The Beekeeper's Secret

by Sally Fernandez

  “So, Jeff agreed to have the surgery?”

  “Yes, he assumed that if there was something in his body that didn’t belong there, it should be taken out. It was a fairly easy decision to have the cancer cells, which had metastasized, removed. Naturally, we understood the inherent dangers of surgery, but we felt it was worth the risk. However, Jeff was vehemently opposed when it came to any chemo or radiation therapy.”

  Max marveled at how Allison had morphed from a grieving widow to an articulate educator, well versed on the subject matter. And while she listened intently, she glanced periodically across the room, noting the hands on the Grandfather clock. Soon, Max would have to prepare Allison, bringing her back to the realism of the day. But with a bit more time to spare before the chief arrived, she was curious to know how Jeff beat the odds.

  “Isn’t it assumed that Jeff reduced his likelihood of survival without some form of chemo or radiation?”

  “In these matters, Jeff always considered himself the client and that the doctors were there to serve him. When we met with the various health practitioners, he grilled them with questions. Ultimately, to his credit, he decided to take a mixed approach. Jeff had the surgery to remove the tumor, along with seventeen lymph nodes for added insurance. But as I said, he refused the radiation and chemotherapy protocol. We came to understand that it not only kills the cancer cells, but it kills the healthy stem cells, decreasing the number of white blood cells that compromise the immune system. That’s why the cancer returns and often spreads to other organs. In fact, one in three cancer survivors will get a second cancer. In many cases, the reoccurrence is linked to certain chemotherapies and high doses of radiation. Max, all of us have cancer cells in our body. After years of bathing them in toxic chemicals found in our food and personal care products—they’re lying in wait to metastasize. But Jeff learned of a way to stop it in its tracks.”

  “In what way?” Max ignored the time, suddenly fascinated by Allison’s knowledge.

  “He followed a more holistic approach using nature’s products instead of toxic cancer drugs. He started by juicing with organic vegetables that contain no preservatives. It was essential to detoxing his body before surgery. He also took several supplements to boost his immune system, as prescribed by what he liked to call his voodoo doctor. Then, he simply changed his diet going forward. He avoided white flour and sugar and removed other synthetic and refined foods from his regimen. You’d be amazed at the number of products as commonplace as olive oil, garlic and green tea that are anticancer products. Science shows that with a healthy routine, you can literally, stop the cancer stem cells from absorbing the exact elements that caused them to grow into killer cells.”

  “This is so incredible.” Max was astounded.

  “No, it’s by the grace of God—it truly was a miracle. But Jeff’s message should be loud and clear. We shouldn’t wait until we get cancer to figure out which route to go. Have you ever heard the name David Servan-Schrieber?”

  Max shook her head, encouraging Allison to continue.

  “He was a French psychiatrist, who at the age of thirty-one, was diagnosed with brain cancer. He had the tumor removed, but it returned. Having already gone through radiation and chemotherapy, he opted for a natural, holistic treatment only as a supplement. Jeff was drawn to the benefits of a diet and nutrition that Servan-Schrieber championed. Sadly, he died last July at the age of fifty, after surviving almost twenty years. But he had written several books, one titled Anticancer: A New Way of Life, and it opened our eyes. It’s a fascinating read; it might even get you to adopt a healthier lifestyle.”

  “No thanks, and as engrossing as this information is, there’s one thing I still don’t understand. Why would Jeff still be meeting with doctors practicing alternative medicine if he were completely cancer-free?”

  “Trust me. I sat in on all of his appointments and I can testify the cancer was gone. It had been completely eradicated. But what happened to Jeff had a profound effect on him, even though he didn’t talk about it a lot. Except one time he mentioned a Dr. Bradstreet and said he was working on something. Then, Jeff mentioned his name again. It was right before he left on his last trip. He said he needed to make sure it would never happen again. Something about stopping the insanity and getting Congress to recognize alternative medicine.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t either. After his near-death experience I expected he’d spend more time at home with me and the kids, but his travels accelerated. I asked him why, but he blew it off as being work-related. I got the sense that he thought he had already said too much, so I didn’t press further. I don’t know what was going on with him.”

  I’d say he was on a personal quest. But what was it? What got him killed? Answers to those questions will have to wait. “Allison, I’m amazed by everything you’ve told me.” Max contemplated for a second and then asked, “Would you text me a list of the alternative doctors that you and Jeff met with?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just following up on a hunch. Right now, there’s something else we need to discuss.”

  “Max, not now. I’m exhausted and I’m going to go lie down.”

  There’s only one way to say it. “There’s proof that Jeff was murdered.”

  Allison was stunned into silence.

  Max was not sure if she was dumbfounded or in shock. “Did you hear me?”

  Allison ignored her question, got up and walked into the bedroom. Max still needed to tell her that the police chief would arrive within the hour to speak with her. But within moments, Allison returned with an odd expression. She was carrying one of Jeff’s shirts.

  “Here! Explain this. It was in Jeff’s belongings that were sent back from Brazil.”

  Max looked at the lipstick-smudged shirt that still reeked of cheap perfume. She recalled Sam’s description of the murder scene in the hotel room and then thought how stupid the local authorities were to mail the shirt back to his widow.

  “Allison, I assure you Jeff was not having an affair. He was working on something—exactly what I’m not sure, but I will find out. What I can tell you is that Sam spoke with the desk clerk at the hotel and he said that Jeff received no visitors. Most likely, whoever murdered him was already waiting in his room and made it look like something it was not. Was Jeff’s phone among his belongings?” Max was hoping for possibly text messages that would have not shown up in the cell phone records.

  “No. Other than his clothing. Oh, his briefcase and wallet were empty, and his passport was missing.”

  “The State Department probably has the passport.”

  “This is too much to bear right now. Max, I really want to be alone.”

  “I’m sorry dear, but in about thirty minutes, Chief Ray Tomson of the Capitol Police will be showing up to speak with you.”

  “What does he want from me?” she cried.

  “It’s just routine.”

  “Max, you handle it!”

  “Trust me; I’m the last person the chief will let hang around while he speaks with you. Just answer his questions. But Allison—there’s no need to mention Jeff’s bout with cancer—or the shirt. In fact, why don’t you let me take it.”

  Allison returned to her zombie state and handed Max the shirt. “I’m going to lie down.” She reached over, hugged Max and then turned and walked back toward her bedroom.

  “I promise you, I will find out what happened. Just call me if you need anything.” Max’s overture fell on deaf ears.

  After Allison’s retreat, Max left with what might be evidence, although she suspected the real evidence had been stolen to make it appear to be a robbery.

  Chapter 14

  The Common Denominator

  Max strode into Sam’s office. It was obvious she was on edge as she leaned against the door frame. “Hey.”

  “Hey, you
rself. How did it go with Allison?”

  “As you might expect. The chief will be showing up at her home anytime now.” Max’s oral response did not align with her facial expression.

  Sam noticed Max’s mien. It usually indicated she was about to wade deeper into the weeds. “What is it?” he asked, in an apprehensive tone.

  She pulled up a chair and sat down. “Jeff had pancreatic cancer.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Wait—there’s more. Over six months ago, he was given a clean bill of health. Cancer gone.”

  Sam remained quiet as he contemplated the odds of survival and then asked the gnawing question. “Why did he reach out to alternative medicine practitioners in the last six months—after he was cured?”

  “That’s the question before the house. I asked Allison. She said something having to do with a Dr. Bradstreet and him never wanting it to happen again.”

  “Jeffrey Bradstreet?”

  “I don’t know—why?”

  “If he’s the same guy, he was infamous for railing against vaccines. Watch these magic fingers.” Sam winked as he tapped away at the keyboard.

  Max waited patiently for his brilliant discovery.

  “Abracadabra! Bradstreet discovered a natural occurring protein that not only cured neurological impairment, but also cancer. The protein is called GcMAF. It stands for Globulin component Macrophage Activating Factor. Don’t ask me what that means. Oh, wait a minute. This says it’s an essential human protein our bodies make naturally and aids in removing several diseases, including cancer. Evidently, the problem is that an enzyme called nagalase is introduced into the body through vaccinations, according to Bradstreet, and is secreted by cancer cells that block the activating factor in the Globulin component Macrophage, thus resulting in seriously compromising the immune system!”

  “So, GcMAF is a replacement therapy for the body when it stops producing the cancer-killing protein on its own?” Max asked.

  “That’s my take.”

  “Hey, I remember now, Bradstreet used GcMAF to treat cases of autism. That would explain why he was so anti-vaccine.”

  “Yeah, but the problem is—GcMAF is banned in the US.”

  “Why is it banned?”

  “It was being manufactured from human blood and dispensed online by a UK company called Immuno Biotech headquartered in the Channel Islands; the brand name is called First Immune. They claim the UK’s version of the FDA, the Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency, or MHRA, was trying to put them out of business. So much so, they’ve had Immuno Biotech’s scientist and doctors fired and their CEO, David Noakes, arrested.”

  “I still don’t understand. Why is it banned?”

  “All I know is what it says here; it’s highly illegal. The FDA issued a statement to the Washington Post saying that ‘GcMAF treatments are considered investigational, and none are approved or licensed for use by the FDA in the U.S.’ They discredit Bradstreet’s research, but apparently his supporters, on both sides of the pond, point to the huge pharmaceutical corporations and their bottom lines.”

  “Maybe that’s why Jeff was meeting with Slater so much. Perhaps, negotiating a deal.”

  Sam’s expression conveyed one of doubt. But he continued to search for information and left Max to contemplate.

  “Wait—here’s more!” Sam exclaimed. “Four months after they finally shut down Immuno Biotech, Bradstreet’s clinic in Buford, Georgia was raided by federal agents looking specifically for GcMAF. In the same Washington Post article, it states that if Bradstreet had been indicted, he would have faced up to twenty years in prison. Days later he was found dead in the Rocky Broad River in North Carolina. Reports say it was a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the chest. But not everyone buys it, including David Noakes, who continues to be embroiled in legal troubles. However, he continues to stand by Bradstreet’s patient successes, and contends that he was murdered. Here’s a reference to a woman by the name of Erin Elizabeth, who also dismisses the cause of death as suicide. Evidently, she has a website called ‘Health Nut News.’”

  “I think I ran across that name before.” Max used her phone to check it out. Within a matter of seconds, she located the site and flipped down the home page. “Wow, Erin’s really into this stuff; health, fitness, beauty, environment.”

  “Admired by a woman who eats greasy croissants,” Sam snickered.

  “I have a great metabolism,” she rebuffed.

  “If you continue to dump all that fat and sugar into your body, your metabolism will be the least of your problems. Remind me to buy you a copy of Michael Moss’s book, Salt Sugar Fat.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “He’s a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative reporter for the New York Times. That’s only one of his books, but it discusses how the food industry giants blatantly ignored the growing obesity epidemic. Instead, they concentrate on making unhealthy food taste good, so ‘you can’t eat just one.’ Seemed like an innocent jingle at the time when Lay’s Potato Chips first came out with it; not so much these days.”

  “Are we now indicting the Food Giants?”

  “Remember what the ‘F’ in FDA stands for?”

  “And when did you become such a health nut anyway?—if I may use the term.”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. He knew he was getting off point, but it was hard to ignore, including the manipulation for profit that hovered over ordinary lives. “Health nut? Since you’ve had me studying up on these doctors, it does cause one to reflect on lifestyle decisions through a different prism. It’s compelling stuff; you have to admit.”

  “Listen; now back to Erin Elizabeth. It appears she has become an activist in reporting on a series of deaths of doctors that had connections to alternative health medicine. Hmm, this is attention-grabbing. She’s also producing a movie called The Power to Cure, depicting what happened to none other than Bradstreet. She states that investigators have concluded without a doubt that he was murdered.”

  “Hmm, is right.” Sam agreed, but he could tell something else was on her mind. “What’s going through that gorgeous head of yours?”

  Max had already scrolled down the home page and spotted the report of one of the deceased doctors. “Remember Ann Boroch, the naturopathic doctor from L.A.—the one who supposedly hanged herself in her garage in August?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t she have a reputation for operating—shall we say—outside the confines of Big PhRMA?”

  “Sam, Jeff visited her three days before she took her life. Now, we have to wonder what the other doctors were up to.”

  “Easy, Max; I see a conspiracy developing.”

  “Hey, while I’m gone, will you check to see if there are any links between Bradstreet and the other doctors Jeff contacted? Something smells, and the stench is wafting between Big PhRMA and the FDA. Then of course, there’s Clovis Hill.”

  “You mean the apiary?”

  “Yeah, I’m more than curious to find out why it was closed shortly after Jeff’s visit. Conspiracy?—I honestly don’t know.”

  “Maybe that’s the common denominator.”

  “What?—bee venom.” She smirked and then realized Sam may have hit on something.

  “Hey, it’s a possible connection.”

  “There’s got to be something else. What was Jeff talking about? Not wanting what to happen again? Could it be harassment by the FDA—or worse?” Max was finding her own words a bit frightening.

  “We’ll get the answers, princess. I’ll find out what I can. It might be worthwhile to contact Erin Elizabeth directly to see what she has to say. You never know. By the way, what time is your flight tomorrow morning?”

  “It’s at eight-thirty. I booked a car with Carmel.”

  “Not an Uber fan?”

  “No! I’ll be back on Monday. Just find any links you can.”

&n
bsp; “Don’t worry, I’ll keep plenty beezy.”

  “Cut with the apilinguistics.”

  Chapter 15

  Max Goes To Clovis

  The plane arrived on schedule at the Clovis Municipal Airport in Texico, New Mexico. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, with three hours of daylight left to spare. Max hurried off to pick up the rental car and exited the airport onto NM-525 W and headed to Curry Road. From the air, Clovis looked like a patchwork quilt, but at eye level the land was flat and barren as far as the eye could see. Only a few homes dotted the landscape. Seventeen minutes down a straight highway, she spotted a sign marked “Clovis Hill Apiary.” She turned on to a dirt road and drove a half mile up a belly-bump of a hill until she arrived at a government-issued, chain-link fence. The only entryway was locked by an even heavier chain and padlock. Everything seemed out of place as did the large ominous sign plastered on the gate: WARNING Restricted Area. It is unlawful to enter this property without permission. Most troubling were the words: Use of deadly force authorized.

  The yellow tape added concern, but Max was undeterred. She had not come all that way to turn around and go home none the wiser. “I doubt I’ll be shot for standing outside,” she concluded. And knowing her Sig Sauer was tucked inside her handbag gave her reassurance. But still she used caution when stepping outside the car and walking toward the gate. Roughly fifty feet away, she spotted an old white stone building with a slanting gray roof. The attached garage had two large steel doors. There was no evidence of wooden hives lying around, but she assumed they were stacked behind the building structure.

  “Hey, lady, no trespassin’!”

  The crotchety voice startled Max until she saw the squat figure bounding toward her. This guy has all the classic traits of a rent-a-cop, she thought. Sizing him up as less than a threat, she asked, “Excuse me, I was just curious as to why the apiary was closed.”

  “You take that up with the Curry County Sheriff. Now git.”