by David Lender
Madsen dialed his cell phone.
“Yeah,” the contractor said.
Madsen found it a little amazing that he somehow could always get a hold of the guy. He wished more people in his life would answer their cell phones as religiously. “A new development,” Madsen said. “The girl’s going to testify at 9:00 a.m. in the Rayburn Senate Office Building at McKean’s Senate hearings. That gives you a little less than an hour to intercept her.”
“Not possible.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s any number of ways they can get the girl into that building. It would be a one in a million chance to stop her. She’s probably there by now.”
“Don’t tell me that. Do your job.”
The contractor didn’t respond.
Madsen said, “You still there?”
“Yeah.”
After a whole career building my credibility, I’m fucked. He let his rage unleash. “She’ll be doing a press briefing on the Capitol East Front steps after her testimony. Take her out and you’ll get paid the same as if you got the data first. Xavier’s already got the second half of your money on deposit. The code word for him to release it is the same as for the down payment.” When Madsen didn’t hear a response, he said, “You getting this?”
“Hearing you loud and clear. That doesn’t give me much time, but I can handle it. I’m on it.” The line cut off.
His office called. Now what. “Yes?”
“Mr. Madsen, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I got a very unusual call few minutes ago. A woman who said she knew you in medical school said she needs to see you immediately.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“She said it was urgent.”
He tensed. “What’s the woman’s name?”
“Cindy Jackson. She says you knew her as Cindy Bouchard.”
Cindy. How long had it been? Almost 30 years.
“She said it was about Lauren. And that there would be blood on my hands if I didn’t tell you about her call.”
Madsen felt his body jerk.
Cindy checked her watch: 8:40. She’d gotten the phone call from Madsen’s assistant thirty minutes ago, and now, trapped in a taxi, wondered if the traffic in Washington was always this bad. The assistant said that Madsen would have to leave his representative’s office at 8:45. It didn’t look like she’d make it. Cindy felt into her handbag for her rosary beads, pulled them out. She closed her eyes and prayed.
Stark walked up the East Front steps outside the Capitol, his wig and sunglasses in place. He saw a security team manning a metal detector underneath the portico and just outside the doors to the Capitol. He counted four cops at this end of the Capitol grounds. There’d be more later, and he was sure there were scads of them inside. The news crews were setting up, their satellite vans lined up along Constitution Avenue. Technical teams were setting up microphones on the top step. Stark walked past them, looking at the Congressional office buildings alongside the Capitol. If Madsen had given him a couple of hours notice he could probably have arranged to be on top of one of them with a high-powered rifle and scope. He walked down the steps, taking in the surroundings. It was about 100 yards through the cover of some trees on the Capitol grounds to either Constitution Avenue or Independence Avenue, maybe 80 yards down to First Street with no cover. Shooting someone at close range with a handgun was pretty crazy. It was too risky to hold the Ruger at arm’s length to go for a headshot. At least he’d been able to replace the silencer. And his windbreaker was big enough that he’d have room to raise the Ruger at waist level for three or four body shots without everyone seeing it. It was the only option he saw. It was crazy, but at least he’d get it over with. He pulled out a handkerchief, lifted his sunglasses and wiped his eyes. He thought about the girl, then that prick Madsen.
Madsen hadn’t the nerve to call Cindy directly; he had Stephanie do it. After fifteen minutes he went back to his notes. At 8:45, still wondering where Cindy was, he got up to walk over to the Russell Senate Office Building to McKean’s hearing.
SIXTEEN
ROLAND WATERS MET DANI AT the entrance to the Russell Senate Office Building and brought her to one of the caucus rooms, where Senator McKean’s hearing was being assembled. Microphones sat at tables with chairs behind them. A row of tables, including microphones, was set up facing them on a dais one level above, where the members of the committee would sit. The room had an air of governmental authority that the decorators must have wanted to convey: oil paintings of luminaries she didn’t recognize on the walls, drapes over the windows on the one side facing the outside world, and American flags prominently displayed in each corner.
“You okay?” Roland said.
“Yes.” She was itching to testify, but didn’t want to deal with the preliminaries beforehand. “Is there someplace I can sit and prepare before we start?”
“Of course,” Roland said. He brought her into an office the size of Dani’s bathroom. A few minutes later, Roland stepped in. “We’re ready for you.” Dani was led into the caucus room, struggling to collect her thoughts. Roland seated her at one of the tables facing the committee members at the dais, then left. She saw Grover Madsen seated at the other table, a man at his side, presumably his lawyer.
They swore her in. She’d been calm until then. Now she heard a sound like rushing air in her ears. She breathed, thought of Gabe, of Mom, home. It settled her. Then of Richard. It helped remind her why she was here.
“Ms. North, we understand you have information that this committee, and the American people, will be interested in hearing,” Senator McKean said.
Dani spoke directly into the microphone, “Yes, Senator, that’s true. But I think before I get to that I should tell the story of my last few days. Maybe it will put my testimony in better perspective.” Dani looked for Roland, as if for support, but couldn’t see him. She was out here on her own, in front of national attention. Okay, girl, now do it.
“It’s the reason I’m here. Last Thursday night I won best documentary at the Tribeca film Festival in New York for my film, The Drugging of Our Children, which was critical of the pharmaceutical industry, including its policies on vaccines. On Friday morning, I was scheduled to meet with a man named David Maguire, a vaccine researcher for Pharma International, who agreed to speak with me about the documentary I’m currently producing, on autism.” Dani then described her last three days, beginning with Maguire’s murder and ending with her session with Roland Waters last evening. She paused, waiting for a reaction. She was a little breathless, not realizing she would speak for so long without coming up for air.
“Ms. North, those are serious accusations,” McKean said.
“I’m aware of that, Senator. I can document all of this, and further testify as to its accuracy. And I’ve got scars and bruises to prove it.”
“I can assure you that this committee will make certain your testimony finds its way to the appropriate authorities to investigate the connection between the murders you’ve described and the attempts on your life. We’ll also make certain you are fully protected until the matter is resolved. But that isn’t within the purview of this committee. The information you mentioned that documents a linkage between our national vaccine program and autism certainly is. Would you please clarify?”
Dani knew this was how it worked. McKean knew exactly what her testimony would be. Her discussions with Roland the night before had set it up. She plunged in. “The USB flash memory drive that Dr. Maguire handed to me before he was murdered has files that appear to be from a study started ten years ago by the pharmaceutical industry, called Project Epsilon.” Madsen, she noted, was looking straight ahead, with no reaction. Dani introduced Project Epsilon and led the senators through her first slide summarizing it, then when the second slide was projected, described the statistics for Salisbury’s five-year data, finally describing the statistics for Maguire’s ten-year data: the .83 correlation coefficient, “An undeniable indicator that Autism
Spectrum Disorder symptoms were correlated with the vaccinated group of children. Stated another way, the vaccine group children were 5.3 times more likely to develop ASD symptoms than the unvaccinated group.”
Dani now heard a buzz of discussion. People she assumed to be news reporters rushed from the room. Senator McKean pounded his gavel. He waited. The gallery quieted down.
“Have these data been analyzed by anyone other than your researcher?” McKean asked.
“Yes, an independent statistician hired by a member of your staff has confirmed the results.”
McKean turned to Madsen. “Mr. Madsen, do you know anything about this study?”
“I can confirm that Project Epsilon was undertaken by the industry along the parameters Ms. North outlined. The study was terminated five years ago because the results were inconclusive and we felt it was unethical to maintain a control group of unvaccinated children, given the critical benefits of the vaccines they would otherwise receive.”
“And you’re saying that Pharma International didn’t continue this study beyond the first five years?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
McKean and Madsen parried for about ten minutes over whether or not it was possible that Maguire could have continued the study and buried his ongoing efforts in Pharma’s R&D budget.
In the end, Madsen conceded, “Unlikely, but possible.”
The room was buzzing again. McKean raised his gavel, but the noise subsided before he needed to use it. McKean said, “Mr. Madsen, I presume your company would still have its original files from the first five years of Project Epsilon, including the information for the other nineteen companies in the study, correct?”
“I’m certain we do.”
“Then this committee is formally requesting that you produce those files so we can evaluate them and substantiate the testimony Ms. North just gave about the data. If you don’t, our counsel will present you with a subpoena. Let’s turn now to the core issue of these hearings. Whether or not the pharmaceutical industry should continue to have congressional immunity from lawsuits regarding the National Immunization Program.”
“I’ll start,” senator Wegman from California interjected. “Mr. Madsen, can you please tell the committee what your understanding is of Congress’ rationale in creating the Vaccine Court as part of the National Childhood Vaccine Injury Act of 1986?”
Dani knew Wegman was a big supporter of the pharmaceutical companies. If Madsen was Darth Vader, Wegman was Emperor of the Evil Empire.
Madsen leaned forward, looking eager. “Congress established a carefully conceived federal mechanism to balance the need for compensating vaccine-injured children with liability protection for vaccine manufacturers.”
“Would manufacturers have left the market without such a mechanism?” Wegman asked.
“Yes. Tort liability cases against the vaccine manufacturers were mushrooming at the time. Product liability insurance coverage was becoming difficult to get. Manufacturers were talking about abandoning the market.”
“Would that have disrupted the CDC’s immunization program?” Wegman asked.
“In my view, it would’ve completely destroyed it.”
Dani saw Wegman lean back in his seat, a smug look on his face. She was sure Madsen and he had scripted that in advance. She gritted her teeth, angry.
Senator Stevens from North Dakota asked, “Mr. Madsen, can you summarize how the Vaccine Court works?”
“Of course. It’s a no-fault mechanism, like those used in many states for automobile insurance. Claimants go before panels of government-appointed Special Masters—in effect, judges—and need only establish that they were damaged by vaccines, based on a table of compensable side effects, to have their cases resolved. The Vaccine Act established a timeline of 420 days to resolve claims. Clean, efficient. The compensation fund is financed entirely by an excise tax on vaccines.”
Dani didn’t know where Stevens stood. She wondered where he was going with this.
He asked, “What if the injury doesn’t manifest itself within the timeframe for its onset required by the table?”
“Then they can’t file a claim.”
“And what if the claim isn’t filed within the filing deadline?”
“Obviously, then they can’t seek compensation from the Vaccine Court.”
“Can they then sue the manufacturer?”
“Not if they missed the Vaccine Court filing deadline.”
“Kind of like jumping through hoops, don’t you think?” Stevens said. “What if the injury is from a side effect not on the table for that specific vaccine?”
“Then they have to prove the vaccine caused the injury.”
“Does that sound like no-fault to you?” When Madsen didn’t answer right away, Stevens said, “How much is in the fund?”
“About three billion dollars.”
“Kind of a big pot of unspent money, don’t you think? How many claims have been paid since they started all this, and how long on average for them to get paid?”
Madsen was his sound bite self, calm. “I’m not sure of that.”
Stevens said, “2,569 claims paid, after two years on average. I don’t call that clean and efficient. Or fair. From what I’m told, far too many cases go uncompensated, which is why so few have been paid and there’s so much money in the fund.”
Madsen smiled evenly, but he was frozen in place as if posing for a photograph. Dani looked up at the dais. She saw a few other senators nodding, agreeing with Stevens. She felt a rush of energy. Will they gang up on Madsen?
Senator Wegman interjected, “I understand there are only two to four manufacturers for many vaccines in the CDC’s schedule. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Madsen said. “For almost a dozen vaccines that’s the case.”
Wegman asked, “If Congress decided today to remove the pharmaceutical industry’s immunity, would it reduce the number of manufacturers of some of those vaccines?”
“Absolutely. The situation is more extreme today than it was in 1986. Less manufacturers.”
“What would be the consequences of Congress removing the industry’s immunity?” Wegman said.
“Children would go unvaccinated because there would be no supply of many vaccines. The CDC’s immunization program would fail. Diseases we’ve conquered would resurface.”
Senator Dobson from Michigan cleared his throat and said, “Let’s cover some new ground. As I think we all know, the Vaccine Court established a compensation scheme that the claimant can either accept or reject. Accept payment and go home. Reject it and sue the vaccine manufacturer in civil court. Correct?”
“Correct,” Madsen said.
“But the Vaccine Act said if you sue, the vaccine makers are immune from liability if the injury was from side effects that were ‘unavoidable’ even though their vaccines were manufactured and labeled properly. A manufacturing defect, a labeling defect and a design defect are the three reasons in U.S. case law that a claimant can sue under product liability. In early 2011, the Supreme Court ruled on a case that said ‘unavoidable’ didn’t include design defects, effectively removing a vaccine claimant’s ability to sue in civil court under product liability because it removes the primary legal basis on which to sue.”
Dani felt a flutter of anticipation. She thought she knew where Dobson was going. She glanced over at Madsen, who still sat looking unperturbed.
Dobson continued. “So that means that even though parents are required to vaccinate their children in order for them to attend school, college, or in many cases to get a job, the manufacturers of those vaccines can’t be held responsible if they injure children, even if their vaccines have design defects. Does that make sense to you?”
Madsen leaned over and conferred with his lawyer.
“Yes,” Madsen said.
Dani heard a few snickers from behind her. He needed to ask his lawyer before saying that?
“How?” Dobson said. “I’m from Michigan. The auto
mobile companies and many of their parts suppliers are my constituents. The same session of the Supreme Court decided that seatbelt manufacturers were responsible for design defects in their products. Do you think that makes sense, that seatbelt manufacturers are responsible for design defects and you people aren’t?”
Madsen leaned toward his lawyer again, placed his hand over his microphone. They talked.
McKean said, “Mr. Madsen?”
Madsen said, “Vaccines are government-mandated, as you said. We manufacturers only supply the vaccines. Since we didn’t mandate their use, it’s only appropriate that we be absolved from liability for them.”
Dobson said, “Seatbelts are mandatory. The government says so. Not the carmakers. Not the parts suppliers who manufacture them. So how come my people have a carrot and a stick, and you people only have a carrot?”
Madsen didn’t answer. Dani felt rising excitement. Wegman sat stonefaced. Madsen clenched his hands together, talked to his lawyer. She heard another buzz of voices in the room.
“For the record we should reflect that Mr. Madsen had no answer,” Dobson said. “Mr. Madsen, you mentioned earlier that some vaccines have only two to four manufacturers. Did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes.”
Dobson said, “I presume you are aware that our antitrust laws are designed to minimize monopolies and oligopolies in order to foster competitive markets. You vaccine manufacturers make a lot of money on the vaccines from these governmentmandated programs, don’t you?”
Madsen showed the first crack in his polished persona: he shifted in his seat and raised a hand to smooth his hair. Dani was starting to really enjoy this. Go, Dobson.
“Yes,” Madsen said.
“How much?”
“As an industry, billions each year.”
“Where I come from, that’s a lot of money. Particularly given the recent troubles of our automakers. So let me ask you, if you people are making a lot of money on these products, what incentive do you have to compete aggressively with each other on price?”