“Really, on GMNN? Wow.” Global Mark News Network was the Global Mark Communications flagship. The cable news station had the most reach around the world and was Lovemark’s pride and joy. We were getting coverage, albeit negative, on the big stage. “Yeah, I’ll call them this afternoon when it’s morning in Tacoma.”
Sue sat down at the table. “Me too.”
Jack closed the newspaper he was reading and placed it beside his coffee mug. “What did they say? More of the same thing?”
Rose placed the platter of omelettes she was holding at the center of the table. “I wish I’d recorded it.”
Ivan came from the kitchen carrying a pot of coffee. He leaned forward to fill cups for Sue and me.
“There was a picture of Sue, Lorraine, and Nick standing beside the Range Rover outside a London police station,” Rose recalled.
That was disturbing because I didn’t know pictures were being taken of us when I’d been released.
“That’s kinda freaky,” Sue said.
Rose nodded. “They then showed pictures of each of us, of our entire group. It was a background essay compiled by an East Indian lady.”
Jack leaned forward, giving Rose his full attention. “Can you remember details of what was said?”
Ivan sat down to listen.
“She focused on who we are as people, but from the false perspective: Nick, again, portrayed as the ex-journalist with a hatred for politicians, science, and anyone in a position of authority; Jack, again, a billionaire who threw away his businesses after his wife died of cancer and went crazy, now blowing what money he has left on a made-up cause; Sue, an angry journalist with a bone to pick with anyone in the establishment, and an uncontrollable environmentalist; Ivan, a discredited and disgruntled ex-employee of Naintosa bent on revenge; Lee, Jorge, Lorraine, Sam, and Eugene, all thugs who do anything you ask of them. They even mentioned me as a failed chef, bringing up a restaurant that went bankrupt after my husband died fifteen years ago. They said what brought us all together is our common disdain of scientific, medical, and agricultural progress. We are all fanatics.”
“Should we sue?” Ivan looked at each of us.
“It is defamation of character,” I said. “But do we want even more attention, by suing GM Comm newspapers and television networks?”
“We’re not going to sue.” Jack looked angry. “But they’re hitting below the belt.”
The GMNN story seemed to be the tipping point of frustration for us. “They are so over-the-top wrong.”
“But accomplishing their objective,” Jack said.
“Of driving us insane,” Sue added.
I placed an omelette and toast on a plate and stood. “I’ll be in the study if anyone needs me.”
As I walked down the long corridor, I thought about negative publicity. There had never been that much focus on us before. We were just regular people who happened to be working on exposing the largest planned cull of humans in history. I guess that’s not regular. In return, we were being vilified.
Wait. I stopped walking. This may not be such a bad thing. I turned around and walked back to the dining room.
Jack, Ivan, and Sue stopped talking when I entered. They looked concerned.
“You know …” I said. “We might be able to spin this around.”
Sue gave me a small smile, and Ivan and Jack looked interested in what I had to say.
“I didn’t kill Schmidt, so we have the truth on our side,” I continued. “But the main thing is that people are noticing us more now. Even though the news is negative and the media isn’t mentioning anything about the population control plan, people will start looking into it. It’s publicity to help spread the word of what we’ve discovered.”
“No publicity is bad publicity,” Jack quoted.
“I like where you’re going with this,” Sue said. “It could backfire on them.”
“That makes your website post yesterday even more of a good move,” Ivan said.
I turned on my heels back toward the study, feeling better. This time Sue came with me.
“We have to increase our uploads of facts that support our findings on the website,” she said as we walked down the hall.
When I glanced at her, Sue had a half smile and looked kind of dreamy at me. It was hard to explain, but I had noticed it more often lately. “What?”
She turned her head forward. “Oh, nothing.”
Okay, back to what we were talking about. “How about we make a brief summary of the 2020 Report that people can read in a few minutes?”
“I can do that after I finish your manuscript.”
“I’ll outline the integral points while I wait for you.”
When we reached the study, Sue went to her side of the desk, and I went to mine. As we started our laptops I could see out the window that the day looked damp and dreary.
I opened my e-mail and waited for the messages that had built up to load. The first two were junk, so I deleted them. The third didn’t look familiar. “Do you know an Ogden Dundst?”
Sue shook her head. “No, why?”
“He sent me an e-mail.” I opened it. “Oh shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll read it to you. ‘Nick …’”
“He’s on a first-name basis with you?”
“Seems that way. ‘PEOPLE LIKE YOU have no business scaring people with your LIES AND MURDURING a scientist who was trying to make the world better! Your the person needs to be TORTURED AND KILLED! Your the one whose SCARING PEOPLE with conspiracies against the advancement of science! Dr. Schmidt deserved to be rich because his genetic food engineering found better ways to FEED the starving people AND he found a cure for CANCER! He was a SAVIOR and your the SCUM at the bottom of a fish tank–YOUR SHITE! I don’t believe the court system will do JUSTICE, so I have to take it into MY OWN HANDS to clean the bottom of the fish tank! I know where your and I’m coming to GET YOU! True JUSTICE will be served and people will be HAPPY when they learned of the TORTURE I inflicted ON YOU (I won’t tell you what I’m going to do to you, I want it to be a surprise) and that YOUR DEATH came slow. They will CHEER for me! Be prepared, I’m coming for YOU! Sincerely, Ogden.’”
“What the fuck?” Sue stood up. “Psycho.”
“That should not be taken lightly.” I hadn’t noticed that Ivan had come into the room. He pressed the intercom button on the wall beside the door. “Jack, Lee, can you please come to the study?”
I felt unease about the threat. The guy didn’t seem very bright. It was easy enough to get my e-mail address off the website, and we weren’t hiding in a secret place; a lot of people knew where we were. Was Ogden the kind of man who followed through on his threats?
Jack and Lee entered the study.
“Nick has received a threatening e-mail, and I think we should take it seriously,” Ivan said.
“Let’s take a gander,” Jack said as both he and Lee approached my laptop.
I stood so Jack could sit with Lee looking over his shoulder.
Lee ripped a page from my pad on the desk and wrote down Ogden Dundst.
“Chances are that this guy’s just a freak,” Jack said. “But I agree with Ivan.”
“I’ll check him out.” Lee was already walking from the room.
“I’ll let the others know about this.” Jack got up from the chair. “Maybe put an extra person on perimeter patrol.”
“Call if you need us,” Ivan said as he followed Jack out.
“How do you feel?” Sue asked. “I’m a little freaked.”
“I’m starting to get numb about threats. All we can do is be vigilant.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them.”
I went back to checking my other new e-mails. There was another name I didn’t recognize. Opening it, I saw it was from a reporter based in London and she wanted to interview me about yesterday’s website post. That’s good news. “I have an interview request.”
Sue looked up from her screen. “What m
edia?”
“She’s a freelancer and said it was based on our website post.” I shrugged. “We just talked about any publicity is good publicity.”
“What’s the reporter’s name?”
I looked at the bottom of the message and compared it with the e-mail address. “Adhira Virk.”
Sue started typing and then scrolling. “She seems accomplished. Her work’s been in both mainstream and independent media across TV, print, and Internet.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“I want to be in the room with you during the interview.”
I responded, asking for her to come at 11:00 a.m. tomorrow. When I went to write our address, I hesitated. Should we have been in a more secretive place?
CHAPTER 6
April 28, 2003
Jorge Villegas was a brash, no-bullshit Latino who was part of Jack’s security team. He had a knack for managing people, so he helped on the business side as well. Jorge had served in the Colombian military and then done something secretive for the American side. He’d been assigned to be my bodyguard over a year ago when I lived in San Francisco. He was stocky, broad, and very strong for someone in his late fifties. We had gotten out of some dangerous situations together. Jorge had been helping the private detective working on my case in London and had just arrived at the estate late last night.
Minutes before 11:00 a.m., Jorge escorted Ms. Virk to the main living room where Sue and I were waiting.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Barnes.” She had a mix of East Indian and British in her accent. “Thank you for taking the time.”
I shook her slender-fingered hand and then motioned to Sue. “Sue will be sitting in.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Clark.” Ms. Virk had a pleasant smile. Her features were long, yet she was average in height; waist-length straight, black hair draped over the back of her navy-blue pant suit.
“I’ve read some of your work. It’s very enlightening.”
“Thanks.” Sue gave a cordial smile. “I’ve read some of your work, as well.”
Ms. Virk turned back to me. “And your writing, Mr. Barnes.”
Okay, everyone was familiar with one another’s writing skills. I gestured for her to take a seat on the couch across from the fireplace. Sue and I sat in the chairs on opposite sides. Jorge hung back at the edge of the room.
She produced a small recorder and a pad of paper from what looked like an expensive handbag. “Is it all right if I record the conversation?”
“By all means.” I’d always found that it was best to record an interview. It was better than just taking notes, because there was less room for misinterpretation and misquotes.
“Have you been contracted by anyone?” Sue asked. “Where is this going to run?”
“There is enough interest in your story right now that it won’t be hard for me to sell it.”
“What’s your angle?” My voice sounded defensive right away. I hadn’t intended that.
“Your most recent website post gave a good background of your struggles to find the truth of what large companies are doing to the general population for profit—specifically, Dr. Schmidt’s Naintosa and Pharmalin.” She shifted in her seat. “Your hard work is helping humanity from being purposefully decimated, and if Dr. Schmidt had to die, then so be it. It’s for the overall good of the human race.”
“But I didn’t kill Dr. Schmidt, and we don’t know if the two are connected.”
Sue straightened. “You can’t write it that way.”
“That’s the way I see it.” Ms. Virk gave a forced smile. “That’s what I’m here to prove.”
“You want some kind of confession from me?”
“That would make the article the most powerful. I’ll show you had justification for what you did. Sometimes people need to be sacrificed for larger purposes. Mr. Barnes, this is bigger than you, but you have to play your part. You must sacrifice as well.”
“But it’s not the truth.” What did she mean about it being bigger than me?
Sue was at the edge of her seat, and I could see she was trying to remain calm. “Sure, that would make Nick seem honorable to some, but it would also convict him. And we don’t want Nick convicted for the murder, because then he can’t continue the fight to stop this genocide. Oh, and the most important thing: he didn’t fucking do it, so you’d be lying.”
Jorge had come to stand closer.
I hid a deep breath before I spoke. “Have you considered that my being accused of the murder is a setup? Why don’t you use that angle?”
“Well, but …”
Sue cut her off. “That’s what you should be investigating and writing about.”
“That’s not what I determined after reading other articles and what the police have released,” Ms. Virk said. “Do you have proof I could use about being set up?”
“We’re working on it,” I replied.
She was basing her background on GM Comm stories, inaccurate police statements, and her own theories. That was weak and sloppy journalism. I remembered that my editor at the Seattle News, Paul Ang, had always pushed Sue and me to get to the truth of the story and only report what happened—never add our opinions or try to read between the lines. It would’ve been great to have Paul around lately. “I don’t think we should continue this interview.”
“But I have many questions and want to help your cause.”
I shook my head. “Not in that way.”
Jorge came to stand next to Ms. Virk.
Sue stood as well. “Did you hear about the protestors at Dr. Schmidt’s funeral?”
“I was there,” Ms. Virk said. “Some of the protestors in support of genetic engineering attacked the group opposed.”
“So?” Sue said. “We haven’t seen any articles that mentioned protesters being attacked at the funeral.”
“People are learning about what you’ve found out,” Ms. Virk said. “They’re taking sides. You can be the voice for people opposing the genetically engineered food scheme. I must write it the way I see it.”
“I think we already are the voice,” I said. “And it’s bigger than just genetically engineered food.”
Jack and Ivan were in the dining room when Sue and I entered.
“That didn’t take long,” Jack said.
I sat down opposite them. “She wanted me to lie and confess to killing Dr. Schmidt for the good of the cause.”
Sue took the seat beside me. “She wanted Nick to be a martyr.”
“Interesting angle,” Jack said.
“Do you think she will make up a story anyway?” Ivan asked.
I shrugged. “Probably.”
Lee entered the room. “I couldn’t find any record of an Ogden Dundst that could possibly be associated with the e-mail.”
“So he’s a nobody,” Sue said.
“Not necessarily.” Lee took a chair next to Ivan. “If we’d found record of him, he would probably have been just some guy making threats and hiding behind his computer, dumb enough to use his real name and e-mail address. Not finding anything on him means he’s at least committed enough to make up a fake identity. The message was sent from an Internet café in London, and the PI is going to go see if there is a security camera there.”
“Keep us posted, Lee.” Jack took the last bite of his sandwich. “Nick, I forgot to tell you. Your lawyer, Kenneth Brown, is coming”—he looked at his Rolex—“in twenty minutes.”
Mr. Brown was already sitting in the main living room talking to Jack when I entered.
“How are you holding up, Nick?” he asked in his stiff British inflection.
“Fine. It’s only been a couple days, so I haven’t had time to go stir-crazy.”
“Good. A sense of humor will help you get through this mess.”
“So what’s our progress?” Jack asked.
“The procedure for finding out why an officer let a violent prisoner into Nick’s cell is an internal investigation. They have suspended the officer. That’s stan
dard. We have to let the investigation run its course.”
Lee walked into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have some new findings from the private investigator.”
I’d been standing, so I went to the couch. The chairs were taken by Jack and Mr. Brown.
“Fill us in,” Jack said.
“The PI was able to obtain security-camera footage outside the hotel in London where Nick stayed.” Lee stood next to the unlit fireplace. “It showed a man picking Nick’s pocket for the hotel receipt. That man looks very much like Nick. His name’s Dale Samson, and he’s low-level Naintosa security. When they checked the footage from the airport against the hotel’s, it was a match.”
I let out a long breath. “Fast work.” Finding out who had impersonated me was huge. “I never noticed him picking my pocket.”
“Have your investigator send me what he has, and I’ll take it to Chief Inspector Plante,” Mr. Brown said.
“Do you think he’s the killer, then?” I asked.
“Doubtful,” Jack said. “Just paid to play a part. All evidence points to treason from inside Naintosa.”
“Nick’s not out of the woods yet.” Mr. Brown reached for the briefcase at his feet. “We still have the e-mails that were sent from Nick’s computer to Dr. Schmidt.”
He passed me three pieces of paper that each contained an e-mail message. As I read them I noticed they mirrored my writing style, except for the anger and profanity. “Whoever wrote these studied my writing.”
When I looked up, Mr. Brown was staring at me.
“But I didn’t write them.” I rose from the couch and went to stand beside him to point out the flaws. “Where they slipped up was in their use of the threatening words in phrases like, ‘… splatter your fucking brains across the landing.’ Landing is the British word for floor. The word cunt was used three times—I hate that word more than anything. Just saying it right now bothers me. But I understand in England it’s not considered as offensive.”
I gave the e-mails back to Mr. Brown. “And who would be so stupid as to have sent these incriminating messages off their own computer? And how would I have gotten Schmidt’s personal e-mail address?”
Beyond Control Page 4