Max looked again at the list and skimmed the remaining months. It was plugged with “O’s” and “NO’s.” Sheesh, I need a different approach. Her thought directed her attention to the last flight listed before Jeff left for Brazil. It was an entry from two weeks earlier which read: UA6018/BA456 3:05 pm. Her weary fingers continued to tap on the keyboard where she discovered he had flown to Clovis, New Mexico. It became obvious that most weeks, Jeff took a trip somewhere. Without knowing why or with whom, it led her nowhere. “Nothing connects to Brazil. I give up!” she voiced aloud, and thrust herself back into the chair frustrated, until she remembered Stanton’s butter-soaked gift.
She grabbed Jeff’s personal calendar and meticulously scanned the list of appointments. Many appeared to be for kid functions—a recital, soccer games, a night at the opera, and a few marked “date nights.” All of a sudden, Max’s heart ached as she tried to imagine Allison coping with such an ordeal. Argh, I feel like a voyeur. The troubling notion caused her to cross off anything that smacked of family affairs and refocused on the remaining entries, attempting to pair them up with the flights. It was becoming clear that Jeff’s aides booked the flights, but were not privy to their purpose. It’s time to test out my theory, she concluded and began to match the flights with the names written down on the same day. Jeff’s personal calendar listed the name Rowen on July 5th, Boroch on July 26th and Blaylock on August 16th. Both flights in September to Houston corresponded with the name Burzynski. “Aha! Maybe now I’m getting somewhere,” she said aloud.
Max did a Google search by typing in “rowen san francisco” and hit the Enter key. Okay, the first four listed have to do with condos. I doubt Jeff was looking for an apartment. The next one on the list was for a Dr. Robert Rowen, but his office was located in Santa Rosa. Not too far away from San Francisco. Could it be the same guy? Max sensed she was closing in on a clue. She clicked on the website for information and read directly from the screen. “So, the good doctor is affectionately known as ‘The Father of Medical Freedom for pioneering the nation’s first law protecting alternative medicine in 1990 in Alaska.’” She was totally bumfuzzled. “Okay, Jeff what did you have going with this guy?”
Max’s juices were flowing, so in the same fashion, she typed “boroch los angeles” and at once, the photo of Ann Boroch, with the caption: Candida Healing and Multiple Sclerosis Expert, appeared on the screen. She noted that Boroch was also a naturopath. “Bingo! This moves the ball forward.” Hurriedly she typed “blaylock jackson mississippi” and again punched the Enter key. “Russell L Blaylock; another physician promoting alternative health.” At that point she was becoming antsy. With only two more to go, she crossed her fingers on one hand and typed “burzynski houston” with the other hand. “Jackpot!” She discovered that Dr. Burzynski ran a clinic specializing in advanced alternative cancer treatment in Houston. Jeff had met with him twice, but one visit was marked personal. She sat back for a moment to contemplate. Hmm, there appears to be a connection between the doctors, but what’s the connection between them and Jeff? For that answer, she would need more time and more resources. But she still had one more name to check out.
Max was curious why Jeff would fly to Clovis, New Mexico, on non-official business, two weeks before going to Brazil. She scanned the appointments, working her way down to December. A name almost leapt off the paper. The name was Clovis Hill. “Ah ha, like in Clovis, New Mexico.” Perhaps it’s a company, not a person. By that point her brainwaves were operating somewhere between Beta and Gamma. She double-checked the dates; they coincided. Reinvigorated, she tapped the keyboard until she pulled up the website for Clovis Hill Apiary in Texico, New Mexico, located only a few miles from Clovis. “Apiary—as in bees. What the hell’s going on?!” She grabbed the phone and dialed the number for the Clovis Hill Apiary.
Max bolted into Sam’s office and plunked herself in the chair across from him.
“What’s wrong with you? You look like you just saw a poltergeist.”
“Funny coming from a guy with the code name Casper.” She flashed a full set of enamels before getting back on point. “This is serious. Two weeks before Jeff flew to Brazil he took a trip to Clovis, New Mexico—to an apiary. I called the company, and the number is disconnected.”
“You’re telling me the senator was hanging out with a bunch of bees and then goes to Brazil, four thousand miles away, and gets killed with bee venom.”
“As unbelievable as it sounds, yes. There’s got to be a connection.”
“Well, I have information for you too. Listen to this. I spoke with the desk clerk at the Seringal Hotel, who was on duty that night. He said Jeff arrived shortly before midnight. He checked into his room and never left until morning.”
“Was anyone with him?”
“The clerk said no; he checked in alone. But around eleven thirty the next morning, when he entered the lobby, he was greeted by a man who he appeared not to know.”
“Why did the clerk think the man was a stranger?”
“According to him, the guy had been waiting in the lobby for a while. When Jeff arrived, the desk clerk noticed the guy looking back and forth from Jeff to his phone. The clerk assumed the man was checking for a photo ID.”
“What happened next?”
“They exchanged words. Then Jeff returned to the front desk, retrieved his key and left for his room. Five minutes later, he reappeared, dressed more casually, and then departed with the stranger. Again, according to the desk clerk, Jeff returned that evening around six o’clock unescorted. He requested a morning wake-up call for six thirty and then left for his room. That’s a wrap!”
“Did you get a description of the stranger?”
“My dear, I’m not that rusty. He was about six feet, two inches tall with aging blond hair and blue eyes. The desk clerk believed he might be Scandinavian, possibly Norwegian based on his height.”
“Did Jeff have any visitors when he returned that night?”
“The clerk saw no one arrive other than hotel guests, until he ended his shift at midnight.”
Max paused somewhat before launching the next question. “How was the body discovered?”
“A housekeeper. The manager called the local authorities. The moment they arrived they asked for a copy of Jeff’s passport and discovered he was a U.S. citizen. It was the police chief who called the American Consulate and sealed off the room until a representative arrived.”
Max sensed there was more to the story. His delivery was too cut and dried. “Anything else?”
Sam inhaled.
Max braced herself.
“The senator was found in a compromising position, showing he was not alone. His clothes were strewn about and there were two wine glasses, half consumed.”
“So, the killer made it look like he had a heart attack during a love fest!”
“Perhaps,” Sam allowed half-heartedly.
“What! You buy it?”
“Don’t close off any possibility at this point.”
“Any forensics?” Max groaned.
“That question we’ll have to ask the State Department.”
“It still doesn’t tell us why he was in Brazil in the first place.”
“This is all preliminary. How’s it going with the appointment calendars?”
“It’s not. Jeff met with the usual suspects and flew to various cities crisscrossing the country. But something seems out of place. First, it’s the numerous appointments he had with Slater.”
“Slater, the influence peddler for Big PhRMA? I’ve heard about him.”
“Yeah, he makes ‘black ops’ seem like Sunday school. Slater knows no bounds and his tactics are less than conventional. But what’s odd, is that Jeff was on several committees: one investigating Big PhRMA and another to regulate FDA fees.”
“It’s more likely that he was exerting pressure, rather than influenc
e,” Sam asserted.
“Possibly, but there’s more weird stuff happening. In July and August, Jeff visited various doctors around the country that specialized in alternative medicine. But to be honest, I can’t be sure about any of the doctors. There are only names and dates. That’s where you come in, my friend.”
Sam did not like her tone and braced himself. “Lay it on me.”
“There’s no way I can decipher whether the scheduled appointments were in-house or simply phone calls. And there is no way to figure out who he was flying off to see. I’ve only perused two months’ worth. Now, I need your wizardry. I need Jeff’s phone records—business and cell phone calls for the last six months so I can cross-reference them with his appointment calendars.”
“I can see you’re going to enjoy using and abusing me.”
“Being an ex-spy comes with advantages.”
“Your spy skills aren’t so shabby.”
“I can’t risk my license. You took this gig; do some good.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Sam smiled. He was enjoying the repartee so long as Max did not catch on to his real purpose for his impromptu visit.
“Sam, out with it. Why are you here? You’re a field agent—and you settle for a desk job.”
What is she, psychic? Be careful, old boy; remember who you’re talking to, he warned himself. “Hey, Max, these old bones have lost their luster for any undercover stuff. Spy-lite fits me fine. And you ain’t too bad to look at either, boss. In all candor, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. And relieved that you’ve learned the truth about your past. Don’t over-analyze, princess. And try not to piss off any assassins this time around.”
“I’ll do my best.” I only hope Daniel will stay away. And I suspect that’s what prompted Sam’s appearing act. She erased the thought for the moment. “Incidentally, I booked a flight to Clovis, New Mexico. I’m leaving after the funeral.”
Chapter 10
The Numbers Game
Max was liking her new partner for many unexpected reasons. And given the short time they had worked together, it was humming along surprisingly well, almost as though they had worked together for years. Perhaps the revelation that Sam had been a part of her life behind the scenes made their new partnership seem natural. The fact that Sam aced his first assignment and delivered the goods was a great start.
Now with her antenna fully operational and armed with the list of Jeff’s cell phone calls, Max could match the phone numbers that coincided with specific travel dates. She reasoned that if the senator’s aides only knew about his non-official travels, but were not privy to their purpose, the calls made from his personal phone may be more telling. To simplify the process, she crossed off his home phone number, Allison’s cell-phone number, and for now, any local numbers. After reexamining the list, she took a brief pause. Then she readied herself and dialed the call placed on July 2nd, only three days before Jeff traveled to San Francisco. The telephone number began with a 707 area code, located somewhere in Santa Rosa, California.
“Dr. Rowen’s and Dr. Su’s office. May I help you?” asked the perky female on the other end of the line.
Jackpot! “Yes, could you please tell me the doctors’ specialty?”
“The doctors specialize in alternative and integrative medicine. Would you like to schedule an appointment?”
“Not now. Thank you.” Max ended the call and reviewed her notes. She had concluded accurately that Dr. Rowen was the same doctor who Jeff flew to San Francisco to visit. But why? she pondered. After additional sleuthing, she learned Dr. Rowen and his wife, Dr. Su, offered a wide variety of nutritional therapies, along with specializing in oxidative medicine. They relied on both Eastern and Western medicine. What caught Max’s attention was their use of ozone therapy and their claim it cured Ebola. She scoured the Net and happened on an FDA Federal Regulation. She read the specific section Titled 21, Volume 8, Section 801.415 (a) that stated:
Ozone is a toxic gas with no known useful medical application in specific, adjunctive, or preventive therapy. In order for ozone to be effective as a germicide, it must be present in a concentration far greater than that which can be safely tolerated by man and animals.
“What a surprise! The FDA disagrees.” Further reading showed that in 2010, the FDA seized dozens of ozone generators sold for treating cancer, AIDS, and hepatitis. She learned that regulations varied from state to state, but according to the California Naturopathic Doctors Act they forbad the use of any gas.
“So, how do Rowen and Su evade the regulation? More importantly, what was Jeff’s interest in these doctors?” It was a head-scratcher for sure, but Max deemed it was time to move along.
She skimmed over the long list of telephone numbers remaining, looking for any area codes for Los Angeles, Jackson, Mississippi, and Houston. Jeff traveled to those cities. But to see whom? she questioned. Max started the dial-a-thon and encountered a few misses, but then the next few calls became a series of bizarre hits.
The only number listed for Los Angeles rang nonstop: no answering machine, no disconnect. Frustrated, she decided to google “boroch los angeles” for a second time and delved deeper. Oh my God! Beyond the search listing she had read on her first try were various online health newsletters reporting that Ann Boroch hanged herself in her garage on August1st. This is rather disturbing, yet gripping, she pondered. Then she stumbled on other news sources that reported detectives within the LA Police Department believed it was a professional hit, saying the crime scene was too perfect to be true. The only official source Max could retrieve was from the LA County Coroner’s Office. It was the case detail for number 217-05693: Name Tami Boroch, Age 51, Cause of death: hanging. This is so unbelievable. How could I have missed it?
Max kicked herself. She had a peripheral knowledge from her first search that Boroch was a naturopath, researcher, and award-winning author of books on health and wellness—all information retrieved from her website. But further research, the second time around, revealed Boroch had healed herself of multiple sclerosis and had been symptom-free for twenty-three years. Whoa! This is strange. Boroch posted a blog titled, “Vegan Sunburgers for your Meatless Monday” two days before she reportedly hanged herself. Not something you’d expect from a suicide-bound person. What’s even more troubling is that no one had yet taken down the website.
Max sat back and stared at the photo of the beautiful and talented naturopath. She tried to contemplate how bad it would have to be for you to want to take your own life—especially, in Boroch’s case, someone who had overcome a life-threatening disease, and appeared to have a burgeoning career. All of a sudden, another site caught her eye. It was YourNewsWire.com. It noted that Ann Boroch “was actively campaigning for people to take control of their lives and reject Big Pharma’s crippling products in favor of natural healing.” So, she was at odds with Big PhRMA. How much at odds? At once Slater entered her mind’s-eye.
At that point, Max’s head was spinning. She still had no idea whether any of these contacts related to Jeff’s murder, but she had to shake off her lingering discovery and trudge on. She called the next number with the area code for Jackson, Mississippi, to further confirm a theory that was fomenting.
“Hello.” The receptionist at the helm this time was a male.
“Yes, I’m trying to get in touch with Dr. Russell Blaylock?”
“Excuse me; how did you get this number?”
“I’m calling regarding Senator Jeffrey Lance?”
“Hold on.”
Max waited, even though she had no clue what to say should the doctor take the call.
“Dr. Blaylock asked that you leave your name and number. He’ll return your call.”
“Um, I’ll call at another time. Thank you.” Max hung up the phone at once. At least he’s not dead. She soon realized how ridiculous her abrupt response was. Her phone number could easily be traced.
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She looked up information on the doctor again and confirmed that he was a retired neurosurgeon who now devoted his full attention to promoting alternative treatments for neurological disorders. He claimed many disorders stemmed from the toxins in aspartame, MSG, and other food additives, along with pesticides. So, essentially, he’s an expert on nutrition and food toxins, Max assessed. As she continued to read down the page, she picked up a reference to his newsletter titled The Blaylock Wellness Report. She clicked on the link.
The home page stated that Blaylock was a doctor “who is unafraid to challenge establishment thinking.” But after Max scanned a few other sites, she discovered a remarkedly different picture. “Very curious, the doctor is portrayed ‘as a quack, a conspiracy theorist, and pseudoscience peddler.’” Wonder how the FDA weighs in? she thought, until she picked up on another countervailing opinion. Hmm, this may be noteworthy. It seems Suzanne Somers is a great supporter of Blaylock. Right away, Max googled Somers’ book, Knockout. From the book’s description, Somers detailed interviews she had conducted with a variety of doctors who cured cancer, without the use of drugs. One of those doctors was Blaylock. “This is a shocker!” she blurted out. “Dr. Stanislaw Burzysnki was another.”
Max ran her finger along the phone list and immediately found the number with the 713 area code for Houston, Texas. She gave it an optimistic shot.
“The Burzysnki Clinic. May I help you?”
“I’d like to speak with Dr. Burzysnki?” Max wondered whether Jeff was visiting a clinic or a person. She held her breath.
“Dr. Stanislaw or Dr. Gregory?”
“Ah, Dr. Stanislaw.”
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