Capitol Reflections (37 page)
“Yes!” Jan exclaimed. “That’s him. How did you get his picture? And how did you get a cell phone. Weren’t you searched?”
“I keep a very slim cell phone stitched into the lining of my coat. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a gadget guy. As for the man, he’s not a straight shooter at all. He’s a political appointee—Alan Jordan—who settled into the CDC in Atlanta about the time you started your BioNet study for Gwen. As far as my sources know, the guy has absolutely no legitimate function within the Centers. He’s the Cost Overrun Liaison. How’s that for a bureaucratic title? My guess is that he’s the CDC’s counterpart to McMurphy at the FDA.”
“Damn. I knew he looked vaguely familiar. How badly do you think the agencies are compromised?”
“I don’t think they’re compromised at all, as a matter of fact. There’s no way conspirators could corrupt entire agencies that employ people who have given their lives to public service. I think Jordan and McMurphy may be operating in tandem, but independently of anyone else at their respective agencies, except for a few subordinates such as Snyder, who really don’t have any agenda of their own. That having been said, McMurphy and Jordan are obviously very well connected and can act with a certain amount of impunity.”
“So what’s our next move, Inspector Gadget?”
“I think we need to talk with Gwen as soon as possible and find out what’s been going on.”
“How do we find her?”
“Like I said, my dear, I have sources within my company. For now, let’s get some clean clothes, a bite to eat, and find a motel room. I could use forty winks. Something tells me that we’re in for quite a ride now.”
Jan fell silent. She knew Peter was right.
Dr. Edward Karn sat in his car on a side street leading to the Reflecting Pool, rain pelting the windshield. He was very surprised earlier that morning when he got a phone call from an old friend. A rendezvous had been set up, and Eddie Karn now waited in his Prius, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
The passenger door opened, and Karn’s friend, wearing a tan raincoat, hurriedly slipped into the passenger seat.
It was Dr. Bruce Merewether—the same Bruce Merewether that Henry Broome had unceremoniously heaved into a dumpster back at Princeton. When Bruce realized that majoring in the classics wasn’t going to net him much revenue after graduation he’d efficiently switched to premed.
“Good to see you, Bruce.”
“Same here, Eddie.”
The two men shook hands.
“What’s up?” asked Karn. “I sure didn’t expect to hear from you, of all people. It’s been years.”
“This is what’s up.”
Merewether handed Eddie a sealed manila envelope.
“Is this what I think it is?” asked Karn incredulously.
“Probably. I was told by Roberta Chang to give this to you if you didn’t get the original.”
“Huh? How did you even know that there was an original?”
“The original envelope, had you received it, had instructions inside for you to call me as soon as you were in possession of it. I never got that call, and so here I am. I’m a backup plan, as it were.”
“But how did you know Roberta Chang?”
“Actually, she knew me. Apparently, Henry is fond of bragging and recounting his exploits to any and all listeners. That naturally included Chang. I’m sure she heard the Cottage Club dumpster story on more than one occasion.”
Karn laughed. “Do you know what’s inside?”
Merewether shook his head. “There’s a second sealed envelope inside the first. It’s none of my business.”
Karn sat back, his head resting against the top of the seat. “It’s been a difficult few weeks. After the way Henry humiliated me, some people in this town back away when they see me coming.”
“Having been humiliated by Henry myself, I know the feeling well. I’ll be off now, Eddie. I’m guessing that whatever is inside that envelope is pretty important.”
“I suspect you’re right. Thanks, Bruce.”
Merewether opened the door and stepped into the rain. In a moment, he was gone.
Karn started the car and headed home. Soon, he’d know why Roberta Chang had been so adamant about passing information to him. It might even have cost her her life.
48
Mark and Gwen traded Rick’s Suburban for the congressman’s Honda Accord. They drove right through Quantico, Virginia, however, deciding to find a new place to stay before doubling back and heading for the base that was home to a great many government installations. Feeling the need for something more comfortable than a motel, Mark found a bed-and-breakfast in Fredericksburg. They registered under assumed names.
“Now then,” Mark said, creating a workspace on a mahogany writing table in the corner, “I need to access the
Journal
’s database again. We can head over to Quantico later.”
Journal
’s database again. We can head over to Quantico later.”
“Be my guest,” said Gwen. She stood there with a wistful expression on her face and Mark could tell that she had plenty on her mind.
“What are you thinking?”
Gwen smiled softly. “It was good to hear Rick say that Jack was doing better.”
Mark felt for her. He didn’t think he could hold up as well as Gwen was holding up if their situations were reversed. “Greater range of movement and improved articulation—I’d say that’s better than better.”
Gwen nodded, her eyes misty. “I should be there. Fitz rule Number Ten: Love is the most potent drug of all.”
“Jack would understand.”
“I don’t think so. We had a huge fight before he collapsed. He probably … I don’t know what he’s thinking.”
This was alien territory for Mark. He wanted to hold Gwen and comfort her, but he knew that wasn’t the right thing. He was stymied. The only thing he could think to do was deflect her thoughts.
“Then let’s take care of business, nail the bad guys, and get you back to your husband.”
Gwen took a deep breath. “Okay.”
Amazingly, that seemed to do the trick. Mark worked for nearly an hour before leaning back in the straight-back chair and stretching his arms over his head. “I want you to look at something,” he told Gwen.
Gwen looked over Mark’s shoulder at the data displayed on the laptop. “Numbers and pie charts,” she said. “What’s the bottom line?”
“You yourself said that gourmet coffee is flying high right now. We all know which coffee chain is the hottest in America. Pequod’s.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Here’s the smoking gun, as far as I’m concerned. Every time Pequod’s moves into a new market, seizure spikes occur, whether we’re talking about Podunk or Pittsburgh. Simultaneously, sales of Pequod’s competitors start to taper off—especially the small micro-roasters. In response, they usually scale back considerably and eventually settle for a much smaller market share or else go belly-up entirely after a few more months. The thing is, long before then, the seizure spikes stop.”
“Come on, Mark. Everyone knows that if you throw together enough different types of information, you’ll find patterns, even in the phonebook.”
“Granted, but I wasn’t on some fishing trip. I started out with the hypothesis that this was about coffee. You’re the statistician here, not me, but this chart says the chance of error in the correlation is less than one in fifty thousand.”
“Okay,” said Gwen. “Let’s suppose that there really is a correlation between Pequod’s entering a new market and the seizure spikes in a community. Your theory of evildoing still doesn’t hold water. The spikes stop long before the competitors go out of business. If Pequod’s was doing something to the coffee to knock out the competition, wouldn’t they keep doing so until they finished the job? And let’s go back to the simple medical facts: coffee can’t cause seizures.”
Mark scratched his head. “I admit I’m missing some pieces to the puzzle. If Pequod’s is somehow responsible for the seizures, then the episodes should continue until the market is secured.”
“Exactly.”
“But the correlation, in and of itself, can’t be ignored, Gwen. The chances are just too remote that seizure activity would happen, month by month, in only those cities that Pequod’s enters for aggressive marketing.”
“I’m not really debating that point, but as an epidemiologist, I’m saying that cause and effect can be a tricky business. Just consider the early days of AIDS. At first, it was supposedly a gay disease. That turned out to be totally false. After that, people tossed around theories about methods of transmission like crazy, with people afraid to be in the same house or workplace with someone who tested HIVPOSITIVE. True, there were some basic correlations, but they either didn’t hold up or there was some other reason, far more scientific, that explained the correlations in a different way. It turned out, for example, that gay men had a higher percentage of sexual partners and didn’t use protection as much as their heterosexual counterparts. It also was, and is, harder for women to give the disease to men than men to women because the exchange of body fluids isn’t the same.”
Mark sighed. “It’s a valid analogy.”
“And I could give you a dozen more. In Africa, villagers contract any number of tropical diseases, but because of poor education and sanitation, they attribute symptoms to what comes down to folklore and superstitious practices. In the case of Pequod’s, people in my field would ask, ‘What patterns accompany coffee consumption? Are there interactions between drugs, possibly a new drug on the market, and a perfectly normal chemical compound found in coffee? Or since Pequod’s is so popular and so available, is the quantity of coffee being consumed affecting those individuals in the population who can be pushed over the seizure threshold by something ordinarily benign?’ That doesn’t make the company a culprit, assuming coffee’s involved at all, which I still doubt. There are a lot of possibilities, Mark.”
“I’m open to whatever theories you might have, but the seizure spikes shouldn’t cease if coffee is interacting with something else. The correlation is still too weird.”
“What does America enjoy most with a cup of coffee?” asked Gwen.
Mark groaned. “Cigarettes—yes, okay, but I’ve already told you how I feel about that.”
“Cigarettes are known killers, and tobacco companies are known for deception. Fact, not opinion. Pequod’s moves in, and people start to smoke more. I think we have to keep an open mind.”
“You’re still ignoring the spikes. People wouldn’t stop smoking all of a sudden.” Mark paused. “According to his files, Jack had some cigarettes analyzed. Let’s make a simple call and find out what his friend at ATF found.”
Gwen reached for her cell phone.
“Not so fast,” Mark said with a grin. “We’ll use my cell.”
Mark got Todd Gimmler on the line and then handed the phone to Gwen. She talked for several minutes, asking many questions involving various chemical compounds, some which Mark had never heard of.
“The cigarettes came up negative,” Gwen admitted, “but Gimmler’s analysis isn’t the final word.”
Mark sighed heavily. “Come on, let’s get to Quantico and have my coffee bean checked out. The analysis might give us some information.”
“And if nothing unusual shows up?”
“I’ll eat my words. Every journalist does it sooner or later. But I’m also relying on my instinct about Dieter Tassin. The man seems to be the quintessence of evil, and he just happens to be working at Pequod’s. In newspaper work, that’s the kind of thing that grabs your attention.”
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