Capitol Reflections (38 page)
Mark was cruising on the highway when he turned on the radio, and adjusted the digital scan until he found a National Public Radio affiliate. The piece currently airing caught his attention immediately.
“Reports are now surfacing,” said a female correspondent, “that noted author and newspaper columnist Mark Stern is a drug abuser who has been in and out of several expensive rehab centers since his twenties. Stern is also believed to be sympathetic with more than one ecoterrorist group—the proverbial ‘tree-huggers’ who have allegedly been linked to the bombing of several timber companies over the past decade. Stern, who is not yet considered a suspect in any of the bombings, has been unavailable for comment. Likewise, the
Washington Post
had no comment on the story, which first broke in
USA Today
.”
Washington Post
had no comment on the story, which first broke in
USA Today
.”
“Wow,” said Gwen. “You’ve been a lot busier than I thought.”
Mark laughed. “An iconoclast makes a lot of enemies. If anything, this is rather suspicious as far as timing goes.”
“How so?”
“Someone is taking pains to discredit me, which in turn means that the same someone thinks I might be on the verge of disclosing information that’s not supposed to see the light of day.”
“Have any idea who that someone might be?”
“Gwen, there are more people in New York and Washington who’d like to see me take a fall than I could list during the next five miles.”
“So there’s a price to fame and fortune, eh?”
“Most definitely, Dr. Maulder. There are many days when even I don’t want to be in my shoes.”
Gwen seemed to accept Mark’s dismissive attitude at face value. He was thankful he had such a good poker face. It wouldn’t help Gwen to know that he took attacks like this very personally. It also wouldn’t help her to do the same math in her head that he’d just done in his.
They’d made extremely powerful enemies.
Using Mark’s cell phone, Gwen called John Van Rankin, one of Jack’s close friends within the Secret Service. She told him of Jack’s hospitalization and spinal cord injury and that she’d like permission to visit Quantico. She didn’t go into any detail—she and Mark had decided to play things by ear and decide what they’d tell Van Rankin later.
As they drove, Mark had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something, something important.
Something to do with Dieter Tassin.
49
Anne Davidson Broome did not have to wait long for her call to be put through to Phillip Trainor, the congressman from Arizona who won the verbal fencing bout with Henry at the DNC Gala. The Broome name opened many doors and shortened considerable time on “hold.”
“Anne, how nice to hear from you!” said Trainor. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Most of the party is looking to you as its future, Phillip,” said Anne Broome. “That’s no secret. I’d like to sit down and talk with you in the next few days if you have an opening in your schedule.”
Trainor laughed. “I’m flattered, Anne. And I’m constrained to point out that you may be overstating the case a bit when it comes to my future. There are quite a few who believe that Henry’s ascendancy is inevitable.”
“That may well be, but the only thing for sure in Washington is that nothing is for certain.”
“Can’t argue with that. What is it you’d like to talk about, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The future of the party. Long-range goals. What’s doable and what’s not. Things like that. I’ll be more specific when we meet if you have the time. And by the way, Henry doesn’t know I’m contacting you, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I can always make time for you, Anne—and mum’s the word. The Davidsons have been supporters of the party for a long time, and I don’t have to tell you that it hasn’t been very common for oil interests to back the Democrats over the last few decades. My secretary will call you right back and set something up for early next week. How does that sound?”
“That’s perfect, Phillip. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime.”
Anne put the phone receiver back in its cradle and sat down on her living room sofa. She was convinced that she could contribute to the party. Not financially, though. She was thinking more in terms of public office.
Her own.
50
Most people knew of Quantico as the nation’s premier Marine training facility, but it was also the location of the FBI training Academy—and more. The CIA, NSA, and Secret Service all had training facilities and intelligence gathering units at Quantico.
Thanks to John Van Rankin, Mark and Gwen received visitor’s passes immediately, although they had to pass through several checkpoints before arriving at the Secret Service facility. Gwen knew her way around since, in her capacity as epidemiologist, she’d been on the base a few times since 9/11 to consult with intelligence officials on the subject of bioterrorism.
As she was about to knock on Van Rankin’s door, an explosive “Gwen!” nearly bowled her over.
“I haven’t seen you since your Christmas party last year,” said the forty-eight-year-old deputy director of the Secret Service base. “And this would be Mark Stern, I presume. Your face is on the side of a lot of buses in this area, Mr. Stern, ever since you started writing a column for the
Post
.”
Post
.”
Mark smiled and shook hands with Van Rankin before the three of them sat in the deputy director’s office.
Gwen immediately informed Van Rankin of Jack’s condition.
“I’m terribly sorry, Gwen. You know that a lot of people here owe their lives and careers to Jack. The two of you have a lot of friends here and always will. We may not be the Marines, but as you know, the Secret Service has its own kind of Semper Fi.”
“I know, John, and I’m very appreciative of your offer. It might be good for some of Jack’s old friends to stop in and see him.”
Suddenly, Gwen saw her opening and took it.
“In fact, John, I think Jack and I might be in danger. I’d like it if you could post a twenty-four hour detail at the hospital.”
“Of course, Gwen, but tell me what this is all about.”
Gwen proceeded to tell her host of how she and Jack had become suspicious of certain adverse health patterns across the nation. “We’ve been under surveillance for a couple of weeks now, and a good friend at the CDC has dropped out of sight. I myself was reassigned to AE files at Rockville.”
Mark shifted uneasily in his chair. Gwen knew that he hadn’t expected her to be so forthright in her explanation, but Gwen knew immediately that she could confide in Van Rankin. Sometimes you just had to go on instinct.
“So you suspect that someone inside the FDA or CDC is trying to conceal something?” Van Rankin asked.
“Or perhaps inside the government,” interjected Mark.
Van Rankin leaned back in his leather desk chair and smiled.
“You’re true to form, Mr. Stern. I’ll give you that much. But I don’t have to remind you both that there are probably many good reasons why the government might want you to step back from a sensitive issue that becomes more of a matter for the intelligence community than public health.”
Gwen was already nodding. “I know, John, but all I really want to say at this point is that hundreds—maybe even thousands—of people are dying, and that the Public Health Service should be more proactive. There are patterns of seizure episodes all over the country, and for everyone who has died, thousands of others are having seizures but surviving.”
Van Rankin looked troubled. What Gwen had just described was more than a sensitive issue that intelligence might want to keep under its hat. Indeed, if a nationwide health threat existed due to terrorist activity, he himself might well have been notified. If it were a case of some causative agent in food or drugs, then Gwen was right—the Public Health Service would be actively involved, with thousands of workers attempting to find answers.
“I have to admit that you’ve piqued my curiosity since I can’t explain what’s going on. I can ask around and see what’s—”
“Please don’t do that,” Mark broke in.
“Mr. Stern, I should warn you that—”
“He’s right, John,” interrupted Gwen. “Think about it. If you start asking questions, then you might be sending out signals to some very dangerous people operating with impunity inside the government. We’d prefer to gather further data.”
“And you think I can be of help in gathering this data?” asked Van Rankin.
Mark took the coffee bean from his pocket and tossed it on the Deputy Director’s desk. “For now, we’d like your lab to analyze this.”
Van Rankin leaned forward, elbows on his desk, as he stared at the bean with incredulity. “That’s it? You want my technicians to analyze a coffee bean?”
“I’m asking for a bit more than that, John,” said Gwen. “I’m asking for your trust. I know what it looks like from your perspective. We come in here with almost no advance notice, spin a tale of conspiracy, and back it up with … that.” Gwen pointed to the bean. “But please, do it for Jack and me. There’s something going on, John, and whatever it is, there are people doing some very unorthodox things to hide this from public health officials. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. Just do an analysis to see if this bean is different from any other coffee bean.”
Van Rankin looked at Gwen, then Mark, then back at Gwen again.
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where this bean came from.”
“We’d rather not,” stated Mark. “I’ll be the first to admit that we can’t fill in all the pieces right now.”
Van Rankin sighed heavily. “I’ll do it for friendship’s sake, Gwen. There’s no harm in an analysis, though I wish you’d share more of your suspicions with me. But for now, I won’t press. With Jack in the hospital, I’ll cut you some slack. Later, I may ask for more. And Jack will certainly get a round-the-clock detail. It will be very low-key. No one will know of our presence inside the hospital.”
“Thank you, John. You don’t know how much this means to us.”
Van Rankin stood. “How can I get in touch with you?”
“We’ll get in touch with you,” Mark said. “I’m fairly certain that our phones aren’t secure.”
“Very well, but remember—I’ll only go so far with this before you’ll have to be a little more candid.”
Mark and Gwen left and drove back to the bed-and-breakfast. He’d just sat down in front of his laptop when the elusive fact he’d been trying to recall hit him.
He smiled and reached for his cell phone. It was time to ask Charlie Nicholls up at the
Journal
for another favor.
Journal
for another favor.
Other books
Dirty Rider: A MC Biker Romance by Kay Perry
Monkey in the Middle by Stephen Solomita
Time Enough To Die by Lillian Stewart Carl
The Song of David by Amy Harmon
Project Solaris 2: Hero Rising by Chris Fox
Anybody But Him by Claire Baxter
Delayed Penalty: A Pilots Hockey Novel by Sophia Henry
Scarlett Undercover by Jennifer Latham
Magnate's Make-Believe Mistress by Bronwyn Jameson
Be with Me by J. Lynn
