Capitol Reflections (35 page)
“I suppose anything is possible.”
Mark continued reading. “It just gets better—and weirder.”
“In what way?”
“It appears that Marci was trying to do more for Anh than simply securing her apartment. I think she was going to go after Tassin.”
“For what? Desertion?”
“No. Get this—he was trafficking in slaves back in the late seventies.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not about something like this. Tassin actually sold some of Anh’s cousins and friends into slavery—as sex slaves, to be exact. Looks like they became courtesans of well-to-do people that Tassin knew. Anh’s daughters escaped this nightmare because they were only two and three years old at the time, although Marci says here that Tassin threatened Anh that if she ever left him, she would never see those daughters again. Anh is about seventy-five now, fairly close in age to Tassin.”
“Why all the secrecy with Haydn104?” asked Gwen.
Mark stood and paced the room, looking disturbed. “Tassin whispered something in my ear while we were standing next to the roasting ovens. He leaned over and said, ‘Don’t you just love the story of Hansel and Gretel?’”
“Guy sounds like a lunatic.”
“I think a little research might confirm this lunatic was hanging around Auschwitz or Dachau in the early forties. He was alluding to torturing people in ovens, for Christ’s sake. And we were in something very much like an oven at the time. Aside from creeping me out bigtime, he obviously doesn’t have much of a conscience. Sex slaves? This man is one bad SOB, and if I were Marci, I wouldn’t have left the info hanging around.” Mark thought about how he’d had dinner with Billy Hamlin and Dieter just the night before. Hamlin spoke about Dieter as though he were a wizard. Was he unaware of Tassin’s past?
“I still don’t see his connection with seizures, as intriguing as all this is. What do you intend to do?”
“Play a hunch, my dear Watson. Play a hunch.”
Gwen laughed. It was nice to hear. “You’re still the same old Mark. As weird and wired as you ever were.”
“Why thank you, Gwen. It’s nice to know you still appreciate me.”
44
Trembling, Jan sat on the edge of her cot. Her thoughts were still hazy. She didn’t know how long she’d been out this time. She assumed the people standing in the cell with her used some kind of drug to awaken her.
“What do you want?” she asked. It was a little tough to get the words to come out right.
A bald man in a gray pinstripe suit sat in a wooden chair next to the cot. The man who last drugged her, still wearing a white shirt with a pocket protector, stood behind him in the corner.
“We want information, Dr. Menefee.” The man was in his early forties. He exuded confidence and his pale blue eyes and reassuring smile did nothing to put Jan at ease. “I know all this must seem very strange, but believe me, there are reasons why you were brought here.”
“You tried to kill me and Peter,” Jan said tersely.
“Untrue. We needed to ask you some questions, as well as stop your cyber activity immediately. You could have compromised a very serious government investigation.”
A third man entered the room, handed Jan a cup of coffee, and left. After a few sips, her trembling subsided.
“I found vital information that the government is trying to cover up,” Jan asserted.
The man paused, never taking his eyes off Jan. “Yes, you’ve discovered certain information, but you’re unaware of its context. Terrorists have infiltrated our homeland, Dr. Menefee, and the government needs to address this threat without causing a panic. The truth is that a radical Islamic sect has contaminated our food supply. BioNet would have picked it up within a day or two on its own, but you and Dr. Maulder helped it along. You reported the seizure stats to your superiors, who told you to keep the findings confidential and proceed no further. I fail to see why you felt the need to destroy the gatekeeper and start sending out files.”
“And I fail to see why you installed a gatekeeper without telling me in the first place. Or why Gwen Maulder was pulled away from her regular duties and assigned to—” Jan broke off. She didn’t want to volunteer any information to the unknown man before her.
“The Adverse Event files,” the man said, nodding. “The FDA knew Dr. Maulder was the best person for the job. Gene McMurphy wanted her to uncover episodes that would corroborate our findings, but he couldn’t give her any information about the terrorist threat. That issue is beyond her clearance level. Unfortunately, Dr. Maulder began testing crazy theories by researching clinical trials and tobacco companies instead of conducting a straightforward search for terrorist activity, which is what her boss requested. The fact that you and Dr. Maulder spotted the seizures is a testament to your competence, but we simply couldn’t let you two wander off on your own. There’s too much at stake.”
This exacerbated Jan’s confusion. Was it possible that the feds were really onto something as serious as food contamination across America? If so, it was plausible—though not necessarily moral—that the FBI or CIA would confide in only the most essential personnel and keep the public in the dark.
“The people have a right to know,” Jan protested. “The appropriate warnings should have been issued as to what is safe to buy and what is not. It’s the job of the FDA to do this, as well as the responsibility of the government as a whole.”
The bald man shook his head and leaned forward. “It’s not that simple, Dr. Menefee. The food and drug laws never contemplated issues of homeland security. Imagine an entire nation learning that a hundred different products—both food and beverages—may contain a deadly chemical that’s difficult to trace. There could be rioting in the streets. Stores would be looted for ‘safe’ items. And fear—a paralyzing fear—could spread across the land, the likes of which would make the fear after 9/11 pale in comparison. The country could be shaken to its foundation. Don’t you think that we’re doing everything possible at this very moment to combat the Islamic radicals?”
Jan didn’t know what to believe. BioNet was constructed to detect exactly the kind of scenario being described, and she had to admit that the system was relatively new. It was entirely possible that she and Gwen had gotten the information days—or even hours—before the system would have identified the seizure spikes and recognized patterns on its own. If that had happened, a Compartmented Secret Information Codeword access shield would have gone up instantly. She remembered enough from her last security briefing to know that she would have indeed been ordered to keep the utmost secrecy concerning BioNet’s findings.
But that was the problem.
“Something doesn’t make sense,” she said. “As director of the BioNet Surveillance Project, I would have been in the loop. I have codeword-level clearance for this project. That’s why I was hired. BioNet is crucial to any ongoing investigation of terrorism. Why not call me into the office and explain what’s going on?”
Jan’s interviewer smiled in a way that suggested he was treating her as a naïve child caught in a situation she couldn’t possibly understand.
“Dr. Menefee, you would most certainly have been given certain instructions if you had allowed the Center to move forward in its own manner, although you would not have been privy to countermeasures or political ramifications. Even now, I can’t reveal all of the pertinent facts to you, but that’s not the issue. You signed documents the day you were hired in which you promised to respect the chain of command and not use the database to pursue unauthorized lines of inquiry.”
“So now you’re showing me the inside of the puzzle?” she mused. “Seems a bit contradictory, to my way of thinking.”
“I have no choice but to give you more information than I would prefer, but I have decided it would be in the country’s best interest to enlist your help to deal with this crisis.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I need to know what you, Mr. Tippett, and Dr. Maulder know. What have you and Mr. Tippett uncovered in your computer-related expeditions?”
Jan barely bit back the retort that first sprung to her lips. “You already know everything we know. Hell, you were spying on—or should I say ‘monitoring’—us. There’s nothing I can add.”
“Have you contacted others within the government? Any civilians?”
“No. Of course not.”
“And yet your companion sent a file on avian flu to Panama.”
“Surely you realize that was unintentional. He hit the wrong key, and the next thing we knew, the file was sending itself out the cyber-door. And what’s up with that, by the way? Since when do CDC files go to Central America?”
The man shook his head again. “Has it occurred to you that the United States government has quite a few tricks up its sleeve to combat terrorism? We have several remote stations and outposts that help us transfer or safeguard information. I confess I’m a bit disappointed that you can’t trust the government that pays your salary, Dr. Menefee.”
Jan knew arguing was pointless. “I don’t have any other information, nor was any given to anyone you don’t already know about. Go ahead and shoot me full of more drugs if you don’t believe me.”
Standing, the bald man looked down and smiled the same condescending smile. “That won’t be necessary, and I apologize for the heavy-duty meds. It was necessary to keep you calm until I could arrive. Thank you for your time.”
Both men exited the cell, leaving Jan alone on the cot. At this point, she was willing to entertain the possibility that she and Gwen were simply in over their heads. There was no way to refute what the man in the gray suit had said. To a greater or lesser degree, all branches and agencies of government lived and died by a code of secrecy.
She desperately wanted to get in touch with Gwen and tell her of a possible terrorist breach. Whatever leads Gwen was pursuing, she needed to remember that things weren’t always what they seemed. Even the most damning or implausible facts sometimes had explanations. A contamination of foods and beverages could well be responsible for seizures across the country.
She curled up and drifted off to sleep, wondering where Peter was. Just before she dozed, another thought entered her head.
Why did the man in the gray suit look so familiar?
45
Gregory Randall looked at the morning paper. It was a pity, he thought, that Roberta Chang had underestimated him. It had been pure stupidity on her part to think that after making love to the Asian beauty he would simply leave her to her own devices in his quarters. He couldn’t deny, though, that he’d been disappointed in the way she betrayed him by sneaking around and taking pictures of the documents in his briefcase. To Randall’s way of thinking, the loss of Chang was a waste of what he had thought was considerable intelligence, not to mention sexual talent. He’d often considered luring the comely young woman away from the staff of Henry Broome.
Henry. He’d been too trusting of Chang. Randall always suspected that Chang, an educated woman with access to most of Henry’s affairs, knew about their mutual business interests. Henry should have had more self-discipline. Randall made the effort to ensure his own courtesans were content, but he would never give any of them entry into his professional dealings. That would be taking a great risk—for absolutely no reward.
Fortunately, Randall was able to contain the situation with a single phone call. The man with the raspy voice usually obtained results in a very short time. In this case, Tabula Rasa intercepted Chang’s manila envelope before the day was over.
“Good-bye, Roberta,” Randall said. “I’ll miss your gentle touch.”
He looked up to see her replacement, a tanned beauty, standing next to him with his morning coffee, naked as a jaybird.
The reporters descended on Henry as soon as the senator exited the limo near the Capitol Building steps. As usual, Henry was prepared. He held up both hands as the barrage of questions began concerning the death of Roberta Chang, Chief Aide for the senior senator from Hawaii.
“The death of Roberta Chang comes as a blow to myself and everyone on my staff,” Henry began. “She was a competent aide who, given time, might have made a name for herself in the political arena. Most of all, she was a warm, caring human being who was interested in helping average Americans better themselves. As you probably know, Ms. Chang’s mother died unexpectedly not long ago. Coupled with Ms. Chang’s fight with bouts of depression, this terrible tragedy must have seemed overwhelming. Depression is a disease like any other, and this is just one more example of the need to show compassion, not judgment, to people suffering from this disease. I personally will never forget the contributions Roberta Chang made to my office and to the American people. Thank you.”
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