Edge of Apocalypse (16 page)

As they sat down together at the crowded outdoor cafe for lunch, Abigail wondered if Darlene may have arranged their day together so she could open up about whatever it was that had her in its grasp. But Darlene wasn't ready just yet. Instead, she was busy cracking jokes about the Aspen society: the trendy Labradoodle mix of designer dogs being walked past their table by the locals, and the wealthy chic women wearing artfully ripped blue-jeans and eight-carat diamonds strolling by and swinging their Prada bags.

Darlene had Abigail laughing and enjoying herself. But as Abigail studied her friend, she saw it. A sadness just beneath the surface of Darlene's humor.

They continued to pick their way through their salads while chatting about nothing in particular. Darlene had ordered a huge chef salad while Abigail had fancied the lean "Aspen Forest Special," which consisted of a bowl of greens garnished with nuts and fruit.

Darlene finished a bite, glanced over at her friend, and shook her head. "Oh, you're still so good with calories. Look at me. I've loaded up with all this ham and cheese. And I forget to order the low-cal dressing..."

"Darley, don't be so hard on yourself. Just chalk this up to a little celebration. Two chick-friends doing lunch. It's really been too long..."

"Not since New Year's Eve."

"We've got to get together more often. I mean it, Darley..."

Suddenly Darlene got very quiet. She looked at her salad and listlessly stirred the lettuce for a moment. She then sighed, put her fork down, and rested her chin on her folded hands.

"You know Abby, I used to think you were a friend..."

Darlene paused. Abigail wondered what was coming next.

"But now I think of you as my
dearest
friend."

Abby blushed a little and reached across the table for Darlene's hand. She squeezed it while Darlene continued.

"We don't see each other but, what, maybe twice a year on average. And lots of phone calls in between, of course..."

Abigail smiled at that.

"I feel I can really share anything with you..."

Now Abigail was waiting.

But then Darlene suddenly darted off course. "You look so fit, Abby. You must still be jogging?"

"I try to. Our schedules have become impossible lately. It's hard to stick to the routine with everything that's going on..."

"I know. Fort and I have been following how the media has been going after poor Josh over this missile crisis. What a mess this country's in."

Abigail nodded and smiled, but she knew Darlene was just dancing around the issue now, whatever it was.

"I bet there's been a lot of pressure on the two of you," Darlene continued.

"There has been. But funny enough, I feel so close to Josh lately, despite the tension and stress."

"Hmm, stress..." Darlene repeated the word with almost a kind of whimper.

"But on the other hand, I know of so many other folks who have it much harder than we do," Abigail offered with a gentleness in her voice that unexpectedly caught her friend off guard. Darlene quickly covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes began to fill up. It took nearly a minute before she could collect herself and respond. When she did, her voice was noticeably trembling.

"I will never forget how you helped me through Jimmy's death. It's one of those things that a mother doesn't ever let go of. So many questions. How could my perfectly healthy twenty-five-year-old die like that from an aneurism? No warning. No symptoms. A call from his friend...they were playing basketball at the Y. 'Jimmy collapsed,' he said. Your whole life changes in an instant. From one phone call."

"I'm just glad I could be there for you," Abigail reassured. "And I'm still here."

"I tried to talk with Fort about it. But you know him; he sort of retreats into himself. I don't blame him. It's just the way he is. I know he was devastated. I still wonder whether all of that contributed to his heart problems. And ever since he had to retire from the bench it's been...well...
interesting
at home, and not in a good way."

Darlene paused. She was getting closer. Abigail let her friend continue.

"So I've had to cope as best as I can. Find my own little methods to live with all of this. Funny how when you're younger you don't really fear much. Then you start losing things, losing people you love, and suddenly you're afraid of everything. So you do whatever it takes to put one foot in front of the other, maintain your balance."

As she stared off into space, her hands were now on the table, and her fingers were gracefully moving in a rhythm, as if she were strumming some tiny, invisible guitar.

Then, abruptly, she sat straight up and began looking around. "Where is it? Where's my purse?"

There was a look of panic on Darlene's face.

Abigail spotted it under her chair and reached down to pluck it up. Darlene thrust her hand over the table to grab the purse. As she did she inadvertently knocked her purse out of Abigail's hand and down onto the table where the contents spilled out.

Including a dozen prescription pill bottles.

Abigail picked up one of the bottles. Then another. And another. They all read
Diazepam.

Abigail recognized what it was.

"These are all valium..."

Darlene reached out to grab them and stuff them back in her purse. She was trying to look unruffled. But it wasn't working. Her hands were trembling, and she accidentally dropped several of the pill bottles on the floor once again. Abigail quietly helped her pick them up and placed them on the table.

Then she reached over and squeezed Darlene's hand. "Okay, friend. You're dealing with a lot, aren't you?"

Darlene was struggling to crack a joke about her moment of embarrassment with the pill bottles. She tried to smile and started to speak, but she couldn't, at least for a moment or two. She glanced around nervously at the other cafe guests while her chin trembled and the tears started rolling down her cheeks.

Finally she summoned the strength to speak. "Okay, Abby. Now you know. My nasty little secret. This is how I cope."

"That's a lot of valium, Darley..."

Darlene nodded. "I have three different doctors. In three different cities. All of them prescribing. I don't think they know about each other. Although two of them know about Fort, and because of who he is, they don't ask a lot of questions. So I triple-dose. I'm using this to exist, Abigail."

"And?"

"And I find that I can't live without it. Literally. I can't give it up. God help me, I've tried to stop. But whenever I quit, fear and anxiety start to suffocate me. I can't breathe. Can't sleep. I can't even begin to tell you how terrible it is."

"Does Fort know?"

"I don't think so. He knew I was taking some medication right after Jimmy's death to relax but that's about it."

Abigail thought about the next question she wanted to ask her friend. She knew it might sound a little brusque. But it was necessary. So she decided to move ahead.

"I am asking this only because I care about you, Darley. But I was wondering, why did you decide to share this with me?"

Darlene shrugged and slightly shook her head.

For an instant Abigail feared that she had offended her friend. But then Darlene spoke up.

"I suppose, I don't know...maybe I thought you were one of the few people who wouldn't judge me but who would be honest with me."

"Honest about what?"

"My, uh...you know..."

"I'm listening..."

"Okay. My addiction. Fine, I said it. I'm totally dependant on my pills to survive. Please don't hate me for this..."

"Darley, of course not. I love you like a sister. But what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe you've got some advice. I've run out of answers. I'm just surviving from one minute to the next. Just barely."

"Look, I'm glad you confided in me. I'm no expert. But I know a little about addiction. Back when I was practicing law full-time I had a few clients dealing with similar issues. And I know enough to know that your willingness to admit you've got a problem is the first big step."

"That's good to hear..."

"The next step is to find a place that is discreet, where counselors can help you to kick this thing. I can help you look for a good rehab center."

Darlene was weeping gently.

Abigail continued, "You're also going to have to talk to Fort about this..."

"Abby, he's going to be devastated..."

"But he loves you, Darley. I'm sure he'll support you. But there's one more thing, an even more important step..."

Just then the waitress walked by. Darlene glanced at the last pill bottle on the table, snatched it, and quickly thrust it back into her purse.

She then looked up at Abigail through her tears and asked, "An even more important step? Like what?"

"You said it yourself."

"I did?"

"Yes. When you said the words
God help me...
I believe He can and He will. If you let Him. God's in the business of fixing people."

Darlene's face relaxed into a mildly surprised look. As if she had just been told something she assumed she had known all along but now realized she had never really thought about.

PART TWO
When the Lion Tells the Story

In less than a generation, the five intertwined media corporations have enlarged their influence in the home, school, and work lives of every citizen. Their concentrated influence exercises political and cultural forces reminiscent of the royal decrees of monarchs rejected by the revolutionists of 1776.

Ben H. Bagdikian, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist

The media can determine foreign policy, and it can help to win or lose wars. It can bring about recession, or it can bolster confidence in the economy. In short, we live in a dictatorship of the media. It controls what we know, what we think, and what we buy. It is not Big Brother we have to fear as much as it is Citizen Kane. And if we are to be really free, we must lift the veil that blinds us.

Tom Neumann, publisher,
The Journal of International Security Affairs

By contrast, in the case of the BBC and CNN, you are explicitly aware that rather than presenting the world as they find it, those channels are taking a distinct side--the left-liberal internationalist side--in an honest and fundamental debate over foreign policy.

Robert D. Kaplan, "Why I Love Al Jazeera,"
The Atlantic
(October 2009)

TWENTY-SIX

Jerry Hendrickson was pacing back and forth like a hamster in a cage. It was one of those cold-sweat moments.

As desk manager for the Global News Network's Los Angeles studio, Jerry had just finished reading the thick transcript of congressional testimony. It was stunning. Now he was on the horns of a dilemma. He glanced at his watch. Bob Kosterman, the executive vice president of the network, should have left his private lunch in Washington with Vice President Tulrude at the Executive Mansion about five minutes ago. Jerry was scheduled to call Bob right about now, while Kosterman was alone inside the limo furnished by the administration and being driven back to the airport.

So he did. Three rings. Then Kosterman picked up. Jerry didn't waste any time.

"Mr. Kosterman, I've read through this transcript of Joshua Jordan's testimony in front of the congressional committee. I think we have an explosive issue here."

"Explosive. Yes, no pun intended." Kosterman was chuckling at the play on words.

"Right. Well, I think we've been casting this whole story in a slightly...uh...
misdirected
fashion. This Jordan guy is not squeezing the Pentagon for a better business deal. Not at all. It says right here the real reason he's reluctant to disclose all his research on the RTS design is--"

But Kosterman wouldn't let him finish. "Jerry, are you accusing your own network of creating a false story?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Did GNN commit actionable defamation? Is that what you are saying?"

"No, sir, but--"

"You've read the transcript?"

"Yes, sir."

"And it was delivered to you anonymously?"

"Absolutely."

"A transcript from a closed congressional committee investigating high-level national security issues? You realize how much trouble we could be in if we publish that?"

"But Mr. Kosterman, we published that original leaked report from the committee about Jordan defying Congress. And it now appears that the slant of the story as we reported it was all wrong--"

"No, it wasn't. You said yourself we didn't create a false story."

"Well, not intentionally, no. But it appears now that the accuracy of-"

"Jerry. Do not--I repeat--do not put anything from that transcript on our web-news service. Anywhere. At anytime. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"And deliver that transcript immediately to my executive assistant. And don't make any copies."

After Jerry hung up, he had that rolling seasick feeling of regret again. It was happening more and more lately. He had been in the television industry for twenty-two years. Long enough to have seen how the media business had turned rotten, like spoiled bananas complete with fruit flies hovering around. And he knew why.

Jerry was there back during the 2009-10 transition when all of America's television stations, responding to the requirement of the federal government, had to convert from the old analogue signal system to a digital format. From a technical standpoint, that one made sense and seemed to work reasonably well for the consumers. So when several years later a second media "conversion" was ordered by the U.S. government, most Americans weren't too upset. They had seen it all before. Of course, at the time, some media watchers and pundits had warned about the potential for an ugly monopoly developing after that media transition. Jerry agreed.

Most of the politicians didn't see it--or didn't want to--so Congress failed to act. After all, the public had been assured that the conversion of all TV and radio broadcasts over to Internet delivery would result in spectacular, new entertainment options. Viewers would still have the convenience of watching on their big, flat-screen monitors, but once television and radio were switched over to the web, the average American would have a banquet of fantastic features. If John and Jane in Lansing, Michigan, were watching a TV movie about the Lincoln assassination, they could pause the program and do a Google search on their screen about Abe Lincoln's death--all from the comfort of their easy chairs. Or if the crowd at Casey's in Boston were watching the World Series on the television screen, they could mute the sound and pull up the audio of a favorite radio sportscaster from any station in the country--on that same television set and get his take on the game. Besides, the government said it needed to commandeer the old-fashioned "over the air" broadcast spectrum that TV and radio had used for decades so it could be used for other purposes, like emergency services and large transmissions of high-speed technical data to federal agencies, contractors, and industries.