The priest’s voice took on a pleading tone, his eyes begging for help.
“Mr. Bennington, if you wish to give Dedra a chance for life, if there is some legislation you know of that could free me to continue my work, and allow me to once again treat her, by all means, please help me to do so. Start with the connection between Bruce Morehouse and Magnus Tork. If your organization believes someone within the FDA is responsible for suppressing the legislation you spoke of, I am certain they are involved. I’ll help you any way I can.”
I finished the last of my Scotch and nodded back to the priest while he placed a business card with his phone number onto the coffee table that sat between us.
“Thank you, Father, I intend to do just that.”
9.
Following the priest’s departure from my apartment, I slept very little, my mind racing to solve a puzzle still missing far too many pieces. My gut said it was too early to charge into a meeting with this Magnus Tork. I had other contacts who might be able to confirm for me the opposition to the fast track legislation so that when I did meet with Tork, as I intended to do, it would be from a position of more knowledge and less ignorance.
My lack of sleep likely had even more to do with my concern for Dedra. I understood her not wanting to share her illness with me. I’m the same way. You get sick, you keep it to yourself, work through it, and move on. Cancer though, that’s something that won’t let go so easy. I needed to let Dedra know that if she needed someone to lean on, to help her with anything, I’d be there for her.
So that left me waiting out the hours until it was an appropriate time to give Dedra a call. Sleep came in brief moments, interrupted by my waking up and looking over at the clock, and then drifting back off into more half sleep.
Finally, the time indicated 7:00 a.m. I called Dedra. Seemingly always prompt, always ready, she picked up on the first ring.
“Yes, Mr. Bennington, do you have new information for me?”
I paused, uncertain how I should let Dedra know I learned of her condition. Finally I simply blurted out the name that would make it clear to her what I knew.
“Father Barnes came to see me last night, Dedra.”
This statement was met by a long pause, before Dedra cleared her throat and continued.
“Ok. So what else do you have for me?”
“He had some good information for me, and I plan to try and coordinate that information with another source I have later today. How about you Dedra? How are you doing? If you need anything---“
Dedra’s voice cut me off, her anger at my expression of concern apparent.
“We have a job to do. Check in with me again later today after you coordinate with this other source. Goodbye.”
While I admired Dedra for her determined toughness, and dedication to our work, another part of me knew she could use help. The priest had made it very clear that her condition could kill her. That it would kill her if he was not allowed to treat her. Maybe she was already seeing another doctor. Maybe she would be fine, then again…maybe not.
I hated not knowing, my worry for Dedra growing.
Get moving. Make this legislation happen for her.
An hour later found me taking a cab to a popular coffee shop on the corner of 17th and G. It had one of those pretentious names that the younger, hipster D.C. politico crowd seemed so fond of. When it came to coffee, I kept it simple. Strong and black - keep it simple. None of that double mocha latte with a splash of “free Tibet now” goat urine, or whatever the hell they were putting into coffee these days.
It’s coffee for God sakes. Just drink it.
I had a meeting with a younger guy who once worked for me inside of Congressman Joseph Latner’s office. Tracy Wright was bright, and motivated. He came from one of the wealthiest families in Ohio, and was quickly working his way up the tough and competitive D.C. job ladder. After Congressman Latner died, may his soul burn in hell, Tracy was quickly hired on with New York Congressman Walter Mills. Mills, like Tracy, was very motivated to enhance his profile, with increasing speculation of his intent to be the next governor of New York. Mills was also the current chair of the very powerful House Appropriations Committee, meaning there was a good chance Tracy was aware of the effort to table HR 4221.
Even at the relatively early hour of 8:00 in the morning, the coffee shop was already packed with customers waiting patiently in line for their ritualistic caffeine fix. Tracy saw me before I saw him, his voice cutting through the din of multiple conversations taking place at once inside of the relatively tight confines of the coffee shop.
“Hey, Frank! Over here!”
Tracy had set up at a small circular table in the far right corner of the room. He greeted me with a wide smile, his eyes communicating genuine pleasure at seeing me again. He was different than how I remembered him. More at ease with himself, more confident, his lean frame, and full head of dark hair complimenting the immaculately tailored suit, brilliant red tie, and gleaming dark leather dress shoes that I remembered him being so fond of when we worked together. His handshake was firm, the subtle scent of his aftershave mixing with the more heavy tones of freshly ground coffee that filled the air around us.
“You are looking good Mr. Tracy Wright! It appears your time with Congressman Mills suits you well.”
Tracy sat down and then flashed his brilliant white smile once again.
“Me? Look at you Frank! You’ve lost so much weight! You look fantastic! Here, I got you a coffee already. Plain old black coffee, just like I remembered.”
I chuckled, and took a sip of the brew. It wasn’t bad. Not nearly worth the four dollar price tag, but not bad.
“So I have to be at the office in about thirty minutes for a morning meeting Frank. What did you want to talk to me about?”
I liked how Tracy was getting down to business. We’d done the nice to see you again bit, and now he wanted to know what I was up to. I had taught him well.
“HR 4221, it’s being hung up, and I want to know why.”
I watched carefully for Tracy’s reaction while appearing casual about the request. Tracy in turn merely shrugged his shoulders back at me while taking a drink from whatever caffeine concoction he was drinking.
“I recall it being mentioned by our chief of staff a few months ago. It was in the pending pile, and then got put into the delayed pile. I have no idea why. You probably already know, we’re Appropriations, not Health and Human Services. The bill would have to get by them first before we take a closer look at it. Honestly, I remember the number, but don’t recall what the bill was even about.”
“It’s regarding cancer research, fast tracking the FDA approval process for new treatments.”
Tracy’s eyebrows rose slightly as he nodded his head.
“Oh, well, I don’t see why that would be anything particularly controversial. You really think somebody’s purposely trying to kill the bill?”
I quickly glanced around the coffee shop before leaning across the table.
“You’re goddamn right somebody doesn’t want to have this bill come to a vote. How about the name Bruce Morehouse, does that ring a bell?”
This time I got a lot more than a shrug from Tracy. His eyes widened as he nodded back at me.
“Yeah, he’s been into the office a few times in just the last month. He raised quite a bit of cash for the congressman in preparation for the upcoming election. Why?”
My mind sensed we were clamping down on a real lead here. Another missing piece of the puzzle was about to reveal itself.
“How much cash?”
For the first time since our little reunion meeting, Tracy’s eyes indicated he didn’t trust my motives.
“That’s none of your business. Are you suggesting Congressman Mills is doing something wrong, because if you are…you can go fuck yourself. He’s a good man Frank. He’s no Joseph Latner. I know that much.”
I ignored Tracy’s show of loyalty for his current employer, pushing ahead with ye
t another name.
“What about Magnus Tork?”
Tracy put his coffee cup down and leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. The noise inside the coffee shop was growing louder. The caffeine hungry natives were growing restless.
“What about him? You think he’s involved in attacking this fast track legislation too? This is quite a little conspiracy you’ve created for yourself Frank.”
Tracy looked down at the gold Rolex he kept on his left wrist. I recalled him telling me a few years ago it had been a college graduation gift from his father.
“Time’s up, Frank, I got to get going.”
My right hand reached across the table and clamped down over Tracy’s Rolex-clad wrist.
“Tracy, wait. Magnus Tork, he’s been into Congressman Mills’ office too? You can tell me that much.”
Tracy jerked his wrist away from my hand, his eyes narrowing as he glared back at me.
“Yeah, two days ago, he and Bruce Morehouse arrived together. So what?”
Bingo.
I offered a reassuring smile to Tracy, trying to reestablish the good will that permeated the beginnings of our coffee shop meeting.
“Hey, it’s probably nothing Tracy. Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes and ears open, ok? This Congressman Mills, he might be just like you say – a good guy. But you should know by now, this place, Washington D.C., it has a way of pulling people down. Remember, I used to think Congressman Latner was a good guy too, and we both found out that wasn’t the case.”
Tracy stared back at me, a hint of a smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“I’m not you, Frank.”
“Yeah, you do have that going for you.”
I remained in my chair while Tracy walked quickly out of the coffee shop. Though the conversation had ended on a more contentious tone than I would have liked, it did confirm that both Bruce Morehouse and Magnus Tork were working together in their efforts to kill Congresswoman Mears’s fast track cancer treatment legislation.
Morehouse was consulting GenEx, a corporation whose primary profits came from traditional cancer treatments that the priest believes are too costly, and often, as deadly as the disease itself. Then there’s Magnus Tork, a high ranking official inside of the FDA’s Center for Drug Evaluation and Research department who personally oversaw the shutting down of the priest’s cancer treatment research. Follow that up with both men arriving together at the office of one of the most powerful members of Congress just two days ago, and like it or not, I found myself at least waist deep in another genuine, D.C. conspiracy.
It was time I paid this Magnus Tork a visit.
10.
Setting up a meeting with Tork proved more difficult than anticipated. The thing with the FDA is that its primary offices are spread out across Washington D.C. and Maryland. It is a vast bureaucracy, with tens of thousands of employees in various locations throughout the country. The main FDA structure is in Silver Springs Maryland, about a twenty minute trip from D.C. by car, and that is where the CDER offices could be found as well.
I called the Silver Springs customer service number, and waited nearly ten minutes before being transferred to CDER’s compliance administration office. That meant Tork was working FDA compliance, which gave more validity to the priest’s claims that it was in fact Magnus Tork who arrived at the hospital and shut down his research.
“I am sorry, but Mr. Tork is unavailable until later this afternoon.”
The receptionist’s voice had that strained, forced friendliness to it that was so common to people whose job it is to answer phones. At least I could understand her though, which for government workers these days, was becoming increasingly rare. If I’ve once again offended your politically correct sensibilities by saying so, get over it.
“How about I just show up and wait. I’m sure he’ll make time for me. Tell him this is in regards to his very good friend Bruce Morehouse and allegations of fraud, intimidation, and abuse of power. He can either talk to me today when I get there, or I can call someone in the media.”
I held the phone up to my ear, smiling as the receptionist responded with momentary stunned silence.
“I’m sorry, uh, ok. Who is this again?”
“This is Mr. Frank Bennington to see your Mr. Tork. I should be arriving at his office in about fifteen minutes. Tell him not to keep my waiting, because that’ll just piss me off.”
The receptionist paused again, her voice working overtime to maintain its monotonous cheer.
“I will let him know, Mr. Bennington. Uh, thank you.”
As I placed my cell phone back into my pocket, my smile had transformed into an overly satisfied and manic, ear to ear grin as I spread my arms across the rear seat of the taxi. That little phone conversation was far too much fun. I needed to refocus. Giving a receptionist a hard time over the phone was one thing, but my instincts informed me this Magnus Tork was not one to be messed with. I needed to be on my game.
Now for those who haven’t seen the FDA building in Silver Springs, I should first explain it’s not a single building, but rather a massive campus of several buildings, with row after row of multi-story, windowed offices. The grounds are meticulous, the furnishings updated regularly at great taxpayer expense, and the work inside focused primarily on further consolidating the power of the federal government over what you are to eat, drink, and the medical treatments available to you to combat disease and maintain your health and well being.
Most folks look at the Capitol Building, the White House, or perhaps the Pentagon, as the primary symbols of government power and authority in America, but if you ask me, the FDA is right up there with them.
The small, neatly furnished reception area adjacent to what the directory indicated to be the fourth floor office of Compliance Assistant Director Magnus Tork was immaculate, absent even a hint of dust or dirt. The marble floors gleamed, the soft hum of the building’s ventilation system the only sound heard after the young, attractive woman who I had so recently spoken with on the phone requested I take a seat and wait.
And wait I did – for nearly forty minutes.
When Magnus Tork emerged from his FDA lair, his eyes looked down at me with open contempt. He appeared not yet fifty, with longish brown and grey hair tied back into a pathetic ponytail that hung over the back of his neck and upper shoulders. An overly lean face was deeply lined on each side of his mouth, and his widely spaced brown eyes appeared too small for the elongated head that sat upon narrow, somewhat effeminate and bony shoulders.
In many ways then, he was your all too typical, self important, power hungry, federal bureaucrat.
“This way please, Mr. Bennington.”
I gave a quick wink to the receptionist and then dutifully followed Tork into his office. It was a relatively large space, perhaps eighteen by eighteen or so, with almost new furnishings that matched those of the outside reception area. The wall to the left of Tork’s desk was covered with photos of him standing next to an assortment of D.C. dignitaries, including the current President of the United States. The guy wanted anyone who entered his office to be reminded of how important he believed himself to be.
Again, very typical of a government bureaucrat.
“Have a seat there, Mr. Bennington, and then you have a minute to explain who you are and what you have to do with Mr. Morehouse.”
Tork sat behind his desk as I sat across from him. I detected his attempt to make his voice sound deeper than it actually was. He really wanted to be a tough guy. I always found that the real tough guys were the ones who never tried – they simply were. I remember as a younger (and far more recklessly stupid) man, sitting in a bar trying to catch the attention of a real lovely in a tight red dress young lady who was more than willing to take the drinks I was sending her way. Unbeknownst to me, she had a boyfriend who had arrived just as the third of those drinks was delivered to her table. He walked over to where I sat at the bar and was polite enough about it, informin
g me she was taken and that he’d appreciate it if I would stop buying her drinks. Now I was about half toasted myself by then, and so in my alcohol induced infinite wisdom, told this guy to shut the hell up or we could just settle it outside – and then shoved him in the chest.
Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series... Page 39