Capitol Reflections

“Javitt has melded his professional and political expertise to craft a chilling thriller that should alert every reader to the very real dangers we face in the twenty-first century. His characters are compelling and realistic, very much like the dedicated people who served with me during my tenure as Surgeon General. His plot, while (hopefully) fictional, could just as easily be a headline from tomorrow’s newspapers.”

—Dr. C. Everett Koop, former U.S. Surgeon General

“Javitt has written a grab-you-by-the-throat thriller that could easily be tomorrow’s lead news story. Under the guise of a compelling read lurks a keep-you-guessing plot that should cause any intelligent reader to worry about the safety of us all. An intrepid female physician, a town full of bad guys, and the safety of the American people at stake. Seems like a surefire recipe for success.”

—Janet Rehnquist, former Inspector General, Health and Human Services

“A fast-moving, medical twist-and-turner, written with a knowledgeable pen and a creative wit.”

—Fran Kritz,
Washington Post
&
Los Angeles Times
columnist

“Compelling and terrifying. This book is a must for mystery and adventure readers—and for everyone concerned about what he puts in his body.”

—Ben Stein, bestselling author, Emmy-winning TV host, and national commentator

“
Capitol Reflections
may read like fiction, but the truth should scare us more. Our food safety laws were written long before we ever imagined, much less created genetically-modified food. Within the guise of a great thriller, Jonathan Javitt has vividly illustrated the danger that confronts us all if we don’t act soon.”

—Wayne Pines, former Associate
Commissioner, U.S. Food and Drug
Administration

“Author Javitt, a well-known epidemiologist, physician and health advisor to three presidents, presents this frighteningly believable first novel of a health crisis, political corruption and cover-ups; the work brings Robin Cook and David Baldacci to mind.”

—Author Online

Dedicated to the memory of Capt. Henry Krakauer, M.D., Ph.D., M.P.H., of the U.S. Public Health Service, Gwen’s true mentor and an inspiration to the rest of us.

PART I

MAY 2005

Marci Newman, coiffed, petite and impeccably dressed in a gray business suit, picked up her briefcase and left the new Pequod’s coffee bistro in SoHo, clutching her double skim latte by its cardboard sleeve. She carefully wove her way through an obstacle course of vendors, deliverymen, and pedestrians. As usual, she had just inhaled a salad, along with a few guilty puffs of the cigarettes she’d “given up” years ago, during her all-too-short lunch break before heading back to the daily grind of the city courts in Foley Square. She was especially pressed for time, having walked an extra three blocks and passing four other espresso bars for her daily dose of Pequod’s. The additional stress was worth it, though; ever since the new chain took New York by storm, nobody else’s latte tasted quite as good. Marci knew she wasn’t the only one who felt this way. In the months since Pequod’s entered the city, the lines at the ubiquitous Starbucks shops dwindled to a trickle.

Marci’s friends and colleagues claimed she needed to eat more and find time for rest and relaxation. Her college roommate, Gwen, now an epidemiologist for the Food and Drug Administration, was forever preaching to Marci about slowing down, getting exercise, reducing her caseload, maybe even getting out and dating occasionally. Marci smiled at the thought of seeing Gwen tonight for dinner, even though it would lead to a reprise of this ongoing lecture. Marci loved Gwen dearly and even loved the fact that Gwen never got off her back about her lifestyle.

Of course, she was never going to do anything about that lifestyle. So what if she was “professionally overextended”? She wasn’t soccer mom material, anyway. She wasn’t about to give up the
pro bono
work she added to her caseload at Denniger, Sachman & Wayne even at the risk of exhaustion and spinsterhood.

Marci’s latest
pro bono
cause was Anh Nguyen. Ms. Nguyen was being evicted from her apartment by a slumlord looking to turn a quick profit by flipping the tenement to a developer who, in turn, intended to convert the property to condos with a trendy boutique on the ground floor bordered by a bookstore and gourmet coffee shop (probably a Pequod’s, though Marci didn’t want to let that sway her). To the real estate crowd who traded property like Monopoly cards, Anh was just another nuisance holdout, a pothole on the road they called “urban renewal.” Anh had lived in the building—apartment 5B—since coming to New York in the early seventies as a refugee from America’s adventures in Southeast Asia. Her first home, a Vietnamese village surrounded by fecund rice paddies was turned into a napalm-fueled sheet of flame, along with her husband and five of her seven children. The thought of losing the only remaining point of constancy in her life was more than this seventy-six-year-old Hmong woman could bear.

Marci would do her part to save her. Right now, Marci felt as though she could save anyone—she was invincible. She was playing a vital role in the greatest city in the world on one of its picture-perfect May days—seventy-five degrees, blue skies, and lots of sun. She felt good. Superb, in fact. The street sounds overwhelmed her like a symphonic orchestra at its climax. She was a modern day Walt Whitman taking in the poetry that was Manhattan’s lifeblood. Everything was clear and sharp; every pedestrian, taxi, pigeon, and store sign in perfect focus. She was definitely “on,” which she knew would not have been the case had she eaten a large meal. A full stomach doesn’t win cases. Lettuce and litigation made a much better combination.

She continued walking, still thinking of Anh. The case was perfect for her. The law was against her, the facts were against her, and the New York judges played golf with the real estate boys every Saturday morning. All Marci had going for her was Anh’s sincerity and her own social-grievance-engendered spunk. Oh yes, and one other thing: yesterday the slumlord was indicted for bribing a public official. Marci knew that the slumlord’s crime and her particular case were separate legal situations and that it was also possible the slumlord had already bribed the judge on her case. On the other hand, ever since Joan Salzman became chief prosecutor to the city’s ethics board, city officials were thinking very carefully about doing favors for their old cronies. Suddenly, Marci and Anh had a fighting chance. That was usually all Marci ever needed.

“You help Anh.”

Marci remembered the first words she had heard from the frail woman with passion in her eyes. She was waiting outside Marci’s office building. Marci would later learn that Anh had waited for hours. The receptionist for the firm did not make a practice of admitting anyone without an appointment, certainly not an elderly woman wearing a faded housecoat. But Anh Nguyen had stared down hundreds of automatic weapons in her village when the camouflaged A-teams surreptitiously stepped from the edge of the jungle; she was both persistent and tough. She crouched on the sidewalk, head resting on knees tucked close to her body, waiting for a lawyer with a sympathetic face to emerge from the glass high-rise.

“Landlord tell Anh ‘Move out. No want. Building change owner.’ But Anh no go. Anh no leave home.” She paused, and Marci studied her face. At that point, Marci knew nothing about the woman, but she knew her eyes had seen more than its share of darkness. “Husband, children, brother, sister—leave, die, move way. Not here. Help Anh. Please.”

In actuality, the speech lasted quite a bit longer and was punctuated by tears and more pleading. As the distressed stranger clawed at her Donna Karan jacket, Marci listened to every word. She knew long before the tiny woman had finished that she would handle the matter. Denniger, Sachman & Wayne expected Marci to represent a number of New York City landlords and developers. She was well aware of the bottom-feeders among them. She was going to take one on today.

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