Vaccine Nation (13 page)

Dani could see Denise at the other end of the room shaking her fist in the air. And while it was distracting and she wished Denise would knock it off, it spurred Dani’s confidence.

Bradley said, “What about other studies?”

Dani said, “A former Director of the National Institutes of Health, Bernadine Healy, said that research was insufficient to conclude that vaccines don’t cause autism. She also said that public health officials have intentionally avoided researching whether subsets of children are susceptible to vaccine side effects because we’re afraid of the answers we might get. And isn’t that the real question here? Are these things safe? Or are they damaging our children, and if so, shouldn’t you people who make them be held responsible?”

Madsen looked annoyed, maybe worn down. Dani saw her chance. “You mentioned an epidemiological study of vaccines earlier.” She felt a spurt of adrenaline. “What’s Project Epsilon?”

Madsen rose up in his chair. “That’s an old study started ten years ago that was halted about five years ago.”

“I understand twenty vaccine makers were compiling data. A control group of unvaccinated children versus a test group of those receiving the then-mandated national vaccine schedule.”

Madsen said, “That’s generally correct.”

“Why was it stopped?”

“After five years of study, no statistical significance of adverse side effects was detected in the vaccinated group. We felt it was unethical to continue to deprive the unvaccinated control group of the critical benefits of vaccines.”

“That’s interesting. Because I think if you offered that today, a huge group would opt into that study as part of the unvaccinated control group. What if viewers of this program could make that choice, based on our discussion today?”

Madsen looked fully composed again. “I think you’re overestimating your own effectiveness.”

“I can accept that. We’ll see.
Face the Press
has set up a phone line for people watching this program to text their interest in participating in such a control group. They’re showing the phone number on the screen right now.”

Bradley said, “We’re about out of time for this segment, but we have forty-five minutes left in the program. We’ll see how many people text in. Let’s wrap this up on the subject of our original question: whether Congress should continue providing immunity for the vaccine makers. Each of you please summarize your position. Mr. Madsen, let’s start with you.”

Madsen looked into the camera like some benevolent uncle, a half-smile on his lips. “Certainly, David. As I said at the outset, our National Immunization Program is a U.S. government health priority. It is a program created and administered by a U.S. government agency—the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention—with recommendations from the Federal Drug Administration. The pharmaceutical industry simply manufactures vaccines and provides them to the government for the program. But it’s not the industry’s program, and if the government believes it is a national health priority, then it is appropriate that we manufacturers be absolved of liability for a governmentmandated program. This is especially important in our litigious society, where to lift that veil of protection would subject the pharmaceutical companies to liability exposure that could potentially bankrupt them. If such were the case, most, if not all, vaccine
manufacturers would exit the business. Congressional immunity for the pharmaceutical industry for the vaccine program is essential if the vaccine program is to continue. It’s that simple.” Bradley said, “Thank you, Mr. Madsen. Ms. North?” Dani felt herself leaning toward the camera in her urgency, and forced herself to sit back upright in the chair. No nerves now. “I think it’s a bit disingenuous to take the position that the National Immunization Program is purely a federal government priority. The pharmaceutical industry makes billions from it each year, and has heavily influenced the number and schedule of vaccinations from the outset. The CDC’s Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which recommends vaccines to be added to the schedule, is stacked with members of the pharmaceutical industry, physicians who hold patents on vaccines, and people who receive research grants or sweetheart speaking honoraria from the pharmaceutical industry. Some of the members are stockholders of the pharmaceutical companies. The FDA’s Vaccine and Related Biological Products Advisory Committee advises the CDC on vaccines and has similar ties to the pharmaceutical industry.

“So let’s not kid ourselves. The pharmaceutical industry is in a cozy relationship with its customer and regulator here. And it has substantial influence—and some would argue too much influence—over a program that routinely shoots toxic substances into our babies. Mr. Madsen has said that withholding vaccines from a group of children in establishing a control group as part of a study of vaccines’ side effects raises an ethical issue. I would argue that any state-mandated vaccination program that never undertakes scientific studies of the combined and interactive effects of all the vaccines in its schedule is unethical. And why should the vaccine makers be singled out to be absolved from any
responsibility for the damage that their products may be causing? We have other national priorities besides the vaccine program. Should manufacturers of subway cars and trains be exempt from liability because transportation programs are state and federal government priorities? If parents aren’t given a choice about whether or not to vaccinate their children, why shouldn’t they be able to hold the manufacturers of those vaccines responsible for any damage those vaccines cause? We say they should. Congress should remove the pharmaceutical industry’s indemnity for vaccines. If the manufacturers are faced with consequences, maybe they’ll work harder to assure their products are safe.”

Dani heard the music for the cut to a commercial. The TV flashed to an ad for Quaker Oats and after a moment Carrie came on the computer screen and said, “We’re off.”

Dani pushed her chair back from the desk, closed the laptop. Denise rushed to her. “Fabulous! You were great! Let the bastards chew on that!” She trotted to the other end of the room and started chattering on her cell phone. Dani allowed herself a long sigh of relief. Her legs felt weak, but when she pushed herself to her feet, she felt like she was floating.

Madsen wondered what the hell just hit him. The girl had started out like a mosquito, advanced to the annoyance of a gnat, and finished up like a swarm of hornets. He’d need to see the tape, but he thought he’d just gotten his ass kicked. He was pissed. He wanted to talk to someone about getting sucker-punched by this phone number being flashed on the screen, too.
And how the hell did she know anything about Project Epsilon?
Unless Maguire told her. All the more reason why the contractor needed to get
to her and retrieve that data. But so far the killer had failed, and Madsen needed to do something about that. He put on his best genial smile for Bradley, thanked him and headed for the elevator.

The hell with the contractor.
Madsen dialed Xavier to have him put someone else on the girl. When Xavier’s voicemail connected, he left a message for Xavier to call him back.

Denise started pacing back and forth in the room, working her cell phone again. Dani decided she was pleased with her performance. She not only did okay, she scored some points. And the amazing thing was, after she got over her nerves, she enjoyed herself.

Richard came out of the bedroom, smiling. “You were great. Just great,” he said, taking her in his arms. He gave her a long kiss and she pressed against him. She didn’t know if it was desire, release of tension, or both. Who cared? Now Richard ushered her over to the sofa, one arm still around her.

“I thought I started off a little rough.”

“You did. So what? You were devastating once you got rolling.”

“Thanks.”

“If our circumstances were different, I’d be ordering champagne. As it is you’ll have to settle for brunch.”

It was a triumphant moment. But she reminded herself what she was up against, and how much danger she was still in.

A
T
10:30 A.M. S
TARK FIDGETED
in the back seat of his car service Lincoln Town Car. He was halfway through his rounds to the only four Washington hotels where he figured the girl and the guy she was now traveling with could be staying. The client hadn’t been much help yesterday, knew less than Stark did. So Stark relied on his own observations and instincts. He’d cruised The Willard, Four Seasons, Ritz-Carlton and the Plaza until 1:00 a.m., paid bellhops and doormen for information, got their hours so he could check back with them. All the hotels must’ve dealt with the same unions, because they had three identical shifts. The only shift he hadn’t worked yet was this one: 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. The driver pulled the car up to the Four Seasons and Stark got out in front of the canopy. He took the list out of his pocket and checked the names of the doorman and bell captain for the previous shift. He wiped his eyes.

Stark approached a beefy man in uniform stationed next to the brass revolving door. “Hi,” Stark said.

“Good morning, sir.”

Stark stopped. “Did Carlos on the previous shift mention me to you? Ronnie Richards?”

The doorman shook his head. “No, sir.”

“That’s okay.” He extended his hand. The doorman reluctantly shook it. “Ronnie Richards,” Stark said. “I’m a PI working on a delicate matter. Domestic situation.”

“I see.”

“What’s your name, my friend?”

“Victor.”

“Well, Victor, my client thinks his wife is horsing around. I don’t have a picture, but she’s five four, short brown hair, kinda wiry and athletic looking. Big boobs. The guy I think she’s with would be about six two, brown hair, good clothes. Carrying high-end luggage.”

“Sounds like about every other couple that walks in here.”

“Yeah, that’s what Carlos said. Well, I’d appreciate it if you keep your eyes open.” Stark handed him a folded $100 bill. “There’s another of those in it for you if you spot them and call me.” Stark handed him a piece of paper with his cell phone number. “Pleasure meeting you, Victor,” Stark said, and headed through the revolving doors to meet the bell captain.

Stark was surprised he hadn’t heard anything yet, even a few false alarms with the extra swag hanging out there, but something would turn up. And the client would have some information for him eventually. He’d find the girl.

Madsen went back to his room at the Four Seasons Hotel and phoned Stiles. He’d calmed down to the point he could speak rationally, but he could still feel his anger simmering beneath the surface. He almost hoped Stiles would piss him off so he could let it out. “We need to regroup,” he said.

Stiles acted like Madsen hadn’t spoken. It made Madsen’s face start to burn. Stiles said, “McCloskey seems to have police protection, because nobody can get near his apartment. Our teams recognized plainclothes cops watching the building.”

Madsen was thinking:
What the fuck are you worrying about McCloskey for?
but he couldn’t tell Stiles the real story. Maybe the cops had an angle and wanted to keep McCloskey’s murder quiet for now.

“Forget about McCloskey. I’m convinced the girl’s here in Washington. Did you watch
Face the Press?”

“Of course.”

“They had her patched in over the Internet, but my gut says she’s here.” Madsen’s jaw clenched.
The little bitch.
Stiles didn’t say anything about
Face the Press.
Probably meant Madsen
did
get his ass kicked. “What else you got?”

“After the girl and the guy got off the train, we found a Hertz car rental location in Wilmington where the man she’s now traveling with rented a car.”

Madsen felt his pulse pick up.

Stiles went on, “You won’t believe this. He’s Richard Blum. We got his credit card number. He’s used it to pay for a room at the Willard Hotel. That must be where they’re staying.”

“Richard Blum?” Madsen felt the news like a slam in the gut. One of his investment bankers.

“You heard me. It’s our boy. Head of the Healthcare Group at BofA.”

“What are the odds of the girl knowing him?”

“Probably a chance meeting. Whatever, it seems to be good information. Our people in Wilmington said the car rental agent told them Blum was traveling with a woman. I already have a team covering the Willard.”

Madsen’s brain was working to catch up. Stiles was right. Meeting Blum had to be pure coincidence. But it certainly raised some issues. Blum knew as much about Madsen as anyone on the Street. Which wasn’t much. But still, it was awkward. Madsen said, “We’ll need a strategy to get the data from the girl when they find her. She probably isn’t going to hand it over.”

“You think it helps that she’s with Blum?”

“I can’t see how it would.” Madsen remembered he was already slated to meet with Blum on Monday afternoon, after Madsen testified. That is, if the girl, and now Blum, got that far. Madsen wanted the answer to be something else. He liked Blum. Madsen had met him when he bought Rafer Technologies, a medical stent business, from him five years ago. After Milner dropped dead of a heart attack, Richard was smart about winding Milner’s $7 billion empire down, selling off the pieces systematically in well-conceived auctions. And Richard was a straight-up, no-nonsense guy to deal with. Which was why Madsen had continued to work with him after Richard joined Bof A.

“I think it could help that they’re together,” Stiles said.

“How?”

“Well, for example, you could call Richard and ask him if the girl’s with him.”

“Dumb idea. We
know
she’s with him.”

“She
was.”

“Okay, maybe she is maybe she isn’t. But if she is, what does calling Richard do but alert her to the fact we know where she is and spook her into running again? I’d rather she thought we aren’t onto her.”

“But Blum probably doesn’t know who she is. If he did, do you think he’d be helping her? She’s still wanted by the police.”

Madsen was thinking,
Why bother with all this?
The contractor would just blow the girl away and take the data. And now, probably blow away Blum, too. Realizing it made Madsen feel like a scumbag.
Fuck, what a mess.

Madsen said, “Just talk to the team about how we get the data from the girl once we find her.”

Stiles put down the phone, his head buzzing. What the hell was going on? He’d orchestrated a multi-team, multi-state manhunt for the girl and she turns up—or seems to turn up—right under their noses. She’s probably with a man Madsen would call in a heartbeat if he wanted to get his daughter Yankee tickets.

As CFO, Stiles always had Madsen’s itinerary when he was on the road, so he knew that Madsen was scheduled to meet with Blum on Monday afternoon. It wasn’t like Madsen calling him up on his cell on a Sunday would arouse suspicion. The Madsen Stiles knew would call Blum and arrange for a brunch, or at least coffee, just to look him in the eye and see what was up. Maybe Blum would mention he’s traveling with a new lady.

It didn’t make sense. Just like it didn’t make sense that the PI who’d been on the train to Washington mentioned some scarfaced, shaved-headed guy who got on the train in Philly looking for the girl. Where did he come from? Did Madsen have a separate operation running? Stiles didn’t like being talked to by Madsen like he was a third-year accounting manager back at Braxton Pharma. They’d been together a long time, and the way Madsen was acting wasn’t consistent with the man he knew. Or with the relationship the two of them had. It was the first time in
as long as he could remember that Madsen seemed to be holding out on him.

Madsen tried calling Xavier again.

“Allo.”

The guy wasn’t much for words. Madsen said, “I’ve been trying to reach you. The contractor has been unsuccessful, and I need someone else put on it.”

Madsen heard Xavier clear his throat, as much emotion as he’d ever heard out of him. He said, “A problem?”

What else did he think? Two days and his best man can’t deliver. The skinflint little girl with the big tits is still walking around with his data in her pocket. But Madsen held it in, said, “You could say that. It looks like the girl has seen the contractor twice. I need a fresh face she won’t recognize to make sure the deal gets done.”

Xavier didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “I am surprised. You want the existing contractor off the assignment?”

“No, it can’t hurt to have him out there trying to find the girl. I just don’t want him running into your new man. Understand?”

Another pause. “Understood.”

“Good. The girl and the man she’s traveling with are staying at the Willard Hotel in Washington, DC. The guy’s name is Richard Blum. Got that?”

“Yes.”

“Have your new man get it over with, fast.”

Dani phoned Mom from the Willard. Before the phone connected she let her mind drift out to the house on Twin Lakes. At this time of year—pre-Memorial Day—on a Sunday morning, there would be no boats on the lake. She remembered canoeing with Dad, smelling the pine trees, the musty scent of the canvas of her lifejacket. Not a good time for fishing, but great for just relaxing, feeling the flex of her shoulder muscles as she pulled her paddle through the water. She’d canoed with Gabe the same way, guiding the canoe from the rear as Dad had done with her, hearing little but the swoosh of their paddles, the birds on the shore and the breeze in the pines.

“Hello,” Mom said.

With Twin Lakes filling her other senses, hearing Mom’s voice made her ache. “Hi, Mom.”

“Dani, you’re giving me heart failure.”

“Sorry I haven’t called sooner. And sorry to have been so abrupt last time. But I’m making progress, and I’m fine. You guys okay?”

“Yes. Hang on, Gabe is right here.”

A moment later Gabe said, “Hi, Mom.” Nonchalant. Like he was too cool to miss his mother, even after a day and a half.

Dani felt her throat thicken.
Nine-year-olds.
“Hi, honey. I miss you.”
With every cell in my body.

No immediate response.

Dani said, “You having fun?”

“Yeah, but the TV’s busted.”

“ ‘Yes,’ and ‘broken.’ You aren’t giving Nanny a hard time, are you?”