"Okay," he managed. "I'll do what I can to get Kyle out of here. But if I think he's in danger, you're going to have to sign him out against my advice."
"We'll do thet. An' donchew worry none. We ain't gonna sue ya, no matter what."
He guffawed, coughed, and spat.
Matt gazed east at the flush of morning sunlight brightening the sky from behind the hills. As he did so, he slipped his hands in his pockets and connected with the envelope.
"Hey, Lewis, tell me what you make of this," he said, handing it over.
He felt pretty certain that all of the Slocumbs could read to some degree or another.
"Don' make nothin' of it," Lewis said.
"You mean you don't know what the guy who wrote this note is talking about? You don't know where the cleft is?"
Lewis scuffed at the ground with the toe of his worn high-cuts.
"Ah mot know, then agin Ah mot not."
"Lewis, I just saved your brother's life, and I've been coming out to the farm to check on you guys for years. This note is very important to me. It has to do with the mine."
"Ah know what it has ta do with. Ya really got a burr up yer butt fer thet ol' mine."
"I have good reasons," Matt said, suddenly exasperated. "My father and my wife, for two. A couple of dead miners, for two more… Lewis?"
"Ah 'preciate what ya done fer Kyle in there, Ah surely do."
"So?"
"It's really thet important ta ya?"
"It is. I put out notices offering a reward for information about illegal chemical waste dumping by the mine, and this note was slid under my door."
Lewis scuffed thoughtfully, covering up the gouges he had made in the sand.
"So, whar's the big news?" he asked finally.
"What do you mean?"
"Ah mean, they's lotsa folks livin' in the woods what knows 'bout the cleft an' the tunnel and even 'bout the crap the mine people keep inside."
Matt's pulse began to race.
"What do you mean 'crap'?" he asked.
"Chemicals, jes like ya sed. Barrels of 'em."
"Hot damn. Lewis, can you take me there?"
Lewis sighed.
"Inside the mountain? Ah s'pose Ah kin."
"When?"
"When ya thinkin' ya'll be done with Kyle?"
"I don't know. Maybe late this afternoon."
"Then we'll talk late this afternoon."
"But you know about this poison the note talks about?"
"Ah know."
"And you'll take me to see it firsthand?"
"Ah 'spect Ah will, but Ah cain't say rot now. It's sorta up ta m' brothers, too."
"Lewis, surely you knew I've been trying to get something on BC and C. Why haven't you said something to me about this before?"
"We lak ya, Doc. But we lak eatin', too."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means Stevenson an' them people at the mine bin paying us ta keep quiet 'bout what we know."
"I don't understand. What connection do they have with you?"
Lewis rubbed at his chin, then sighed again.
"Per a time, we done hauled the stuff in thar fer 'em," he said.
CHAPTER 9
For two and a half years, nearly all of the Omnivax commission meetings had been held in one or the other of the two main conference rooms located on the third floor of the Parkman Building, FDA headquarters in Rockville, Maryland. When Lynette Marquand made her speech later in the day, the sliding partition between the rooms would be open, allowing seating for the press, the Omnivax panel, the First Lady's staff, and those hundred or so dignitaries who had managed to procure invitations.
For the moment, though, the partition was closed so that the commission could hold its meeting in private. From what Ellen knew, this gathering was probably the last one before the session to vote formal approval for the distribution and general use of the supervaccine.
She scanned the first room as she passed by. Television camera crews were preparing to beam Marquand's message to the world, and several Secret Service agents were carefully inspecting the walls, podium, and beneath the chairs. Most of the Omnivax commission members were already in the other room, mingling in twos and threes. A few were settling down in front of their computer-generated cardboard place cards at the gleaming, football field-sized cherry conference table. Most of the members were men, and all of the members except for Ellen held either an M.D. degree, a Ph.D., or in a number of instances, both. Beneath their names were printed their titles, specialties, and agencies. Ellen's identified her simply as "Ellen Kroft, M.S.; Consumer."
Within weeks following Ellen's first meeting, Cheri and Sally-gave her a detailed briefing on each and every one of the other members of the panel, including, where appropriate, the sources of their research funds, and any known stock holdings in the pharmaceutical industry. Ellen was stunned at how much information the two housewives had amassed. They were serious, big-time players in this game, and the worldwide impact they had made in a relatively short time reflected that. She was also astonished at the extent and complexity of the connections between the members of the committee and the drug industry. If Cheri and Sally's information was accurate, and nothing had come to light to make her think otherwise, too many of them had some sort of link.
Of those in the room, only a few took notice of Ellen with a smile or a nod. By and large, as usual, she was ignored. Moments after she took her place at what would have been about the ten-yard line, Dr. George Poulos, Director of the Institute for Vaccine Development, took his seat directly to her right. Poulos, one of those with dual degrees, was a darkly handsome man with classic Greek features. He was always elegantly dressed, and today, possibly in honor of the occasion, wore a crimson handkerchief tucked neatly in the breast pocket of his suit coat. Somewhere in a file folder in Ellen's study, the dossier Sally and Cheri had generated on him reported that he was a highly regarded clinician, researcher, and businessman, as well as a big-time supporter of President Jim Marquand. He could be swayed on some issues, but only if he thought making a concession would improve his position.
Unpredictable, and generally not to be trusted, it read. Looked like a hero when he helped halt the experimental combined chicken pox and MMR vaccine testing in South America in the mid-1980s, after deaths and immune suppression in a number of female babies, but turned his back six months later when slightly altered versions of the vaccine — were used.
The last line in the report read simply, Drives a red Porsche 911 Turbo.
"So, Ellen," he said, gesturing vaguely at those assembling in the elegant room, "you have come a long way from teaching middle-school science."
Ellen stifled a number of retorts, ranging from quick and very funny to downright nasty and offensive.
"It certainly has been an experience," she settled on.
"And how does it feel to have worked hand in hand with such an accomplished group of scientists?"
"It… certainly has been an experience," she said again, backing up her attempt at humor with what she hoped was a warm grin. "Are you excited about the First Lady's visit?"
"Oh, very. Lynette and I are old friends. I consulted for her on the vaccination section of her book Citizen Pioneers. Omnivax is her baby, so to speak."
"So it seems."
"And after we vote, she will be sharing that baby with the nation and maybe the world."
"Is that why the vote was moved up?"
"Perhaps. With the outcome foregone, many people in very high places would like this to be a done deal as soon as possible."
Ellen felt her composure begin to shrivel.
"I wish I agreed with them," she said. "Have you seen how many letters from parents and grandparents have been written to congressmen protesting that Omnivax hasn't been studied long enough? Or how many op-ed pieces have been published warning against moving ahead with this project too prematurely? Why, even I have been getting letters and e-mail — five or ten a day for the past few months. There are very strong feelings about this project among the public."