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They Key to Believingchapter 7
The Denver ExpeditionHer heart was all she could think of, it felt like it was trying to come up out of her throat. “Oh my God, this is it,” She mumbled. Or was it? She looked at the e-mail again. There was nothing in the letter that suggested that this was the same person. She picked up the phone anyway; it was almost automatic. Placing the phone to her ear, she dialed the number. Her hands swiftly moved over the buttons with a speed and urgency she didn’t know she possessed. One ring. Two rings. “Hello?” Listening to the inflection in the singular word, she tried to memorize the husky voice on the other end of the line; it was almost too low to be human. “Hello, you don’t know me. I just received an e-mail from you.” “I know you. Call me in five minutes. Here is the number.” The deep male voice on the other end waited for a moment to be sure she was ready. “Three-oh-three, five five five, eight nine six three.” “What am I calling?” “A pay phone. We will talk in five minutes.” The man hung up the phone. Sloane looked around the room. She could think of nothing else but his voice. It was deep, mysterious, sexy. The voice on the other end of the phone was of a man who had something to share, vital information, and he knew it. After looking around the room, she glanced at her watch. Three minutes left. She couldn’t explain to herself why she was calling him. And she couldn’t explain to herself why she was giving this theory any credibility in her own mind, when she had no evidence to believe his story that her own government orchestrated a conspiracy. In her heart she knew that she was calling him to see if he had evidence. Every story she had read about government conspiracy and AIDS was plausible, but there was never any evidence to prove them. She needed to find evidence. Two minutes left. She looked around the room again. Her stomach had been turning for hours. It was in knots. Walking to her door, she looked at the lab. A few people were still working. Walking back to her desk, she re-read the e-mail message. The e-mail address indicated that the sender worked at an Energy Conservation Agency in Colorado Springs, a little over an hour south of Denver. “Was that a thinly-veiled cover-up or did you not know you found me?”, she read. Looking at her watch to make sure enough time had passed, she and picked up the phone receiver, once again dialing a number in Colorado. “Hello? She instantly recognized the deep scratchy voice again. “Who are you?” “I’m someone who has answers you want.” “I don’t want answers without proof.” “Proof?” “Yes, I like evidence, and proof of things in order to believe in them.” “I should have expected that out of you, Ms. Emerson.” “How did you know my name?” “Did you think I wouldn’t see your name in your e-mail address, and do you think I would send an e-mail out like that to anyone?” “How did you know my name?” “You’re Sloane Emerson, of Madison Pharmaceuticals. You’re e-mail is S. Emerson at Madison P. H. dot com.” “Why did I have to call you at a pay phone?” “Because I think my phone line is tapped.” “Do you really work for the Energy Conservation Agency in Colorado Springs?” “I work in the building.” “Do you really work for the Energy Conservation Agency?” “...You should know that things aren’t always as they seem, Ms. Emerson.” Not knowing what to do or ask, her mind raced to think of the next question, which never came, “You’re not asking very direct questions. I would have expected better of you.” “I have no real reason to ask any questions. You’ve given no reason to.” “You had no reason to call me, either.” Her conscience told her that all she could do was wait for him to continue. “And if you won’t believe my word, then there is nothing in this conversation that will change your mind.” “And what are you going to do about it?” The man quietly laughed. “Me? You’re the one wanting the information.” “And you’re the one that offered it to me.” This time it was the man’s turn to pause. “So what are you going to do about it?” “Would you like to meet?” “Where?” “It would be best if I not travel.” “So you want me to fly out to Colorado Springs.” “Is that what you need to do?” “Can I call you to confirm my flight arrival time?” “Just meet me tomorrow at 6:00 p.m. for coffee at the cafe I sent you the first e-mail from. You have the address for the coffee shop, correct?” Of course he’d know she checked up on him, and the coffee shop. “Yes.” “Leave a message on my machine if there are any problems.” They hung up from the pay phone before she could say another word. The only thing she could think to do was call Carter. She didn’t know why she felt she had to; she never usually talked to him when things were bothering her. But she had never experienced anything like this. What will he think of my calling him this often?, she thought. She didn’t want to overstep her boundaries in their friendship, but she felt like she needed to call him anyway, even if it wasn’t expected. Dialing his office, she looked at her watch and realized that with the time change he would be at home by now. She hung up, picked up the phone again and called his apartment. “Hello?” It was good to hear his voice; it was soothing. “Carter, it’s me.” “Is something wrong? You don’t sound well.” Sloane realized she had nothing to say. What could she say to him? That she just talked to someone who claimed to be a government spy and she is planning on going to Colorado Springs to learn more about U.S. involvement in engineering AIDS? “I’m... I just feel a bit disconnected, that’s all.” “And so you thought of me.” “No, I was just wondering when you were getting into town.” “I planned to come up with a Quentin proofreader to go over the stories next week. I don’t have to be there until Monday, but I could come in earlier, seeing that it’s my turn to make the social visit.” “I might be busy for the next day or so, but other than that you’re welcome here any time.” “Is Saturday afternoon too early?” “Not at all. But if I have to go into the office, do you have any work to do?” “I always do. And I always bring it with me.” It always sounded to her like Carter was grinning. “Carter?” “Yes?” “Are you smiling?” “What?” “Are you smiling right now?” “Well...” Carter thought about it for a brief moment. “I suppose I am.” “Why is that?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, are you always smiling? And if so, why are you always happy?” “I don’t know if I am always happy.” “You’re always happy when you talk to me, and it cheers me up.” “Maybe it’s you that’s cheering me up; maybe that’s why I’m smiling.” “I can’t believe that, I have no sense of humor, how do I make you smile?” “I smile when you remind me that you exist.” Grinning widely, she said, “Once again, your thick spreading of the old Donovan flattery has cheered me up. Thank you.” “I don’t know why you were down. Everything is going well over there, right? The book, the integ-- the new inhibitor?” “The integrase inhibitor, Carter.” “I’m not the scientist, I don’t have to know what it’s called.” “Yes, everything at the laboratory is going well.” “And yet there is apprehension in your voice.” “Maybe you can drag it out of me when you come into town.” Carter laughed. “Call me when you know your flight number so I can pick you up. But be forewarned -- I don’t have a limo.” “No, you have a plane, so I don’t want to hear that tone of voice from you.” “The plane is not even mine, and I don’t have a tone.” Carter’s sarcastic tone increased. “Oh, yes, you do have a tone, my dear.” “You haven’t heard a tone, but if you keep it up you will.” “Is that a threat or a promise?” “Don’t toy with me...” They both let out a small laugh under their breaths. “So call me with the flight information tomorrow.” “Got it ... Bye.” “Bye.” Sloane hung up the phone and couldn’t stop smiling, until she looked back at her computer screen and saw the e-mail from the man in Colorado Springs. Then she thought about the plane. She walked out her door, past the lab, through the hallways of Madison Pharmaceuticals to the front desk. It was after six in the evening; most of the staff had been gone for hours. She looked at the papers on the front desk until she found a clipboard with the flight itinerary of the private plane. It was being used by Colin Saturday, but tomorrow it was free. She penciled her name in for a round-trip flight to Colorado Springs, leaving at three in the afternoon. She left a message for the receptionist to call Jim. Then she said enough was enough and had to leave for home.
Friday morning Carter walked into the boardroom for the usual Friday morning meeting. “Do you have your itinerary planned for the Seattle trip?” a colleague asked. “Yes,” Carter answered. “In fact, I’m going a day early so I can have more time to meet and talk with Ms. Emerson.” “What for?” Carter heard over his shoulder. He recognized Shelly Stempel’s voice but didn’t realize she was eavesdropping. Carter turned around. “I want to make sure Ms. Emerson is as pleased as possible with the business we have been conducting. I want to check with her to make sure everything is on schedule and to her satisfaction; she runs everything over there and I want her to know that I know it. And I want to talk to her about some ideas for new books as well.” “New book ideas?” “I don’t want to push her, but I want to let her know that she can work with us in the future.” “When does the editor get there?” “Monday morning. I’m sure we’ll meet her at the airport and go straight to Madison’s offices.” Shelly started to look away; she didn’t seem satisfied with his answers. He asked, “Shelly, are you asking so many questions about this? Why does this interest you?” Shelly tried to look nonchalant. “I’m not interested,” she said, “but I want to make sure you’re doing your job well.” “That’s funny,” Carter answered, “I thought it was my job to watch over those things. When did you become my supervisor? Did I miss that memo?” A few people in the conference room laughed. Shelly gave him what was supposed to be a mean look. “I just have the company’s best interests in mind.” “And I don’t?” Shelly walked out of the conference room. Carter knew she would overstep her boundaries every chance she got, and that he would have to stay on his toes to avoid problems with her. He knew he did a good job, in fact, he knew he did a great job. But his performance didn’t matter to people like Shelly, whose primary interest was not in getting better at her job, but leveling the playing field and destroying people that were better than her so that she would be the cream that rose to the top. Carter knew that was the only way she could operate; it was the only way she could succeed. So in the meantime he’d have to contend with the likes of her getting in his way. Carter then turned to the man he was originally talking to. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the company’s interests were the last thing on Shelly’s mind,” Carter whispered. “If she could profit from them at the company’s expense they would be her interests,” Carter’s colleague replied.
Friday afternoon she met Jim at the airport. Silently, she walked up the stairs to the plane. Jim noted that she seemed very quiet. He waited until they were about to take off before he spoke. “So what’s in Colorado Springs?” “I have to meet someone there to get some information. When I’m done, we can go straight back.” “Where do you have to go?” “A coffee shop. ” she answered. Jim knew she didn’t want to talk about it; he turned to the cockpit and closed his door. Feeling the engine start, she closed her eyes and leaned back. The plane started moving toward the runway. When it got into position, the plane started moving, faster and faster, until she could feel the front wheel lift off the ground. It felt like her stomach was being pressed into the back of her seat. She felt the back wheels lift off the ground, and she was in the air again, leaning back, being pressed into her chair. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. She didn’t know when the feeling of being in flight left her and the pit of her stomach returned, but she noticed it was back, that feeling that something was wrong. It suddenly occurred to her that what she was doing could be very dangerous. She had no idea who this person was. The person could just be a thug planning on attacking her while she’s outside the coffee shop. When the plane leveled off, she got up and walked to the cockpit door and knocked. She opened the door. “Jim? What are you going to do while I’m in Colorado Springs?” “I hadn’t thought about it, really.” “I was wondering if you’d like some coffee.” “Are you inviting me to your meeting with you?” “Thank you, but not really... I don’t know what the person I’m meeting with looks like. And in all honesty, I’m a little nervous.” “You? You’re the strongest woman I know.” “I normally wouldn’t ask this, but I really don’t know what I’m up against with this meeting.” “Are you in trouble?” “No, why?” “You’re talking like you’re meeting with the mob or something.” “I don’t know what I’m meeting up with, that’s the problem.” “So what do you want me to do?” “I was wondering if you’d want to go to the coffee shop with me, but walk in a few minutes before me and ... well, have some coffee.” “You want me to stay in the coffee shop while you’re there, so you’re not really alone?” Answering quietly he heard her say “Yes.” “That’s not a problem at all.” Jim looked at his controls while Sloane stood in his doorway. “You can sit down if you like,” he said to her. “Oh, thank you. I’m fine.” “You know, I never get tired of a view like this.” She remembered saying that to Carter when she looked out his apartment window, and when Carter told her that her face -- her image in the mirror -- should be all that she needed. Then she wondered why she needed to call him to make her feel better. “Ms. Emerson?” “Please. Sloane.” “Okay. Sloane?” “Yes?” “What are you thinking?” “On one hand, I feel afraid for my life. I don’t know why I’m on this plane, I don’t know why I’m having this meeting. I don’t think I’m going to learn anything from this meeting. But if I do, then I’ll be more afraid.” “You’re afraid of the truth?” Sloane felt herself starting to shake. “I’d be afraid if this was the truth.” “Would that stop you from looking for it?” Sloane looked up. She stopped shaking. “No, it wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter what the truth is. As long as I keep looking for it.” “I’m sure you’ll find it.” “Thank you, Jim.” “Sloane?” “Yes?” “What was the other thing?” “What?” “You said that on one hand you were thinking about fear and the truth. What else were you thinking about?” “I ... I don’t know if I can put words to it.” “You seem confused.” “For once, I feel like I can’t do my work by myself. I’ve never felt that before.” “People need people to help them work all the time. You have your whole staff helping you. Hell, I help you by flying this plane.” “I don’t mean that, Jim. I mean on a more fundamental level, I feel like I need someone to talk to. Sometimes I get frustrated, and instead of getting myself out of it, or continuing to work, like I’d usually do, I need to call a friend of mine to make me feel better. Then I can get back to work.” “Do you think you can do your work without them helping you out emotionally?” “It’s not merely emotionally, it’s more philosophically.” “Either way, you haven’t answered my question.” “Oh, I can work without them helping me out... But a part of me is beginning to wonder if I’d want to.” “Well that’s a bold statement,” Jim answered. “What do you mean?” “This is just one friend you’re talking about, right?” “What do you mean?” “You don’t just call up anyone to talk to, you’re talking about the help of one friend in particular, right?” “Yes, I am, one friend.” “If your friend is male, then you sound like you’re in love.” Sloane stood straight; she noticed she was slouching. “Oh, no. Not at all.” Jim didn’t say a word. Neither did she. “No, no, I don’t love him. We’re just friends.” “Okay.” “No, I mean it.” “Fine.” “You don’t believe me.” “It shouldn’t matter to you what I believe. What matters is what you believe.” “I believe in things that can be proven.” “So when I told you I’d meet you at the airport, you didn’t believe it until you were here and saw me? Then why did you come to the airport at all?” “Okay, I believe in things I have evidence of.” “Well, check the facts. Do you love this man?” “I’m not having this conversation.” “Why not?” Sloane looked around. “Because I have enough to worry about today,” she said, as she grabbed the door handle and gave him one small smile before she closed the door and walked back to her seat.
They both sat in the back of the taxi while they sped toward the coffee shop. She explained to Jim what to do. She leaned forward and spoke to the taxi cab driver. “Excuse me, when we get to the cafe could you stop and let my friend out and then drive around for another minute or two before dropping me off?” Then she turned to Jim. “Okay, this is what I want you to do. When you get in there, just get a seat at a table in the corner. I’ll try to get a seat in another corner. I don’t want us to be too close to each other, seeing that we’re getting in there at just about the same time. I have no idea what the person I’m meeting with looks like, but I assume they know what I look like. I don’t know how long it will take for our meeting, but when I’m done, I’ll leave without him. I’ll get a taxi and circle around the block. If you can wait a few minutes after I leave to pay up and meet me outside, that would be great.” “Okay. You know, I kind of feel like a spy.” “You are not a spy,” she answered. “No one is doing any spying.” “Didn’t mean to anger you. I just meant that this seems so secretive.” Opting to ignore him, she turned back and watched the road. “How much longer until we get there?” she asked the driver. They had ten minutes to go. The Mountain Ridge Coffee Shop was nestled amongst little antique shops. The streets sloped up and down in between the snow-capped mountains. The taxi dropped Jim off and pulled away. “Where would you like me to drive, lady?” “Just drive two or three blocks straight. I can go the rest of the way myself.” Sloane got out of the taxi three blocks down and looked at the slanted street. She was on the top of a small hill, and the small buildings on each side of the street framed the mountains in the distance. She turned around and saw the sign for the Mountain Ridge Coffee Shop three blocks away. She started walking. She didn’t know if she let enough time pass between Jim entering the cafe and her estimated time of arrival, so she tried to walk slowly. She looked in the store windows she passed, but she wasn’t interested in the crafts she saw for sale. “Even if I wasn’t worrying about this meeting,” she thought, “I still wouldn’t like this stuff.” She continued walking. Feeling the coldness of the steel as she pressed her hand against the metal door handle and pulled the door open, she slowly walked into the coffee shop. The bells attached to the door hinge jingled as the door moved. She walked inside, not looking at the people in the shop and went straight to the counter to get a cup of coffee. “Plain cup of coffee please.” “Bottomless?” “Sure.” The man behind the counter poured her coffee into a plain white mug and she turned around to look at the shop. Other than the desks with computers for Internet access along the back wall, there were about twenty tables in the coffee shop. The place was about half full. She scanned over Jim’s face in the corner without acknowledging him. She turned back and the man behind the counter was ringing up her coffee. She dropped two dollars down on the counter and leaving her change, Sloane made her way to a corner table, far enough away from everyone -- including Jim. Sliding her jacket off of her shoulders, she then took a sip of her coffee. She didn’t want to look at anyone in the room, afraid to make eye contact, but she had to look. She had been sitting for over a minute and no one had come over to talk to her. She scanned the room. While looking at the people, her eyes met with a man who looked at her and smiled. She turned away, blushing, knowing he thought she was flirting with him. She looked down at her coffee. The man she made eye contact with got up and slowly walked over to her. He wore a button-down shirt over a turtleneck and khaki pants. She was instantly embarrassed. As he got to her table, he asked, “I couldn’t help but notice that you were sitting here alone.” Sloane looked up at him. “I’m meeting someone,” she answered. “I know,” he said. “May I have a seat?” She thought she recognized the deep, hoarse voice. “Who are you?” “Ms. Emerson, may I have a seat?” He watched her gesture to the chair opposite her. He sat down. Scanning his face, she studied and memorized him. Black hair. Green eyes. Sharp jaw. He looked large. Not tall, large -- he was well built, but she couldn’t imagine that he was even six feet tall. “So this is the man,” she thought. “What is your name?” “Shane Wilson.” “Shane? I’m supposed to believe that Shane is your real name?” “And what kind of name is Sloane?” Sloane threw him a dirty look. “So what does your e-mail address ’Owens’ mean?” “It’s the name I use at the Energy Conservation Agency. They know me there as Bill Owens. But Shane Wilson is my real name.” “Who do you work for?” “Right now? The Department of Defense. I’ve worked for the CIA before as well.” Every answer he gave prompted her to stare at him cynically. “And?” “And what?” “What do you have to tell me? I’m not staying here all night.” “You believe me.” “No, I don’t.” “And that’s why you’re here? Because you don’t believe me?” “If I believed you, I wouldn’t need to come here.” “You want to know if the U.S. government engineered HIV.” “They didn’t have the technology.” “You want to know about the origin of AIDS.” “I want to know if the U.S. government has a cure for AIDS, something that kills HIV within the body.” “I told you they do.” “But you have given me no evidence.” “Look, have you heard of any other conspiracy stories for AIDS before?” “Yes.” “What most rational people intrinsically assume is obviously wrong. You know we didn’t have the technology to produce this disease. If we did, they probably would have made you make it.” “You think that little of me?” “I’ve discovered in my line of duty that everyone can be bought and sold.” “Not people who live their life as its own end.” “Like you?” she asked sarcastically, looking at him. “And you value nothing in your life other than your own? You wouldn’t relinquish your life to your government in order to save someone you love?” “No. I would kill myself first. And if the people I loved understood me, they would want me to die before giving up my life to someone else for them.” “Why?” “Because if I can’t live my life on my own terms, I can’t live my life,” she answered. “And no one who truly loved me would want me to live a life filled with torture, just for them.” Shane looked at her. “But if I recall correctly, I didn’t fly to Colorado on a moment’s notice to talk to a stranger about myself.” “Well, you were right. We didn’t produce this disease -- not entirely, at least. It was discovered in Africa; the origins of the disease were found in Africa.” “What do you mean?” “A non-fatal disease was found in Africa. It produced fevers, vomiting, the sweats, the shakes, it was a pretty ugly disease, actually, and it did do some damage to the immune system -- but it wasn’t fatal. After fighting it for about two weeks, you could live through it and your body would develop a natural immunity to it. That is, if you lived in America and had good treatment and lots of bed rest and were constantly supervised. A starving African with no medical assistance might not be so lucky.” “But what you’re talking about is not HIV.” “I know. But the virus I am talking about was brought to a restricted area of the Center for Disease Control so that people could work on a vaccine for it, which is normal procedure. One person, however, through an accident in their laboratory work, mutated the virus in such a drastic way that it could never have happened in nature.” “And they created HIV?” “Imagine it. One person, trying to save people from an ugly virus, accidentally develops a deadly virus. Oh, the delicious irony.” Sloane sneered at him again. She didn’t like the fact that he could joke about this; whether or not it was true. “Then how did it get out?” “The supervisor of the laboratory technician worked for the Department of Defense as well as the CDC. They place people from the DOD in strategic positions in most every U.S. government organization to keep an eye on them, so to speak. So the DOD man quarantined the whole wing of the lab, so it would be destroyed. Of course, they didn’t destroy the virus, you know that. But afterward the destruction started: a week later the person who fell upon this virus strain accidentally died from a hit-and-run crash.” “And you’re going to tell me that it wasn’t an accident?” “The only accident was the mutation of the original disease by the laboratory technician.” “So then what happened?” “I’m sure you’ve heard theories that the U.S. government engineered this to reduce the starving population.” “Yes, I have.” “They figured that if they were to use this virus as some sort of weapon they’d have to bring the virus back to the same place that the original virus was found, so that it would look like it was a naturally-occurring disease. If it eliminated people that were going to die before they turned eighteen anyway because of a lack of food or water or basic hygiene, then that was just an added bonus for the Washington people.” “You say it so kindly.” “Depopulation wasn’t their primary goal with this virus. The Washington people, for some strange reason, thought that the virus could be contained in Africa, so it wouldn’t become a problem with the people of developed countries, like the United States. They deduced that if it was such a deadly disease it could be used as a weapon in war-time situations.” “But the length of time someone could be infected before they die could be over a decade -- even without any medications.” “Exactly. And that is how the disease spread. Through the poor calculations of a few high-end government officials carrying out a secret agenda.” “What was the secret agenda?” “I can’t tell you all of it; I don’t know all of it. But a part of it involved the elimination of certain key world figures in a way that would leave the U.S. free of any blame.” “How were they going to infect people?” “You mean how did they infect people? Certain leaders of the drug cartel were eliminated when we switched needles at parties. Certain military officials in the Soviet Union and Europe were eliminated when we hired prostitutes at parties. You know, it looked like it was all in good fun. They got to these people by sharing their drugs and their women with them.” “So it was supposed to be used to infect only crucial people?” “Well, at least it was never meant to affect the general public.” “And the latency of HIV caused the problem.” “Yes, especially since it allowed our enemies to isolate the virus as well. At this point the Soviets were using it as a weapon as well. That’s when I came in.” “What were you supposed to do?” “I was supposed to get it back.” “But that would be nearly impossible.” “This was the first year of the disease, they didn’t know trying to keep it would be impossible. And while I was on a mission, the Soviets kidnapped me. I was drugged so I was unconscious. When I came to I was in Germany. I have no idea why I was in Germany, but I was in a hotel room. I was sweating, my clothes were torn; I was a mess. I found out that I had been unconscious for four days. When the doctors in the States checked me out, they noticed that I had two injection marks. They knew that the Soviets gave me AIDS. To spite the U.S. government and me. It was their way of saying, ’you can’t get to us, and to prove it we’ll infect your men with the virus you meant to use against us.’” “You said the U.S. government had a cure though.” “Yes. After they got me back into shape, you know, got enough food into me and such, they brought me to a research center at the DOD and they locked me in a room and gave me a bed and an I.V. and a single injection and left me there for three days. I was tired, from the drugs, so I was only awake for a fraction of those three days. But after that, I was clear of AIDS, I was clear of HIV. Hell, I had so much sleep, I wanted to run a marathon. I was fine.” Assuming he was given glucose in the I.V., she tried to make the rest of the puzzle come together. “But you didn’t know that you were actually infected with the virus in the first place. You didn’t even get tested.” “Tested?” “It wouldn’t have shown up on tests for another six months to a year.” “They found traces of the virus -- dead -- in my dermis and epidermis, where I was injected. They knew what had happened.” So they had a cure for someone who was recently infected, she thought. “But how did they come up with a cure?”, she asked. “They did it when they found the disease in the first place. They knew the procedure performed at the CDC had originally created the virus. They were able to instantly work on a cure for it, while they still had a pure form of the virus isolated. Since it has mutated, not one sample of the original virus has been collected.” “But then the cure wouldn’t work for the mutations.” “Yes, it does. They’re still occasionally using it, on a very select basis.” “On whom?” “Consider for example, they wouldn’t want any presidents of the United States to have to die of AIDS. That would bring on some bad press.” Sloane sneered slightly again at his sarcasm. She thought about the insinuation that past presidents had been HIV positive. “Why don’t they release the cure?” “That would show that they’ve had it all along.” “If they’ve lied this long, couldn’t they lie about a government doctor finding the cure and release it now?” “They can still use the cure as a tool. They have something everyone wants. Why would they give up their ace card?” Stumbling for a question, she didn’t know what to ask next. “You were quote-unquote ’cured...’” “I was restationed at the DOD branch here.” “There isn’t one here.” “I don’t work for the Energy Conservation Agency. I was stationed there to do work out of the way. Half of these fluff organizations exist to cover up our operations.” “So you’re still working.” “Yes.” “And you can just go around and tell people this? Is this your common dinner conversation?” “You still don’t believe me.” They stared at each other. Shane finally spoke. “No, this isn’t my normal dinner conversation. Look, you can’t tell a soul about this conversation; I could be killed, and so could you, Ms. Emerson, for having this conversation.” “Why would I believe you?” Shane leaned back. “Because in my bag here I’ve got the records of my health conditions from the DOD. You can see that they found the HIV virus on me, in my skin, at an injection point, and it lists the procedure they used on me, and that I was cleared of any virus in my body. Nobody even knows these files still exist. You can check with this hotel” -- he pulled out a lab notebook and opened it and showed her a piece of paper with a hotel name and address in Germany -- “to see if I was found there. The name on the credit card that paid for my hotel was a Soviet name, of a man who died just after I got into the hotel.” “And where’s the cure?” “I don’t have it.” “And where’s the original virus, the version that hasn’t mutated?” “I don’t have it.” “So what good is any of this information to me?” “It’s a starting point.” “A starting point? And what do you expect me to do now?” “Find the truth.” “You can’t get the cure, even though you’ve worked with the CIA and currently work for the DOD, and by the way, you haven’t even shown me any identification yet, and you expect me to be able to get the cure without any credentials whatsoever?” Shane reached for his wallet to show her his identification while he continued speaking. “I can’t get to the data, everything about this is classified, especially to me, specifically because it was used on me. They don’t want me going around sharing my secret. I’m not that high up on the information ladder anyway. Since I don’t have proof, just bits of evidence, I could be considered a crackpot if I tried to get this story out, so there’s no point in me going public with it. People would look at me the way they look at every other conspiracy-theory nutcase out there. Look, you know this has got to get out. If I try to do it, they’ll know it’s me. I’ll be dead in no time. You know this is wrong, and it has to be stopped.” “If this is wrong, why did you get involved with it in the first place?” “I told you that we didn’t know what we were dealing with. Especially us, we were just the field men. We didn’t have the scientific background to know what was going on. Our scientists didn’t even know what was going on. I can’t correct what was done, but I can attempt to stop it from continuing.” “Oh, so now you’re the good guy.” “I thought I was always the good guy. I thought we were defeating an enemy without resorting to a war where hundreds of thousands of young men could be killed.” “That’s a noble story, Mr. Wilson.” “Listen, I started working for this country because I believed in what the U.S. was protecting its people from. But now they use their power for cheaper oil prices and for political maneuvers to help out certain candidates. And to settle scores. And to make us look like better people, from a better country. Once they started using it, they kept expanding its use. Originally they didn’t want a single American infected with HIV. Now they don’t seem to care that that poor people, drug users, and gays are dying from it. Infecting good people is the price we have to pay for them being able to ’utilize such a successful weapon.’ That’s what I can’t stand, but it happens everywhere. Give people a little power, and they’ll take more.” That phrase caught her attention more than anything; she completely agreed with it. Shane continued. “Instill the death penalty for murder, and pretty soon the death penalty will be used for child molesting or rape. Then three felonies, even if they are only three liquor store robberies with no one injured. What’s next? It’s the same thing with the way the U.S. government is viewing the use of HIV. Unless they’re stopped dead in their tracks, they’ll keep killing people and covering it up.” Shaking her cold coffee in her cup, she noticed that no one had come over to give her a refill the entire time they had been talking. “I also knew that if anyone could work with this information,” Shane continued, “it would be you.” “Why me?” “Because you wouldn’t want this to happen. Because you want a cure more than anyone I know. Because you need to know that the government can’t do this to its people.” Shane stopped before dropping his last bomb. “And because your research will be the next thing affected by the government.” “What does that mean?” “The government is going to orchestrate more and more moves to make AIDS research extremely difficult for scientists. It hasn’t affected the number of people they want it to now; the government’s work is not yet done.” Shane slid the folder of his records across the table to her. “So they’re going to try to stop my research next, that’s what you’re trying to tell me?” “Of course.” “But there is no incentive that the government could possibly give me to make me stop my work.” “Oh, they won’t be offering you incentives. They’ll use what they use best -- force.” “And the American people won’t see through it?” “Ms. Emerson, it will look like the American people called for it by the time the government is done with you.” Toby popped into her mind, with everything happening to him. Then she thought about Tyler and the lobbyists trying to take from her. Her mind went back and forth. These documents could be forged. He’s telling stories that sound like they could be true. He’s talking like one of those tarot card readers, or psychic phone operators -- they’ve learned how to say things so vague that you can adjust your own experiences to fit the fortune you’ve just been told. She tried to keep her senses about her. All she could see was the envelope of papers in front of her. “But what am I supposed to do with this?” “There’s a contact in there that might help you out. They work with the DOD as well, but they’re in a higher position. They also have CIA contacts.” Glancing at the envelope for a moment, her eyes then met up with Shane’s. Shane spoke. “We have to part ways now. Try to act natural. Someone is watching us.” Trying to find someone that was watching her, someone, anyone, she looked around the room; she spotted Jim, then she spotted a man looking in the window from outside wearing a dark suit. As she turned back to her table, Shane was getting up and walking away. He didn’t turn back to look at her as he walked out the front door. She glanced over at Jim. Then she got up and went back to the counter for a refill. Jim followed her orders precisely. She waited five minutes after the man outside the coffee shop left before getting up. She went outside, hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take her around the block before they picked up Jim. Jim was silent while the taxi drove through the steep hills in the mountainside. Finally, he spoke, almost afraid to break the silence. “Did everything go okay?” “What do you mean?” “Did you get the information you wanted?” “Yes and no.” Jim turned his head back toward the front of the taxi; he knew it was in his best interest to stop asking questions. Sloane sat in a stupor on the airplane on the ride back to Seattle. She didn’t want to open the file folder Shane had given her. She was afraid to look at it. Staring out the window she looked at the blank void of the night sky as their plane moved northwest. Finally she got up the nerve to open the folder. She looked at Shane’s medical records. “These could have been forged,” she thought. Impressively forged, but forged nonetheless. She looked through what records he had managed to collect for her about the work he had done as well as information on the CDC. Histories of his work at the DOD and the CIA were in the folder. And so was a piece of paper with a man’s name and phone number scribbled in black ink:
She closed the folder and looked back out the window. Sloane was still in a daze by the time she got home. She didn’t know what to believe; she could discount his story, as well as any rebuttals to his story. He had no reason to lie to her. But she never understood why anyone lied; she knew that no one ever had a reason to lie, not one based in logic, self-respect and reason. When she opened the door to her apartment there was a message on her answering machine. She pressed the button and listened. This is Tyler, from marketing. I know you don’t want me bothering you, but I wouldn’t have unless it was crucial. If you think the things I bothered you about before were trivial, you’re right. Compared to this, nothing matters. Please, I’ll be in the office Saturday morning. Stop in at marketing if you come in or call me here. I should get into the office by about nine. Sorry to bother you, really, I am, but this is big. Please call. Thanks. Hearing the clicking of her answering machine rewinding the tape, she thought for an instant about the lobbyists trying to get Madison: was the more serious problem Tyler had to talk to her about? Shane may have been right with Madison being forced to stop next. She walked straight to her bedroom. She felt like she had just been hit with a ton of bricks and knew that she needed to sleep.
Sloane was walking inside the grocery store when it happened. She heard someone scream another aisle; then she heard a gun shot. She didn’t know where the noise had come from; the shot echoed throughout the entire store. She started running down the aisle, not knowing whether she should look for someone who was hurt or run out of the store to call for help. As she was approaching the end of the aisle she realized that someone might be holding up the store and would be waiting at the doorway, by the registers. She wondered: would she be able to leave? She slowed to a stop when she got to the end of the aisle. People were running and screaming. Peeking around the corner of the aisle she saw three men at each doorway. They were all wearing black and had ski masks over their faces. The men at the door had assault rifles; the men at the registers had handguns. She was trapped. Looking behind her, she tried to see the opposite end of the store, farthest away from the doors. She saw more men running with assault rifles in the back of the store. She stopped in her tracks. Sloane knew that if she were witnessing a store robbery the men would have no reason to run through the entire store. They’d want to get their cash and leave. There wasn’t enough time to take everyone’s wallet or purse in the store. Then she knew what was going on. She quickly walked to the next aisle and saw three people lying dead. Sloane looked up and down the aisle, scanning over the condiments. There was tomato sauce, salsa, ketchup, and mustard. She grabbed a plastic squeeze bottle of ketchup and frantically opened the top and pulled the plastic seal off. Ketchup squirted onto her hands as she squeezed the bottle. She squirted some onto her stomach and put some in her mouth. She placed the bottle back on the shelf and dropped to the floor. She lay on her stomach and threw her hands to the ground, stretching them over her head. She threw her head around before leaving it on the ground so that her hair covered half of her face. As she rested her head sideways on the ground, she let the ketchup she had been mixing with her saliva spill slowly out of her mouth onto the tile floor. She listened. People were still screaming, but no one came into her aisle. After hearing someone run past her, she saw through her hair that they were shoppers, not the men trying to rob the place. She knew they weren’t robbers coming to steal some money. She knew that they were from the government, coming to kill her. She tried to slow her breathing. She knew she had to look dead, and her stomach and chest couldn’t be moving. She heard running steps at the end of the aisle behind her. They sounded swift and smooth, not panicked like the shoppers running away from the gunmen. Sloane held her breath and lay still. The steps became louder and louder until they stopped. She opened her eyes just just slightly through her hair. She saw two pairs of combat boots facing her body. Amongst the screams, she could hear them speak. “Is that her?” “I think so. That was her description, down to the clothing.” “Someone else got her already.” “Should we go through another round on her, to be sure?” There was a moment of silence. She didn’t know if they were thinking about what the first man said or aiming their guns at her head. She heard a loud blast, and in the same instant she sprung up from her bed, sweating and trying to catch her breath. Sloane looked over at the clock. It read 3:47, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, at least not right away. She got up and walked to her desk. As light from the desk lamp streamed over the lab notebook, Sloane read over the information Shane gave her again, this time with more intensity. Then she lifted her head to look over at the window. “I have no reason to believe this,” she said out loud to the emptiness of her living room. Yet she knew that the seed had been planted in her brain, and although she only had circumstantial evidence in her hands and on her desk, which she would have to investigate until she discovered the truth. Remnants of her dream still lingered in her mind. Whether or not she was in danger was irrelevant; Sloane felt like she was still in danger and she couldn’t shake it. She leaned her elbow on her desk, then dropped her head on her hand and started to cry. Not knowing what she was about to get into, she had no idea where to begin. She felt like she had lost all of her resources for discovering the truth. Was the government she had trusted all her life -- the government she argued was the best in the world -- systematically killing off underdeveloped nations? Or are they killing gays, or black people, or drug users? Or anyone? She didn’t know where to begin, but she knew she couldn’t sit there and do nothing: she had to start somewhere. “Come on, stop doing this to yourself,” she thought. “You know that even if this is true, it’s all a part of your fight. It’s a war on this disease. And you have to find the truth, and you will, and you’ll stop this beast from killing any more people. Think of it that way. Think of this as another challenge. Something I can succeed at. I’ve got a job to do.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, Sloane continued reading until she fell asleep on her desk.
She woke up at six with sunlight streaming in through the window in front of her. She sat up. She was astonished -- this was the first time the sun had been out in Seattle for a few weeks. It energized her. Her back was sore from sleeping at her desk, but she felt like she had a mission to accomplish, and nothing was going to stop her. The first thing in her head was that she had to archive the data in this folder somehow. She knew that computer files could be destroyed, and besides, retyping all this data would take too long. She even thought that someone could dial into her computer at home while she was asleep and remove any files she wrote. She showered, got dressed, collected the papers into a large envelope and left for a breakfast diner. Sloane pulled up to a small diner on the way to her office. She sat down at a corner table and placed her briefcase on an empty chair next to her table. She opened her briefcase, saw the envelope, pulled out a note pad and pen and wrote notes to herself. The waitress walked up to her with a coffee pot in her hand. The hot coffee billowed in the mug and looked to Sloane like smoke from a nuclear bomb as it curled over onto itself and the level rose as the waitress poured. “Know what you wanna eat?” “Eggs benedict, please. No, wait. Two scrambled eggs, two sausage links, hash browns and white toast.” “Buttered?” “Yes.” “No juice?” “Is your orange juice from concentrate?” The waitress looked confused. “I think it is.” “Then no, no juice, thank you.” The waitress turned toward the kitchen, ripped off her order from her note pad and placed it on the counter in front of the cook. Sloane looked back to her note pad and continued writing while sipping her coffee. 1. Photocopy folder data 2. Place copy in safe at work 3. Place copy in safe deposit box at bank 4. Leave copy hidden at home 5. Mail copy to someone else; ask them to hold it and not open it? 6. Call Shane? 7. Call Shane’s contact? Because she couldn’t remember his name, she had to open her briefcase again and find the contact’s name. 7. Call Shane contact? Clint Saunders? Knowing the area code in Colorado Springs and knowing a few national area codes, she looked at the phone number. It was a Washington D.C. area code. She flipped the first page over in her note pad and started writing down notes from the conversation she had remembered with Shane the night before. She didn’t want to forget a single detail. It was hard, but she wrote while she ate her meal. By the time she was done with her notes, it was after eight in the morning. She paid her bill and left the diner to go to the office. By the time she arrived it was ten minutes to nine in the morning. She walked straight to the laboratory and turned on the copier on her way to her office. She opened the safe and walked out to the copier and set it to print and collate multiple copies of all the pages. She stood in front of the copier, darting her eyes around the room as the pages fell into slots on the side of the machine. When it was finished she collected all her copies and went into her office. She placed the multiple copies into five large envelopes and sealed them. One envelope went in her safe behind her desk. The other sealed envelopes would go to her apartment, her safe deposit box, Carter and Toby. No one knew of her friendship with Carter, so no one would suspect that he had a copy. No, you can’t give a copy to Toby, she thought. It has to be someone not working on the virus. Her father. Then she thought no, it could not be someone that obvious in her life. She couldn’t think of who to send the data to. After thinking of Steve, she knew she couldn’t rely on his help when they had gone through such a falling out, so she decided to hold an extra copy of it in her apartment until she could think of someone to send it to, that no one would suspect. The original would be for her to reference when she needed to. It was 9:15, and when she looked at her watch she suddenly remembered the phone message from Tyler. She didn’t know what he wanted, but suddenly she had an urgent desire to know what the problem was. She tucked the extra envelopes into her desk drawer and left her office for Tyler’s. Seeing a light from under Tyler’s doorway stream though on the hallway, she went up to his door and knocked. “Come in.” Tyler was slumped over some papers at his desk. He had a paper cup of coffee from the nearby coffee bar in his hand. Tyler looked up; when he realized it was Ms. Emerson his eyes widened into saucers. “It’s you! I didn’t know where you were Friday afternoon, and I didn’t want to disturb you, but --” “Tyler, what is it?” Sloane asked as she walked into his room and sat down on the chair opposite his desk. The fact that she came in and sat down surprised Tyler; he knew Ms. Emerson usually didn’t stay in his company long enough to enter his office, much less sit down. “It’s worse than a lobby group, it’s the government.” “What do you mean?” She thought about Shane telling her last night that the government’s next step would be to try to stop her from doing her research. “You’re going to hate my asking this, but I have to ask it, I know you didn’t do anything wrong, but on the record, I have to ask you.” “What are you talking about?” “Have you and your staff been coming up with your discoveries on your own?” “What do you mean?” “Don’t hate me for asking this. I know you didn’t. But I have to ask.” “Didn’t what?” “You haven’t taken any data from government research groups to come up with your drugs, have you?” “What?” she said, starting to get up from her chair. “I don’t think you did. I’m sorry.” Sloane tried to sit back down. “Where on earth is this coming from?” “The government is questioning our efficiency. They say that they’ve been working on the same things we have been producing, and that since we have been doing such a good job they question whether or not we have done it on our own.” “What are they suggesting?” “That there is an information leak from the government research groups and that --” “That we’ve been stealing information from the government?” “Well...” Tyler knew he didn’t have to say anything. Getting up from her chair, she started speaking, almost to herself. “I can’t believe this. You do something well and you get punished for it.” “You’re not punished here,” Tyler said. “Colin wants to talk to you, but he has complete confidence in you. He knows you didn’t do anything wrong.” “The government has no reason to believe that Madison Pharmaceuticals did anything wrong. How can they do this?” “They aren’t pressing charges, they just want to look into it.” “Pressing charges?” “I said they aren’t pressing charges.” “But the threat is there, and that was their point.” “I don’t think they want to scare us, they just want some information.” “So the government can investigate us, about stealing research data, because they want to. Because we’re efficient, and talented, and are doing a better job than they have been. “Ms. Emerson...” “No, Tyler, I want to get this straight. Because we’re producing something and they’re not we’re under fire for it? Hell, they’re the government, since when are they going to do something with less money and more efficiency than a private business? They can take their time, these agencies can get as much money as they want from the government. They get a grant; they can jerk off for the next year until they need to renew the grant. And you know what? They have to jerk off, or they won’t be able to get another grant. ’Look, we accomplished our goal.’ ’Then you don’t need any more money.’ When something fails in the government, that’s when it gets as much money as possible.” Tyler watched her as she paced through the room. He knew she wasn’t talking to him. “So of course we’re going to be more efficient,” she said, under her breath. “And now we’re getting punished for it.” Trying to get her bearings, she looked around the office. She knew this wasn’t about Madison’s efficiency, but their power and the information she had in separate sealed envelopes back at her office. She turned to Tyler. “So what does the government want to do?” “They want to talk to people in the lab, maybe look at the laboratory itself, see the records of the progress you’ve made while working on the drug.” “Are they going to search the lab?” “I don’t see why they would. But there wouldn’t be a problem with that, if they wanted to.” Thinking about the files in her desk drawer and in her safe, she knew that they would have to be buried. “No, there wouldn’t be a problem.” Tyler leaned back in his chair. “Look, I’m sorry, I know this is awful, I know you don’t want to deal with this, it’s not your problem. I’ll do everything I can.” “What can I do to help?” Tyler’s eyes widened again. “You’re willing to help?” “Whatever you need from me.” “A few press conferences would help. Get out to the people, show them you’re smart, that you care about the disease. That if the government agencies had beaten Madison to the drugs would still be happy, because at least people would be helped. Show them you’re a kind and caring person.” “Got it. I can do that.” Tyler seemed stunned by her willingness to comply. “Why the change of heart? You would have never done this normally.” “Normally the government wouldn’t be picking fights with the most competent researchers in the industry. And if I have to fight back, I’m going to use the press as a weapon to my advantage.” “Don’t go around talking like that in public. The government is supposed to be our friend. They haven’t done anything to us yet, so we shouldn’t sound like this is a fight.” “And if you keep letting them walk all over us they will do something to hurt us, you can count on it, with or without evidence. Hell, they can make up evidence. So we should act like we don’t mind that they want to go through our files or claim we stole things from them without any evidence to back up those claims?” “I know you don’t like it, but we have to play by their rules for a while.” “...Write up whatever you want for me and I’ll read over what you want at any press conferences. Just let me know your schedule for them.” “Can we do it Monday afternoon? Maybe at five for the news shows?” “Sure ... Should I wear a suit in soft colors, to look friendly and feminine?” “I’ll call you tomorrow with clothing suggestions.” “Tyler, I was kidding.” “But it’s not a bad idea.” She couldn’t believe that she would she have to play their game and even change her clothes in order to play the game effectively. “If you want, e-mail me with any suggestions. I’ll check my mail tomorrow. And if you have any speeches ready, e-mail them to me tomorrow as well. And can you forward any of their press releases or public statements to me? Especially ones that document their research in the past few years?” “No problem. And thanks.” “You do what you have to do,” She said as she opened his door, “And I’ll do the same.” She walked through the door. Tyler looked at his closing door as he listened to her footsteps get more and more quiet in the distance. She walked back to her office and closed the door. She took the copies of the files from Shane out of her drawer and out of her safe. She knew she’d have to hide them somewhere else. Reaching for the phone, she left a voice mail message for Julie. “Julie, it’s Sloane. Could you get all the e-mails and notes for me about AIDS, particularly about AIDS and conspiracy theories, and put them on a disk and delete them from the system as soon as possible? Make it a priority; I don’t want any e-mail notes in the office for a while. I’ll take them home with me to work with. After that, could you look through archives of the past two years of the major scientific journals to see what the U.S. government has published on their AIDS research progress? Thanks a lot.” Hanging up the phone, she sat down on her desk. She picked up the files and placed them in her briefcase. She had to go to the bank after work and deposit the extra copies of the Shane file in her safe deposit box until she had another place to put them. Then her phone rang, surprising her; she didn’t know who would be calling her office on Saturday morning. “Sloane Emerson.” “How did I know you were going to be in the office?” She recognized Carter’s voice. “Carter, I wasn’t expecting you to call.” “You should have been. Have you forgotten that you’re picking me up from the airport?” At that point ,all she could do was press her hand to her forehead. “Oh, I’ve been so side-tracked in the past day or two. When are you getting in?” “Four fifteen. TransContinental Airways. Flight 367.” Carter could hear her scribbling his flight information down over the phone. “Got it. I’ll see you there.” “Don’t work too hard.” “Why not?” She hung up the phone, she couldn’t believe she had forgotten he was coming. She had to go to the bank and the grocery store, and clean the apartment before going to the airport to pick him up. The finished manuscript had to be around the office too, she thought; she should find it and bring it home with her, in case Carter wanted to look at it before Monday. Collecting her things, she found three copies of the manuscript on Julie’s desk, grabbed one of them, and left for the bank.
Click here for Chapter 8 of The Key To Believing
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portions of this book are in the following books:
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