Capitol Reflections (29 page)
“My best friend,” Gwen replied, more than a little miffed. “You’re sounding like Jack,” she said sharply, realizing immediately that Mark wouldn’t know what that meant and that he might even misinterpret it.
“I’ve given you info from the AE files, and I don’t have to remind you that reporters often proceed on evidence that’s a lot less substantial.”
Elbows on the table, Mark brought his face down against clasped hands. “Tobacco companies have had the feds all over their asses for years now. It’s hard to believe they would try anything new.”
Undeterred, Gwen laid out her conspiracy theories, from modified tobacco plants that might be legal and beyond FDA control to a cover-up of terrorist activity that had once again killed citizens on American soil, albeit in a more surreptitious manner.
“Anything’s possible,” said Mark, “but if it were terrorism, somebody would have claimed responsibility. Terrorism has no effect unless someone takes credit. It’s how terrorists perpetuate a climate of fear, which is even more powerful than bombs and body counts.”
“Maybe they’re waiting for the trend to overtake the country before stepping forward. Tampering with tobacco would be a more insidious infiltration of the homeland. They could effectively shut down the economy if Americans found out that an everyday product had been tainted.”
“Maybe.”
Gwen studied the reporter carefully. How was it that he didn’t seem to have aged at all? He was still handsome; his brown beard was very close-cut and trimmed in a perfectly straight line under his jaw. His brown eyes were still very clear, still warm, and his wavy hair had no trace of gray. Was he still a crusader as well? Other than conspiracy buffs, Gwen figured Mark was the only person willing to entertain the possibility that both the FDA and the CDC were capable of working in tandem to cover up statistically anomalous deaths.
“So what do we do, Mark?”
Mark rubbed his chin and hesitated, trying to find the right words.
“I’m not sure, Gwen. I can ask some questions, poke around, make some calls. Stuff like that. But I’ve got to be careful. If there’s a conspiracy that cuts across several government agencies, it’s going to make Watergate look like a misdemeanor in comparison. Let me turn it around on you. How solid is this AE thing?”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re too optimistic.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“BioNet stats and AE reports are hard evidence.”
Mark smiled weakly. “You’ve given me a tall order, Dr. Maulder. Ordinarily, I’d be calling you if I had the kind of info that BioNet reported, but I’ll do what I can.”
Gwen wrote down her iPrive address on a napkin. “E-mail if you come up with anything, but use this address.”
“I’ll let you know one way or another,” Mark said, folding the napkin and putting it in his shirt pocket.
“Is there any way I can get in touch with you if I discover something else?”
“Go to the
Post’s
website and e-mail me at the column. I get hundreds of comments and questions every week. Nothing’s completely safe in the cyber world, but it’s better than e-mailing me directly.”
Post’s
website and e-mail me at the column. I get hundreds of comments and questions every week. Nothing’s completely safe in the cyber world, but it’s better than e-mailing me directly.”
Gwen followed Mark’s logic completely, but she still felt as if he were putting her off. They ate in relative silence, reverting to small talk and catch-up. When it was time to leave, there was an awkward moment—it seemed like an eternity to Gwen—when the two started to lean forward as if to give one another a friendly hug. They backed away quickly instead, settling on a handshake.
Gwen walked back through the hallway and wondered if she’d wasted her time.
36
The next day, Mark was still kicking himself over the way he behaved at lunch with Gwen. Why had he been so coy? Why had he been so reserved in his response to her when his reporter’s instincts screamed that she was handing him a career-changing story?
He hadn’t expected to feel the way he did when he saw Gwen. He’d thought about her a million times since their split, but the vision in his head was a faulty one—one that failed to capture how vibrant and substantial she was. It was as though he’d been listening to nothing but neighborhood garage bands for years and then suddenly received an invitation to a private U2 concert. Seeing Gwen in the flesh again immediately verified that no woman he’d been with since was in her league.
He was so preoccupied with this during their lunch that he couldn’t get the right words to come out of his mouth. When he arrived in Washington, he went to his buddy, representative Rick Mecklenberg, in hopes of finding something juicy to write about. Mecklenberg hadn’t delivered yet, but Gwen Maulder had just given him his first real shot at a Pulitzer, a story capable of keeping the nation riveted to page one. While his fame as a reporter was largely attributable to the way he chronicled the foibles of human nature, he always felt a bit the impostor for never having published the really big story, the one in which people were cuffed, put in the back of a squad car, and driven to jail. This could change that.
But exciting as a potential government cover-up was, he needed to proceed with the utmost caution. Gwen seemed terribly vulnerable. She wasn’t confiding in her husband and the FDA had removed her from her regular duties. She’d come to him out of desperation and that could mean that she wasn’t seeing things as clearly as she needed to see them.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do a little digging.
He cleared one of his bulletin boards and mounted a very simple, handwritten pyramid of words to its surface.
Health and Human Services
Public Health Service
Center for Disease Control
Food and Drug Administration
If Gwen were right, two of the most prominent agencies charged with monitoring the nation’s health and welfare were involved in an astonishing cover-up. Exactly how high did the corruption go? A year from now, would he be writing the classic, “Who knew what and when did they know it?”
It was early in the hunt, but he felt his heart beating a little faster, his blood coursing through his veins and fermenting fresh ideas. When Gwen had called him at the Excelsior, he’d been telling Billy Hamlin how a reporter had to have a good memory since a random fact sometimes helped shape a story. He recalled the
Times
piece on the Brooklyn woman who had created chaos in the subway by proclaiming the end of the world. Other stories from New York and Washington, all equally bizarre, had resulted in his “Franchising the Full Moon” column at the
Post
. The New York incidents had occurred in May, the ones in D.C. in July, precisely corresponding with the timeframe of Gwen’s seizure reports.
Times
piece on the Brooklyn woman who had created chaos in the subway by proclaiming the end of the world. Other stories from New York and Washington, all equally bizarre, had resulted in his “Franchising the Full Moon” column at the
Post
. The New York incidents had occurred in May, the ones in D.C. in July, precisely corresponding with the timeframe of Gwen’s seizure reports.
Gwen mentioned a seizure spike in Kansas City during April. Mark asked a cub reporter to go down to the
Post
’s archives of U.S. papers and browse the
Kansas City Star
for all of April. He wanted to see a copy of any article, no matter how short, describing aberrant behavior. The reporter subsequently left five articles on his desk. One told of a man who tried climbing a skyscraper with suction cups. Another described a woman who’d sat in a public park for three days straight in order to compose operas. Perhaps due to sleep deprivation and fatigue, the Kansas article theorized, the woman suffered a mild heart attack and was rushed to the ER. The other three articles were of the same ilk: people were going ape-shit for no apparent reason.
Post
’s archives of U.S. papers and browse the
Kansas City Star
for all of April. He wanted to see a copy of any article, no matter how short, describing aberrant behavior. The reporter subsequently left five articles on his desk. One told of a man who tried climbing a skyscraper with suction cups. Another described a woman who’d sat in a public park for three days straight in order to compose operas. Perhaps due to sleep deprivation and fatigue, the Kansas article theorized, the woman suffered a mild heart attack and was rushed to the ER. The other three articles were of the same ilk: people were going ape-shit for no apparent reason.
“And if I look into the papers of every city that Gwen has on her list,” Mark said to the whale poster on his wall, “I’m going to find articles about people going over the edge. I’d bet my million bucks on it.”
He wouldn’t tell Gwen yet about how his own data seemed to relate to the info from BioNet and the AE files. He still didn’t have much to go on.
But was there a story there?
Yes indeed.
Was there any better indication of how overwhelmed Gwen was with recent events? With everything going on, she’d managed to ignore the very insistent signals of her own body—until this afternoon when the signs became too obvious for her to ignore. Now she sat with Jack at the kitchen table in their home at Garrett Park and tried to figure out the best way to announce that their lives would be changing forever.
“I’m gonna get some wine,” Jack said, rising right after they sat down. “Would you like some?”
“No thanks.”
“You sure? I was going to open a bottle of that great Merlot we just bought.”
Gwen raised her head and looked straight at Jack. This wasn’t exactly the way she envisioned it, but it would have to do. “Pregnant women shouldn’t drink, my dear.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open comically. Gwen knew she’d keep that picture in her head for a long time. “You mean … ?”
“Yep. Looks like the Secret Service taught you how to aim after all.”
Jack had her in his arms before she could move. When she stood up, he hugged her tighter and more fervently than she ever remembered. Jack really wanted this. That much had been obvious forever. It wasn’t until this moment, though, that she understood how completely he wanted this. And it wasn’t until this moment that she understood how much she wanted him—them—to have it.
Gwen dissolved into tears. Was Jack crying as well? It wasn’t easy to say.
The purity of the moment dissipated all too quickly for her. Unbidden, the thoughts of what her life would be like while she carried this child came into her head. The seizure stats pointed with increasing clarity to a cover-up that was linked to the commissioner’s office—and maybe beyond—and Jan was missing. She’d pulled Mark back into her life, though it wasn’t clear that he wanted anything to do with the news she brought him. Oh yes, and Jack had started sneaking cigarettes again, though she was certain he didn’t know she knew.
Gwen had heard the stories of women entering a state of bliss during pregnancy; she knew that would never be her story.
37
“Active Health Management,” said the receptionist. “How may I help you?”
“Lonny Reisman, please. Mark Stern calling.”
“Please hold.”
A few moments passed as the inevitable radio muzak traveled through the wires. Mark promptly tuned it out, reflecting on the story he’d done on Active Health. It was one of the few pieces he’d written without hurling a single barb, much like the recent story on Pequod’s. AHM was a unique company that had convinced both employers and insurers to feed them all their healthcare claims so it could identify medical mistakes and notify the doctors in time to help patients. Insurers were finally waking up to the fact that medical errors were the fifth leading cause of death in the United States. Not only did Active Health avert disaster on a regular basis, they also saved money for their employers who were trying desperately to meet their healthcare premiums.
“Mark?” said a familiar voice. “It’s great to hear from you.”
“Thanks, Lonny. It’s been a while. How’s the business going?”
“Through the roof. After that profile you did on us in the
Journal
, all hell broke loose. We were planning to go public sometime in ’07, but you touched off a buyer’s frenzy. In fact, our largest client bought us out. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword. At least Mark Stern’s is.”
Journal
, all hell broke loose. We were planning to go public sometime in ’07, but you touched off a buyer’s frenzy. In fact, our largest client bought us out. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword. At least Mark Stern’s is.”
Mark laughed. “Then why the hell are you at a desk taking my call instead of sunning yourself on a beach somewhere?”
“Believe me, my wife asks me the same question every day.”
“Well, before she persuades you to go to Cancun, I need some serious help from you, but I’ll need the same level of confidentiality that I gave you when I was investigating your company for the story.”
“You got it. I’m not going to be able to violate our secrecy agreements in handling people’s personal information, though.”
“I’m not looking for personal info. I’m looking at a bigger picture. A close friend of mine who works in the government got a whiff of something very strange. Something to do with seizures breaking out in isolated cities for a few weeks and then disappearing. When she started examining government databases, she got shut down bigtime.”
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