“The public will be a part of ECOWORLD, participating in a vast and innovative recycling complex based on new scientific principles that could literally change the world's face!” This read like VCR instructions translated from Japanese.
He took his pen and wrote the word “Japanese,” followed by a question mark. Then wrote another paragraph and stopped, reading the whole thing back to himself. What if they made copies of an “investigative report to the people of southeast Missouri” and circulated it everywhere? Not just media and law enforcement, but had it printed as a leaflet and dropped over the town.
“Hey,” he said to Mary, who was in bed, thinking. “You asleep?"
“Uh-uh."
“What if we ... uh...” His voice faded away.
“I'm awake. I'm listening. Go ahead."
“What if we had leaflets made. Who's the guy that drops those—the pilot?"
“Huh? Oh! The guy in Cape."
“Yeah.” He tuned out on whatever he was going to ask her, and resumed reading his notes. She was miles away, a few feet from him, with an old sheet clothespinned to a rope across the width of the cabin, for propriety, she supposed. She was in the bed but with her eyes wide open. Royce was at the trestle table. He reread the notes.
“The supposed ‘Community Communications Company’ that is building Ecoworld is not what it appears. The company exists only on paper, a front for something called World Ecosphere, Inc., a mysterious, well-funded corporation operating in Washington, D.C. and New York as a holding company. But the company—again—is more than it appears to be, just as Ecoworld is not what they claim it is. We have hard evidence that indicates Ecoworld may be a sophisticated cover operation for the largest clandestine drug laboratory ever built in North America!"
He read the details of their find—the itemized list of toxic and hazardous chemicals found on the property subsequent to the construction of the first concrete structures—a list that read like a recipe for cooking killer ice, the street name for the most deadly strain of freebase cocaine ever manufactured. How it might be possible for the people behind Ecoworld to distribute worldwide from their drug lab, under the noses—no pun intended—of the townfolk of Waterton. The amusement park aspect, with displays, tour participation, even circus-type rides tied to ecological themes, would work both as a physical cover and a money-laundering conduit. Even the foul stench of cooking narcotics down in the concrete bastion covering the central excavation might be explained by the research-and-development theme. They could be experimenting with toxic waste eradication, or pollution control—any number of plausible possibilities to choose from. It was the beginning of a perfect drug operation that could prove to be all but impenetrable.
Royce further posited that World Ecosphere was the start of a paper trail that would end in South America or Japan. The bad guys would prove to be “a consortium of politicians, drug enforcement officers, and top-level narcotics kingpins.” Perhaps an even more nefarious foreign power was providing the financial backing—who could say for certain?
The notes would be signed by Mary Perkins and Royce (whose signature would be less than worthless), and they would obtain other witnesses as soon as possible. Credible townspeople like Mary's friends and neighbors who would attest to what they'd seen at the Ecoworld constructions site. This would be augmented with a couple of clear photos, all of which would be legally documented and notarized. They'd run the thing off at some quickie printer and drop fifty thousand of the leaflets on Waterton, Maysburg, and the surrounding agri-community.
He wasn't pleased with the presentation. He tried to begin with the line about how all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. He started over:
"What is going on here?" he wrote. He liked that better. It was catchy.
A killer or killers wantonly murdering our families, friends, and neighbors? People vanishing without a trace? Yes! These are not just small-town rumors you've heard—Waterton, Missouri, is in serious trouble, and the law is doing nothing! Ask yourself, why?
We have hard evidence to indicate that “ECOWORLD” may be a sophisticated cover for the largest clandestine drug laboratory ever built in North America—and neither the police nor the Federal Bureau of Investigation is lifting a finger to stop it! These findings speak for themselves:
[WITNESSED, NOTARIZED PICTURES AND DOCUMENTATION]
These are hazardous chemicals used in the manufacture of a powerful and deadly type of “freebase” cocaine. World Ecosphere, Inc., is a front for a richly funded drug cartel, perhaps even a consortium in league with a foreign power. We believe that the murders occurring in this community may be directly linked to the clandestine drug lab's construction.
WE MUST ACT AS A COMMUNITY TO BRING THESE KILLERS AND DRUG PEOPLE TO JUSTICE. CONTACT YOUR SENATORS AND REPRESENTATIVES, THE DRUG ENFORCEMENT ADMINISTRATIVE, THE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT, YOUR COUNTRY SHERIFF, OR ANYONE ELSE IN A POSITION OF AUTHORITY AND SEE THAT THIS INFORMATION IS ACTED UPON NOW—WHILE THERE'S STILL TIME!
Just awful. But he was too tired to work on it anymore. This would do. He read it to Mary and asked her what she thought.
“It's real good, Royce, but do you think people will do anything after they read it and see the pictures of the chemicals? Remember, this project has already made a lot of money for the town. They say old Gabe Augustine and his family are millionaires now from the concrete they've poured. And it's brought a lot of jobs just in construction work. What about all the money that they say will be coming into the area in tourism? Won't people around here just figure the chemicals deal is some kind of smear campaign, and choose to ignore it?"
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
“And if they did get up in arms about it and called Marty Kerns, imagine what would come of it. He'd give them some soft soap and pat them on the head, and that would be that. What can we realistically hope to accomplish? I'm not putting down the idea, I'm just asking."
“I don't know, hon. You may be right. But it's our shot—the way I see it. And it might even give us a bit of protection. You, anyway. Perhaps they'd realize it would make them look bad if anything were to happen to the person who accused them of being drug manufacturers. Also—I know sometimes you can have a lot of heat and no light, but maybe this will produce a little light along with the heat. Maybe some newspaper will get interested, or one of the TV channels, and—who knows—somebody who sees the leaflet might have some clout with a U.S. senator or the governor or—” He didn't really believe what he was saying. “Let's sleep on it,” he finally said, and collapsed into his sleeping bag in front of the fire.
“There's one thing in our favor,” he said, yawning. “Waterton! We're in a town where they actually report UFO sightings. There's people here buy those papers at the supermarket and will swear to you that Elvis is still alive. There's been how many Bigfoot sightings recently? I mean, we are talking Small Town America, right?"
“You'd better believe it,” Mary said. “Woman's place is in the home, and we pay wages to prove it."
“Exactly."
“The ERA wasn't even a rumor here."
“So you take my point. This is Redneckville. Hayseed, U.S.A. An NRA stronghold. Used to be a Klan stronghold not so long ago. If you ain't white and Christian, you know—like the song says, red, white, and Pabst Blue Ribbon—we don't want you. That's Waterton. Maybe the people around here won't be too thrilled about Japs buying up three hundred acres for their underground drug lab.” She ignored his heavy-handed irony.