I still have time to leave. If I’m caught, the show’s over. The investigation will be finished. As will my career—and maybe even my life.
Thinking about her unborn child, Gwen wondered if it really made sense to continue to take risks at this level. Her odds of success were terrible and failure could destroy her. She knew Jack would burst a seam if he saw her here. Maybe he was right. Maybe she needed to move on.
But she couldn’t. People were dying. Her best friend had died. How much worse would this get if it went unchecked?
She heard the cleaning person coming back down the hall, humming a tune.
Damn. Why is she coming back? I thought she was finished. This really is it. I’m screwed here … Game, set—
The cleaning person entered the office. Gwen heard a snapping sound as the woman abruptly yanked the vacuum cleaner’s cord from the wall. Moments later, the lights went off and the door closed.
Gwen found herself sitting alone, crouched under the desk in total darkness. She waited another ten minutes as the sound of vacuuming resumed and slowly faded.
Crawling on her hands and knees, Gwen left her hiding place and stood. She searched for the switch to the desk lamp. McMurphy’s desk was sparsely covered, with no memos of any kind littered across its surface. She tried opening the drawers and nearby file cabinets, but they were locked.
Okay, then. His PC.
Like most of the staff, he left it on all the time, though the screen was currently in its dark screen-saving mode. She tapped a key at random and the fifteen-inch flatscreen began to glow. Behind the icons, McMurphy’s wallpaper was a dark blue ocean. In lighter blue letters, almost invisible on the waves, was the word “Transpac,” whatever that meant.
She moved the mouse and clicked on Microsoft Word. PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD appeared in the middle of the screen.
Gwen rolled her eyes and sighed. She wasn’t a hacker and didn’t have a clue how to gain access to a protected application.
You came this far. Try something.
She typed “transpac” into the password slot, but the expected message appeared: ACCESS DENIED.
It was useless. She could try combinations of letters and numbers all night, but hitting the right one would be tantamount to winning the lottery. As she stood up, her eyes fell on a map of the United States on the wall behind a library table. She noted red dots over cities where BioNet had identified seizure spikes. Gwen got out her digital camera from a small shoulder bag and took two pictures, then moved to take several more since the lower part of the map was obscured by plants on the library table. Putting away her camera, she left the office empty-handed.
“Good evening, Dr. Maulder. What are you doing up here at this hour?”
Gwen’s heart began to race. It was Ralph Snyder.
“All the ladies’ rooms downstairs are backed up,” Gwen replied. “This was the first one I could find with flushing toilets.” Gwen walked past Snyder without breaking stride to emphasize the trivial nature of searching for a restroom.
“Mmm,” mumbled Snyder as he swiped a card and entered a nearby office.
That was close. Too close.
Gwen returned to her office, gathered up some papers, and left the building. Her hands were shaking, cold, and clammy. This was not her idea of fun.
39
Gwen still wasn’t sure what they were doing in the car. When she got home last night, frazzled by her feeble attempts at espionage, Jack told her—he didn’t ask her, he told her—that she needed to take the next day off. They were going on a road trip. He wouldn’t elaborate on the reasons why, but he was insistent and he seemed uncharacteristically skittish. Gwen’s instincts, still on edge from the evening’s activities, told her to leave it alone. Now, though, she’d had enough.
“What’s going on, Jack? Tell me, and tell me now!”
“I was followed yesterday. At least, I think I was.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“And so we’re driving to Virginia?”
“Yes. I’ve put up with your investigation of Marci’s death for a long time now—and don’t tell me you’re not actively pursuing the matter—so you can certainly give me some latitude here.”
“Fine. You want some latitude, you got it. But why are we driving to Virginia?”
“I want to see if it happens again. If it does, I’ll head south on 359 and drive to Treasury’s training facility at Quantico. My retiree credentials will get us through the gate.”
Gwen was so befuddled she said nothing. She’d never seen Jack paranoid. That meant this was bad just about any way you sliced it.
Forty-five minutes later, Jack pulled into the lot of a Pequod’s.
“Need a cup of coffee to go with your cigarette?” asked Gwen flatly.
“What?”
“Come on, Jack. Do you think I can’t smell the smoke on your clothes?”
“Okay, okay,” he confessed. “I sneak a few, but I’m stressed out.”
They got their coffee and sat down. Gwen had questions to ask, but Jack preempted her with an explanation.
“You’re pregnant and still chasing down your suspicions over Marci’s death. You’re more distant lately. You don’t talk much, but you sure do stick close to your cell phone and PC. Meanwhile, I’ve started to notice vans cruising by our house late at night. Then yesterday a Grand Am chased me for more than forty miles. So yes—I’m smoking again.”
Gwen knew she’d created trouble for herself with the investigation. However, she hadn’t thought enough about putting Jack at risk. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to him.
“All right, Jack. But you’re going to stop again soon, right?”
“I’ll get it under control by the time the baby arrives.” Jack took a deep breath. “Look, you need to know something. I’ve been working on Marci’s files and came across a few things. Marci was suing some tobacco companies. There was even a file on her PC that led me to the friend of someone who’d died from a seizure after smoking only a short time.”
Gwen’s expression darkened. “You’ve been working on her PC?”
“I went to see Lawrence and Jennifer up in New York. They gave me access to Marci’s computer.”
“And you hid that from me? If anyone should have access to her private files other than her parents, it should be me. And why didn’t you inform me about the tobacco angle?” Her voice was strained as she leaned over the table, her facial muscles taut. “And to top it all off, you start smoking again while you investigate the dangers of tobacco. That’s really rich, Jack. Next you’ll tell me you forgot about the risks of paternal smoking to early-stage pregnancies.”
“Hold it right there,” insisted Jack, his face flushed with anger. “You haven’t exactly been the poster girl for rational behavior lately. And as far as my smoking is concerned, you’ve got some secrets of your own, or am I completely off-base? You’ve been acting pretty peculiar lately.”
Heads in the coffee shop were beginning to turn.
“You made it clear that you didn’t approve of my inquiry, so I kept my activities quiet,” snapped Gwen. “You know I hate it when you preach at me. And this time you even ordered me to back off!”
Jack took a long sip of his coffee and looked out the window. “I was trying to help, for Christ’s sake. I wanted to solve this thing for you so we could concentrate on the baby. I thought I could wrap it up so we wouldn’t have to deal with this for the next nine months. You just don’t know when to leave something alone, Gwen. Ever since you closed up your father’s private practice, you’ve been on a one-woman crusade to save the world, and I’m tired of it.”
Fuming, Gwen shifted in her seat and ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s who I am, Jack. If that doesn’t meet with your approval, then maybe we shouldn’t be having this baby together. I can take care of myself.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. Gwen knew she’d struck a nerve. “So you’re standing on moral high ground because you’re an all-important FDA doctor—one who’s putting us both in danger. You can sneak around and investigate, but as soon as I try to pitch in and—”
Jack paused. His face was twisted in a way she didn’t recognize.
“And what?” Gwen said impatiently.
His face relaxed. “I was trying to lend you a hand—that’s all. When I finally discovered a clue, I thought I’d follow it up and let you know when I found something concrete. But I now think we’re both under surveillance—and we could be in danger.”
“We could have worked as a team, dammit. I’ve come across damaging information about tobacco as well. And I don’t care what you say—you had no business going to the Newmans without me.”
“Damaging information about tobacco! For the love of God, Gwen. If you’d come to me in the first place, we could have worked as a team. I—”
Jack stopped abruptly. Gwen noticed that his right hand was starting to shake. “Look, can I have a cigarette without your going ballistic?”
“It’s rather late for that, isn’t it?”
Jack was reaching for his pack of cigarettes when his eyes rolled up into his head. He tried to speak, but only guttural sounds escaped his throat.
“Jack!” Gwen screamed. “What’s happening?”
In her haste, Gwen knocked her latte over, got up, and knelt next to her husband.
He was lying on the floor. Faster and faster, his right arm flexed and unflexed repeatedly. Meanwhile, his left leg began to dance a jig to a rhythm all its own.
“Jack, can you hear me? Did you take something?” Gwen turned her head sharply. “Call 9-1-1!” she yelled.
“Is everything okay over there?” a barrista called as if Gwen had ordered another latte.
“No, it’s not okay! I said to call 9-1-1. Now!”
Jack’s movements had slowed as he attempted to speak. “The … baby. You … ”
“The paramedics are on their way. Everything will be okay.” Gwen was in tears now. “I didn’t mean what I said, Jack. Of course I want the baby. Jack. Jack!”
Jack couldn’t answer. The tonic-clonic movements were becoming more rapid. He was going into a full-blown seizure. Gwen bundled several wooden stirring sticks together and placed them in her husband’s mouth so he wouldn’t bite his tongue.
An eternity seemed to go by as Gwen waited for help. Finally, the door swung open as a female paramedic rushed in, followed by her partner pulling a collapsed gurney along the floor.
“I’m a doctor! Hurry up! Please do something for him!” Gwen cried.
The paramedics started an IV drip and checked Jack’s vital signs. Several tense minutes passed before the female said, “We’ve got him stable for the moment, but we need to get him to a hospital. You can ride in the back, but please try to stay calm. I’ll be calling in his vitals to the ER again as soon as we roll.”
“Sure. Anything. Is he going to be—”
“Just ride in the back, ma’am.”
Gwen, consumed with guilt and worry, felt as if she were in the midst of the worst nightmare of her life.
It’s all my fault. I should have told him everything about the investigation. I’m as guilty as he is.
The image of Marci lying on the gurney at Bellevue hit Gwen like a sledgehammer. “No,” she sobbed as the ambulance sped through the streets. “Not again.”
40
Before he got to work in earnest on Gwen’s story, Mark followed up on Billy Hamlin’s invitation and took a trip to Seattle. The CEO could not have been more accommodating, guiding Mark on a tour of the inner workings of Pequod’s main facility. Mark was relatively certain that he was only getting marginally more access than the average tourist received, but the average tourist didn’t get to walk the plant with the company’s head honcho. And the standard tour didn’t include dinner with that head honcho’s family. Hamlin’s wife, Cynthia, was fourth-generation Japanese-American and was trained expertly in the art of preparing beautiful food. Clearly, she had gone out of her way to impress Mark. She prepared a uniquely Japanese meal in which each item looked like something it wasn’t: scallops pressed and colored to look like miniature apples, vegetables cut and shaped to look like shrimps.
As Mark entered the dining portion of the house, he was surprised by the sight of two dining rooms, one set with a period Duncan Pfyfe mahogany table and chairs, the other furnished in traditional tatami.
“Take your pick, you’re the guest,” said Hamlin. Mark immediately shucked his shoes and headed for the tatami room. Hamlin pressed a few keys on the small computer monitor in the wall, and the home was flooded with delicate strains of Koto music.
“And if I had chosen the other room?”
“Pachelbel,” answered Hamlin without missing a beat.
Dieter Tassin, Pequod’s master roaster, arrived moments later, with two of the most striking women Mark had ever seen. They turned out to be his wife, Mei Long, and her sister, Su Chi. All three were clearly far more comfortable sitting tatami-style than Mark, and Tassin in particular seemed to enjoy Mark’s constant shifting to accommodate the growing ache in his knees and ankles.
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