"No…I'm fine…I'm sorry, Kerrin. I tried not to tell them anything…"
"It's okay. It wasn't your fault. They didn't catch me. I gave myself up. Don't worry it's going to be okay now. I promise you…"
Kerrin stood up and walked over to Buz. He picked up the phone and while looking at Buz straight in the eyes, he dialed the number for Paul, his boss at the Washington Post.
The phone was picked up after one ring.
"Kerrin…is that you? Are you okay pal?"
"Hi. Paul, I'm fine. I don't want to talk just now, but don't print the story tonight. But we'll have the same arrangement for tomorrow and the next day, and each day after that unless I say different, okay? If I don't call you before 10 p.m. each night…print, and damn them to hell!"
He had always wanted to say that.
"Thank you Mr Graham," Buz said, taking the handset out of his hands and handing the telephone to one of the guards, who promptly took it away. "Now gentlemen," he said to the remaining guards, "if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you would escort us topside, and out of this little establishment. I would like to speak to Mr Graham and his wife in private, and where we will not be overheard." Buz announced, referring obviously to the electronic surveillance gear embedded in the walls of each of the rooms.
"But sir…do you think that's wise?" one of Cheng Wung's agents began to object.
Buz looked at the man sternly, and he immediately shrank away.
"I can see no reason why I should not trust Mr Graham. Contrary to what Mr Wung believes, it's obvious to me that Mr Graham chose to give himself up…he wanted to meet us as much as we wanted to meet him…and if they were to try to escape where would they go? We're in the middle of nowhere, and there's no way he could carry his wife across the countryside to the nearest city, which is hours away…No, I get the feeling that Mr Graham will not be going anywhere in a hurry."
With Kerrin pushing Dana in her wheelchair, the group made their way to the surface, and then out onto the porch. One of the guards helped Kerrin with the wheelchair down the few stairs to the ground below and they made their way across the hard ground out into the field away from the house.
When they were out of earshot of the farm, the guards left Kerrin and Dana alone with Buz Trueman.
Buz pulled out two Kohiba cigars from his breast pocket. Kerrin immediately recognized the yellow and black boxing and the branding of the Cuban cigar. It was the same type he liked to play with when he tried to write.
"Join me?" Buz asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Don't mind if I do!" Kerrin replied, taking it and the matches from Buz.
Copying Buz, he snipped the end of the cigar off with his fingers, and then wafted it back and forward in the flame of one of the matches. Then he popped the cigar in his mouth and puffed on it slowly, rotating it in the flame to light the tobacco evenly.
The aroma drifted over his tongue and he savored the flavor. This was the first time he had ever really tried to smoke one.
He coughed loudly, then smiled.
"My favorite brand…" He joked.
For a moment they stood in silence. A full moon hung high in the cloudless sky and lit the fields brightly all around them. The air was warm, but thankfully cooler and less humid now than earlier that evening. In the distance they could hear the sound of an animal crying to its mate.
"It's a fine night…" Buz said silently.
"That it is," Kerrin agreed, his eyes cast upwards, looking at the craters depicted so clearly on the surface of the moon.
Another moment of silence.
"Well, Mr Graham, we've both come a long way to speak to each other. Given the circumstances, I think we should be entirely frank. If I may start, I think I should say that I know all about you, and I know that you know all about us. The question is what are we going to do about it?"
"I appreciate your candor, Mr Trueman. I think at this point all I want to say to you is that I know all about the Chymera Corporation, your involvement, and exactly what happened at Gen8tyx. I know everything about the Orlando Treatment. The parcel that I brought with me is one of many identical copies that I have in my possession. It turns out that on the evening Martin Nicolson, one of the founding members of Gen8tyx, was shot down and murdered by a US fighter jet,…earlier that evening, before he took off in his Lear Jet, he took some precautions and mailed a complete dossier to me containing complete, comprehensive details about Gen8tyx and its discoveries. Enough for anyone who has the dossier to start a new company and replicate the research and the discoveries that Gen8tyx made." He paused.
"…And I also have an extensive dossier on those who are involved in the Chymera Corporation. I won't pretend to know exactly what the Chymera Corporation is about, but I know enough. I have photographs of you, and most of the members attending a meeting in Spain, including the Chief Executive Officer, President Kendrick Hart."
Kerrin was guessing about Kendrick Hart being the CEO, but from the way Buz's face muscles twitched when he mentioned it, he knew that he was on the mark. He waited to see if Buz wanted to say something in reply. It wasn't long before he did.
"Mr Graham. I think that perhaps the Corporation made the mistake of underestimating you. That is not a mistake I intend to make again. I presume that before you marched so freely into the airport and expected to be picked up, that you took concrete measures to ensure the safety of yourselves and those you love…"
"Are you threatening me?"
"No. I am merely stating the obvious. Unless you have taken some additional precautions, now we have you, it will be a simple enough matter to find out where you have hidden those parcels…"
Kerrin smiled.
"And you would be right to presume I have taken precautions. I served my time as a policeman on the streets of Miami, for years the drug capital of the world. I've seen truth drugs being used before and I know that ordinarily it wouldn't take long for you to extract that information from me. I guess that's how you got Dana to tell you my new alias in the first place? Now, I'm not about to tell you how many parcels I made up, or where they are…that would be stupid. Suffice it to say, that I have many contacts, in the press, in the world's media…in pharmaceutical companies and the financial markets and other industries…as well as a number of politicians who would dearly love to see the end of Kendrick Hart. I think I should make it clear that I have placed a large number of parcels with these trusted 'holders'…some of these are newspapers, some are banks, some are acquaintances…some are just people I can trust…as well as the obvious, my own newspaper the Washington Post, for example, who I think you are very familiar with. They are not scared to tell the truth, even if it does bring down the President. The thing is, unless I report in regularly to these people, the parcels will be released or dropped into the post and sent to a variety of interested parties, who would just love to get their hands on the information they contain. For example, if I don't turn up at work next Monday, the Post will print everything. And if I should stop turning up for work one day without warning…even if it's in two years or ten years…they'll print. Newspapers have long memories…we can wait. So, it wouldn't be a good idea to arrange to have me killed some time in the future…just when I think everything is cool… As for your truth drug, I have taken precautions against that. Are you familiar with the workings of the mind, Mr Trueman?"
"I would like to think I am, but I am sure you know more about it than I do, Mr Graham. Please elaborate."
"The mind is an interesting thing. It would seem that we are all a little schizophrenic after all. We operate on two levels…our conscious, and our subconscious. I suppose you could compare the subconscious with the operating system in a computer. It runs the thousands of sub-programs that keep our bodies alive…they tell us when to eat, or how to move a hand…they assemble and store the knowledge in our brains so that whenever we want to, we can access it, can recall past experiences, or remember a list of names or telephone numbers…that sort of thing. No
ne of us are really conscious of our subconscious. Are you?"
"I can't say that I am,…and your point is?" Buz asked, looking at Kerrin and slowly exhaling a mouth full of cigar smoke.
"Well, there are a group of people who are very familiar with this concept. They are called 'hypnotists'. I am sure you are familiar with them. In fact, I am sure you use them yourself to extract information from people. Everyone else does…Anyway, I was faced with a small problem. I had to be able to come and visit you here today, but I knew that I also had to protect the identities and locations of where the parcels and dossiers have been stored…I like to think of them as little time-bombs that will go off if anything should happen to me…I'm sure you understand…So I came up with a little plan. I went to see a hypnotist, and together we hid that information in my subconscious. Oh, don't worry, I can access it freely whenever I want…but should anyone try to tamper with my brain, should anyone hypnotize or drug me and ask me to retrieve that information, my subconscious has been programmed to erase it…to forget it completely. Think of it, if you will, like a little mental key…only my consciousness has the key…if anyone else tries to force me to access it, even if you made me 'want' to access it…then, phufff,…it'll all just go up in some imaginary mental smoke. Quite clever really, isn't it…in fact, I think it’s the same technique that the CIA and FBI use on their own agents to protect and prevent confidential information being extracted from their people when they are captured or tortured… Of course, if anyone did try something on me, at any time in the future… the problem for us would be that even if I wanted to, I couldn't tell you anything: my hypnotic programming would ensure that the important memories would be erased. I would forget everything and then unfortunately I wouldn't be able to make the calls…to visit the people I had to be seen by,…to do the things I had to do in order to stop the parcels from being sent out and the Orlando Treatment from being exposed to the world…"
"I suppose it's all just a rather long winded way of saying…'if you fuck with me, you're fucked'…Do you get my drift?"
Buz walked away from him, his back turned. He looked up and cast his eyes over the fields surrounding them, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "So, Mr Graham, it would seem you have positioned yourself very carefully…what then, may I ask, is it that you want from us?"
"Oh, it's quite simple really. But I will only tell you in the presence of another man."
"And who, pray tell, would that be?" Buz asked, turning towards him, the end of the cigar in his hand glowing bright red against the dark night.
"The CEO of the Chymera Corporation, the President of the United States,…Kendrick Hart, And one thing more…I want to see him tomorrow afternoon!"
Buz was thinking fast. Kerrin Graham was smart. Very smart. He had them by the balls. But his timing was good. The President was due to fly to Camp David on Saturday, the day after tomorrow. Buz had promised the Board that he would deal with the Graham issue before the end of the week. A meeting tomorrow would satisfy both his and Kerrin's agenda. Either way, the issue would be resolved by the time the President took off on Air Force One on Saturday morning.
He dropped the cigar and squashed it into the ground with the base of one of his expensive shoes.
"Okay, Mr Graham. I'll make the arrangements."
"…Just one more thing…" Kerrin asked as they turned to walk back into the house.
"Yes…"
"Make sure you bring David Sonderheim along too. I want him to be there when I tell the President what it is that I want in return for my silence."
--------------------
Day Twenty-Nine
Late the next morning, after a good breakfast, and the chance to clean themselves up, Kerrin and Dana joined Buz and several security guards and boarded a helicopter bound for Washington.
David Sonderheim had left earlier that morning in the private limousine. He had cheered up considerably since the events the previous evening, the change in his humor being on the most part due to Buz Trueman telling him that now the Graham affair had been dealt with, he had arranged a private interview with the President later that afternoon.
Sonderheim could guess what the meeting would be about. He was sure it was to discuss his promotion to the Board.
Chapter 44
Day Twenty-Nine
Oval Office
The White House
Washington D.C.
It was 1 p.m.
The President of the United States of America nodded to his assistant who walked over to the door, and after letting the guests in, discreetly stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Kendrick Hart stood up from his desk of office and walked around it to welcome his guests. In real life the President was even taller and more imposing than the impression he gave on the television. As he came towards them, Kerrin couldn't help but feel slightly in awe of the man.
The President bent forward and took one of Dana's hands in both of his and smiled one of his best diplomatic, charismatic, 'I-want-you-to-like-me' smiles. Next he extended his arm to Kerrin and shook Kerrin's hand warmly, a gesture which both surprised and stunned him. Then, in quick recognition he reached out and grabbed Buz's hand.
"Welcome to the Oval Office. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Graham. I have heard a lot of things about you…Now please,…come. Make yourselves comfortable…May I?"
The President gestured to Kerrin, indicating that he would like to push Dana's wheelchair the remaining few feet into the room, and Kerrin stood aside to let him.
"Here, Mrs Graham, let me put you right beside me…"
"Please sit…" The President waved Kerrin and Buz to several leather arm chairs grouped around a large coffee table in the centre of the room. The President sat opposite them, with Dana in her wheelchair on the left of his chair.
The Oval Office was a truly impressive room, an institution in itself. The President's desk looked exactly like it did in any of the many TV broadcasts that Kerrin and Dana had seen coming from this room. In the corner, the flag of the United States hung loosely from the pole, the symbol of their great nation, and the truth that would set any man free…
Kerrin and Dana were unprepared for the royal treatment, and were fervently trying to work out the tactics that were being played. Yet it was hard not to enjoy the honor of being in the Oval Office of the White House, with the President of the United States…
Which was, Kerrin realized, probably the whole purpose of the red carpet treatment. To overawe them and throw them off balance… No, Kerrin had to snap out of it. This wasn't a pleasure meeting, this was a matter of life or death…theirs!
"Tea, coffee? Some cookies?…I trust you have had lunch already?" the President asked.
"No thank you, Mr President. I am afraid we didn't come here for that…"
"Well, Mr Graham, perhaps you would like to explain what you have come here for?"
"In good time, but first, I requested that David Sonderheim be present. May I ask where he is?"
"Ah, yes…He's waiting just outside. Shall I ask him to come in now?" The President asked.
"Please…"
The President walked to his desk and pressed a button on his phone, and spoke to his secretary outside.
"Could you please ask Mr Sonderheim to come in now?"
A door to the side of the room opened, and David Sonderheim walked briskly through the doorway into the Oval Office. Kerrin watched him, noting how the broad smile and look of excitement that lit up his face quickly vanished and was replaced by a blank, almost fearful expression the moment he caught sight of the others.
The President made no attempt to greet Sonderheim as warmly as he had done with Kerrin and Dana. Instead, he simply said,
"Thank you for coming Mr Sonderheim. Would you like to join us and take a seat, please…", pointing to the one free chair which was shielded from Kerrin by the presence of Buz in-between them. Sonderheim sat down, his demeanor quiet and apprehensive.
"Well, M
r Graham, now we have everyone present, I think the ball is in your court…Please feel free to speak candidly…and don't worry…our conversation is not being overheard or taped in anyway…"
It was a subtle attempt at humor, the meaning of which was not lost on Kerrin. He smiled back weakly, the reference to the Watergate tapes being deliberate, openly acknowledging that Kerrin worked for the Washington Post.
"Perhaps Mr Graham, you would now like to start by answering me the question that Buz asked you yesterday, namely…what is it that you want from us? Buz has briefed me on your conversation yesterday, and I fully understand the precautions you have taken, and the potential you have to embarrass us, and to destroy one of the most important scientific programs ever undertaken by mankind…"
Kerrin straightened up in his chair.
"As I said yesterday, what I want is very simple. I think you will know that for many years I was an officer of the law in Miami…I served my time on the streets. I suppose it takes a peculiar type of person to want to put his life at risk from one day to another, in the pursuit of one thing…"
"And what would that one thing be, Mr Graham?" The President asked, foolishly walking into the trap that Kerrin had laid for him.
"Justice, Mr President. Justice." Kerrin answered. "You see, Mr President, to coin a phrase, once a cop, always a cop, and perhaps even more so now that I'm a journalist and a voice of the people…But putting that aside for a second, this is more personal than that…Someone messed with my family, someone killed the husband of my sister, and took away the father of my nephew and niece…that same person killed my colleague and friend, Fiona Cohen, and authorized the deaths of a string of other people…Okay, so you're the head of the Chymera Corporation, but we're sitting in the Oval Office, the centre of the American empire…based upon liberty and freedom…and justice. And that's what I'm here for today…just one thing. Justice."
The President was silent. He looked at Kerrin, and then at Dana. He was thinking fast.
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