Nodding, he replied, “This is wonderful, Chester. To have the opportunity to find out what’s really going on is just what my boss at the news organization wants me to do.”
Anne and Martha set platters on the table and his eyebrows lifted slightly at the amount of food. Roast beef, ham, green beans, corn, macaroni and cheese, salad, and large, fluffy rolls.
Martha cackled at his expression and said, “Chester and Terry work hard on the ranch, so I’m used to putting out a big spread at lunch. Plus, when he told me we were going to have a guest, I wanted to make sure we showed you some good, Midwestern hospitality.”
Taking a cue from his hosts, he did not ask any questions during the meal. Martha’s cooking was excellent, just as Chester had predicted, and he thanked her when the meal finished.
She waved his praise away, and said, “Go on into the den and I’ll bring coffee in a few minutes.”
Following the others, he sat in one of the chairs in the large, sunshine filled room. Chester sat in an easy chair that appeared to be molded to his body, and he assumed that was where many evenings were spent. Eileen and Bertram took two of the other chairs, and Terry sat on one end of the sofa. A moment later, Anne and Martha brought in a tray filled with coffee mugs and set it on the coffee table. Once served, they sat on the sofa as well.
Adopting the expression of the earnest journalist, he brought out his small recorder. “Do you have a problem with me recording this interview?”
Chester shook his head. “Hell, no. Can’t say that there’s anything new I’m going to tell you that I haven’t been preaching for almost 15 years, so go ahead and record away.”
“I was at the NBAF this morning, and heard their introductory speech—”
“Hmph, propaganda, you mean,” Eileen groused.
“Eileen, hush,” Martha chided. “We invited this man into our home, and we’re going to listen to him and answer his questions.” Turning back to him, she smiled and nodded, indicating for him to continue.
“Well,” he cleared his throat, then continued, “this facility has been a long time coming. Have you been involved in voicing your protests for that long?”
The others turned to Chester, obviously giving him a chance to answer the question. Leaning back in his comfortable chair, Chester rested his hands over his stomach and began what appeared to him to be a practiced speech.
“When the government first wanted to find a location to replace the outdated Plum Island Facility, way back under George Bush’s presidency, they eventually came up with six places. It took them two years to whittle down their choices from twenty-nine possible sites in 2006 to finally narrowing it down to six in 2008. Georgia, Mississippi, New York, North Carolina, Texas, and here in Kansas. As you can imagine, groups in all six places formed to oppose the facility. There were grassroot oppositions, as well as the National Grange, who spoke out against the idea. It was all for naught, because in 2008, Kansas was chosen as the site. I figure the other five places must’ve been jumping for joy in celebration, but I can tell you, here, we were getting ready to dig in for a war.”
Not hearing anything he did not already know, he nonetheless nodded, somewhat enthusiastically, for Chester to continue. “I understand that some protesters are unhappy with the research that obviously takes place with some animals. Is this one of the points that you protest against?”
Shaking his head, Chester replied vehemently, “No, sir. Look out there at my pastures,” and he swung his arm out to point beyond the window where the cattle were grazing in a field. “I’m not raising cattle for pets. I know that the animals I raise are going to be used for food. This is a way of life for us. The average American goes to the grocery store and buys their meat without giving a second thought as to where it came from. They slap it on the grill and enjoy eating, not once thinking about what they’re putting in their mouth. And that’s fine, I don’t have a problem with that. And, research on animals and animal diseases is what keeps that meat on their plate safe for them to eat. That makes some people squeamish, but unless they’re going to stop eating meat, then they need to realize that’s just how the agricultural industry works.”
“So, what are your reasons for not wanting it here?”
“Hell, man,” Chester sputtered. “Why do you think they built the first facility out there on Plum Island, stuck in the Atlantic Ocean, back in the 1950s? The government put it out there because in the case of an accident, releasing the diseases they were studying, they wouldn’t be hitting us right here in the middle of America. When that place got too old to be fixed up anymore, that’s when they decided to look at places stateside. And I’ll be goddamned if they didn’t decide to stick it right in the middle of Kansas. Here! This part of the country is one of the major cattle and agricultural states. Any of that shit gets out of that building, and it would be worse than them dropping a hydrogen bomb on top of our heads!”
Chester’s demeanor had devolved from a hospitable host to a man whose face was red with anger and whose chest heaved with righteous indignation. Eric watched the transformation occur before his eyes, wondering what the man was capable of in order to stop something he believed was a threat.
“So, you’ve been protesting since about 2006? That seems like an expensive endeavor.”
Chester chuckled, the rumble deep in his chest. “You want to talk about expensive? That facility costs US taxpayers over a billion dollars. But don’t worry over how much we’ve spent. We don’t fight this battle alone. You’d be surprised how much support we have. Lotta people are fighting this battle with us, even if they’re in the background. That’s fine with me. I don’t mind being the front-runner, as long as their pockets are deep.”
“To be protesting something for over ten years seems like an exceptionally long time, considering that the construction of the facility moved forward, and the building is now functioning.”
Chester leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he clenched his fingers together. Pinning him with a hard stare, he replied, “We’re not the only ones who want this thing shut down. When there’s a war, you don’t give up the fight. When an enemy is in your backyard, threatening everything you hold dear, you don’t give up and you don’t give in, even if you have to make a pact with the Devil.”
Eric continued to ask questions for several more minutes, his understanding of Chester deepening as he came to terms with just what lengths the man would go to to protect the livelihood he perceived to be threatened.
That night, Eric sat at the bar in the hotel where many of the other press were staying. It was not as noisy as the bar from the night he met Lydia, being farther away from the college campus, but the comparison alone had him thinking back to meeting her. The time they spent together and his surprise when he woke up the next morning, discovering she had pulled a disappearing act, was hard to forget.
He knew he should have been grateful that she understood the parameters of their time spent together, but he could not help but be irritated that they had not had a chance to enjoy each other’s company again before going their own separate ways. It had been a while since he had been with someone that he desired to spend more time with, and it was just his luck that it would happen somewhere far away from his home.
Hearing the noise of more people coming into the room pulled his attention away from his musings. He adjusted his glasses, making sure to casually look about the room so that the video transmitted to Chris would be comprehensive.
Seeing a few of the other journalists that he had met that morning, he lifted his hand and waved, watching as they came over and joined him at the large table. Introductions were made, and he discovered there were several people from China, South Korea, Russia, Georgia, Lithuania, Ukraine, and Africa in attendance. Listening to them chat, he learned that there were many others representing countries that were threatened with the African Swine Fever there for the conference as well.
“We didn’t have much time to be introduced this morn
ing,” the pretty Thai journalist sitting next to him said. “I’m Anong Anuwat.”
Eric introduced himself and then listened as the others around the table gave their names. Sitting across from him were a male and female, their eyes darting around the table and their lips slightly pinched. Looking at their name tags, he noted they were both from China. He held his gaze on them a moment longer to ensure Chris saw their names clearly. As he scanned everyone else’s tags, he realized that the people seated closest to them represented South Korea and Russia, along with Thailand, and he wondered if the apparent animosity from the Chinese journalists was nationalistic, instead of personal.
A man sat down on his other side and immediately stuck his hand out. “I’m Bashiir…Bashiir Farah,” he said, his white smile beaming. “I’m from Somalia, and this is my first time in the United States.” After shaking his hand, he looked past him and smiled at Anong.
She reached across and shook Bashiir’s extended hand as well, laughing, “I was in California last year at a media convention, but I didn’t get to go anywhere other than Los Angeles. Being in the middle of the United States is such a thrill.”
“Eric, do you live near here?”
He looked at the journalist from Russia, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair. “No, I live on the East Coast,” he replied, keeping his answer vague.
“I find the geography of the United States so confusing,” Seo-yun Park, the female South Korean journalist, said. “I traveled some in Asia but find that Americans are much less diverse.”
Uncertain what she meant, he was about to ask, when her male partner, Ji-Ho, explained, “You have one language here, as opposed to each Asian country.”
Normally, Eric hated small talk but forced himself to participate in the conversations while simultaneously assessing the other journalists. Though they talked with ease when directly addressed, he noted with interest, the segregation amongst them. The two from South Korea talked easily with he and Anong but limited their conversation with others. Bashiir had no difficulty speaking to any of them and seemed quite keen on learning everything he could. The two journalists from China, Wang Xiu and Zhang Wei, appeared to view everyone at the table with suspicion, and Egor, from Russia, kept mostly to himself.
Seeing some of the other journalists come into the bar, he excused himself and made the rounds, making introductions and inserting himself in their conversations. After several hours of this, he said his goodbyes and headed back to his hotel.
Thinking of his previous evening with Lydia, he could not help but feel this evening paled greatly in comparison.
8
Entering his room, Eric was ready to collapse on his bed when he saw Chris sitting on the sofa, literally bouncing with excitement. Shutting the door, he pulled off his press badge and glasses and walked over to the chair. Plopping down, he loosened his tie and leaned back.
“That was fuckin’ amazing,” Chris said, his voice as animated as his body. “The way you worked that room…the way you were able to get people to start talking…the way you were able to keep the camera on the various people around.”
Lifting his head, his expression one of utter boredom, he said, “Please tell me you were able to get something from all of that.”
“Yes!”
Chris started typing on his laptop, his knee bouncing up and down. Eric leaned his head back again, assuming Chris would let him know what he found as soon as he was ready.
“Okay, take a look at this,” Chris said, turning his laptop around and jumping up from the sofa to kneel on the floor so that they were both facing the screen. “Of the two journalists from South Korea, only one of them was actually born and raised there.” He pointed to a photograph of Ji-Ho Kim, and said, “He is originally from China, near the port city of Dandong. That’s an easy connection between China and North Korea.”
“How long has he been a journalist for South Korea?”
“That’s the interesting part. I can’t find any information that he’s ever been a journalist, anywhere, much less for South Korea.”
“What about Seo-yun Park? Any information on her? I wonder if she knows about Ji-Ho.”
“I’ve been able to verify the government-run publication she works for, so she’s legit, but I don’t know if she’s aware that Ji-Ho’s not who he says he is. If they’ve never worked together before, it’s possible this is her first time meeting him as well. But, I’ll keep looking.”
Sucking in a breath, Eric said, “Okay, so he goes on our suspicious list, along with Chester. What else did you get from tonight’s agonizing small-talk fest that I had to engage in?”
Chris cackled out loud, slapping his knee. “Can’t believe you don’t get a rush from being out in the middle of everything, digging out information, and figuring out who we’re up against.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, he shook his head slowly. “I’m more of an action man. I wondered when I was tasked for this job if I was the right person, considering I hate having to spend a lot of time around a ton of people.”
Chris continued clicking on his laptop, and said, “The two journalists from China check out, both their names and the news organizations they represent. Zhang and Wang…” Chuckling, he said, “Didn’t you have a hard time keeping a straight face when they introduced themselves?”
“Jesus, Chris. If you ever expect to get out in the field, you’d better have some more cultural sensitivity training.”
“I’m not culturally insensitive,” Chris said, his brow lowering. “I just think it’s funny that their names rhyme. I’d feel the same if we were named Stan and Dan…or Fred and Ted...or Bob and—”
“I get it.” Wanting Chris to finish his information, he said, “Keep going. What else have you got?”
“The Russian guy, Egor, seems to check out as well.” Sniggering, Chris looked up and mumbled, “Sorry. Just made me think of Frankenstein’s Igor.” Clearing his throat, he continued, “Bashiir from Somalia also checks out.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he said, “And, that cute girl from Thailand also checks out. Man, you sure are lucky. The way she was looking at you, all you had to do was crook your finger and I think she would have followed you anywhere.”
Torn between wanting to thank Chris for his quick investigative skills and wanting to kick him out for his dumbass comments, he sighed. “Okay, Chris. That’s the first group of people I met. I need you to keep doing the same thing on the rest of the group. We need to know if there’s anyone who is not who they say they are, does not work for who they say they work for, and especially if they have any monetary ties to one of the protesting groups.”
Standing, Chris grabbed his laptop and nodded. “No problem, boss. I’ve got secured lines and have already sent my info back to DHS headquarters so they can help search through all this information. If there are links, we’ll find them.”
Closing the door behind Chris, he rolled his shoulders and moved his neck back and forth, hearing it crack. Having grown used to his more solitary lifestyle in Vermont, he found spending the day with large groups of people to be exhausting.
Double checking the security of his room, he headed into the bathroom, stripped and stepped into the shower. While he tried to relax his body with the warm water pelting his skin, his mind was unable to stop processing the day’s information.
If Ji-Ho Kim is actually from China, why is he masquerading as a journalist from South Korea? Where does he currently live? And for how long? Who was Chester alluding to when he talked about the deep pockets of those who would like to stop the NBAF?
After he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, he pulled on his boxers and brushed his teeth. Flipping off the light, he slid under the covers and lay back on the bed with his arms behind his head.
And the biggest question of them all? I wonder what Lydia is doing tonight?
Rolling over, he punched the pillow, willing sleep to come.
Lydia glanced at the clock on the wall th
e next morning, wondering if Beth was just late. Her phone rang and, picking it up, she heard the unhappy voice of her coworker.
“I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to take my dog into the clinic over on campus today. Crazy thing got in the garbage and ate something he shouldn’t have. I’ll try to be in later this afternoon if possible.”
Assuring Beth that it was no problem, her thoughts went in the opposite direction. With only two of them it would take longer to do the checks on the swine, and she was expecting the assigned journalists to show up sometime that morning. Turning to Jim, she said, “Looks like we’re on our own today. I guess we’d better get started.”
After getting into their boots and gloves, the two went into the pen where the pigs were kept. Kneeling, she grabbed a pig, checked its ear for the tag, called it out, and then she and Jim together examined the animal. As she scooted over to the next one, he entered the information into his tablet.
They were only halfway through, when Jim was called away by their supervisor. Shooting her an apologetic look, he left the pen and headed out of the animal area. Frustrated, she stood with her hands on her hips, as the pigs rooted around her feet.
Eric and the other journalists filed out of the conference room and stood in line to begin the next portion of the seminar. Now knowing that Ji-Ho was not who he said he was, he watched the young man carefully to see if he formed any alliances or gave off any information. The camaraderie between Ji-Ho and Seo-yun appeared genuine, but he was determined to get her alone sometime to ask how long she had known the man.
“You will be paired with Dr. Hughes, one of our porcine veterinarians.” The NBAF employee making the announcement glanced to the side as a man walked up. “Oh, Jim, here are your charges.”
SEAL Together Page 6