The Veritas Deception

by Lynne Constantine

  “What do you want me to do?”

  I sit on the examining table, covered only by the paper gown I was instructed to put on. She sits in the corner, reading a magazine. I have kept silent but can no longer contain my curiosity and clear my throat in an effort to gain her attention. She ignores me.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Yes?” she says, not bothering to look up.

  “Can you tell me why I need to be seen by a doctor?”

  “It’s just a standard physical.”

  I look up at the ceiling and try to distract myself while I wait. What is taking so long? My face grows warm as impatience gets the better of me. I am about to jump down from the table and put my clothes back on when the door opens. I smile at the man in the white coat, hoping to connect with him.

  He doesn’t smile back but simply moves his hand in a shuffling manner to indicate I should lie back. He holds a syringe in the other hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Relax. It’s something to calm you.”

  I inch away from him. “Stay away from me.”

  The woman is by my side in an instant. She takes my hand in hers. “It’s okay, Maya.” Her voice is sugar. “Look at me.”

  The distraction is enough. I feel the sting of the needle, and the next thing I know I am lying down with a pillow under my hips.

  She is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room again.

  I rub my eyes. “What happened?”

  She pushes a button on the counter.

  The doctor returns.

  “What did you do?” I manage to croak out.

  He looks at the woman.

  “Make sure she doesn’t move. He will be in to talk to her later.”

  I try to sit up but before I can, a strong arm comes down on my arms and holds me still.

  “You heard what the doctor said. Do I need to strap you down or are you going to be a good girl and stay still?” There is no compassion in her eyes.

  I drop my head back onto the table. What have I gotten myself into? All of a sudden my ears are wet, and I realize I am crying. I make no move to wipe away the tears. I won’t give her the satisfaction. I lie still, staring straight ahead and make my mind blank.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Senator Hamilton played solitaire on his phone while he waited for the tedious proceedings to finish. Knowing the outcome tended to make a bill vote boring. Three more and he could get out of here and enjoy the steak he had been thinking about all morning. He licked his lips. The clerk continued with the roll call vote.

  “How do you vote Mr. Marin?”

  “Aye.”

  “Mr. Marin, aye.”

  “Mr. Plomkin?”

  “Aye.”

  “Mr. Plomkin, aye.”

  Hamilton didn’t look up from his phone.

  “Ms. Linway?”

  Finally, last one.

  “No.”

  Hamilton’s head snapped up. He must have heard wrong. He turned around to look at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. The bill was dead.

  He strode from the room and rushed to his office. Within minutes, four Congress members arrived.

  Hamilton picked up the phone.

  “Hold my calls.”

  Wheezing from the exertion, he took a long sip of water and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief. He looked at the man sitting across for him.

  “Would you mind telling me what just happened? We engineered this to be a close vote. How did we lose Kansas?”

  The only woman in the room cleared her throat. All eyes turned to her.

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “So?” Hamilton’s eyes narrowed.

  “I think it colored her perception. She just got the news yesterday.”

  Hamilton glared at her. “Senator Marcus, when did you find this out?”

  She gulped, her face red. “This morning.”

  His voice rose. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have found someone else for the swing vote.”

  “She’s my friend, and she asked me to keep it quiet. Besides, she promised it wouldn’t change her vote.”

  Hamilton wanted to strangle her. “And you believed her?”

  A congressman on his left interrupted. “It’s a minor setback. There is more than one way to achieve our goals. Remember how long it took to make screening mandatory? The rest of the bills have passed quickly and mostly unnoticed. The bio-ethicists have done their jobs well. Everyone wants healthy children. We’ll make some minor modifications to mollify our constituents and get them on our side.”

  Hamilton exhaled and leaned back. Maybe he was right. On its surface, the bill was a win-win. It covered a wide spectrum of birth defects and chronic illnesses that were detectable in the first trimester of pregnancy. Any of the conditions included would qualify as a pre-existing condition that would be excluded from coverage, thereby, in practical terms, mandating the termination of the pregnancy. Since pre-screening had become mandatory, these birth defects had been reduced by 40 percent. They had garnered widespread support from special interest groups whose mission it was to optimize health care. It was the fervent belief of those supporting the bill that this was the path to eliminating diseases and freeing up resources to work on curing other diseases that were not yet preventable. They were on the forefront of a better, more perfect world. Hamilton didn’t care a whit about any of that. His name was on the bill, and he’d be damned if some uterus with legs was going to be his undoing.

  He pulled out his phone, clicked the Twitter app and typed:

  Thanks to all who supported #healthy #children #bill. Unfortunately, no win this time. #HCB

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Institute, 1975

  July

  When he walks into the room, I feel a momentary flicker of hope. Surely someone this beautiful is no one to be feared. His face is almost perfect, marred only by a small, round scar on one cheek. Otherwise, it is a face to rival any movie star’s—chiseled cheekbones; straight Roman nose; full lips. My gaze moves to his eyes and then my hope crashes.

  I have never before seen what I see in those eyes. They are predatory and penetrating. Something intangible terrifies me when I look into them. There is a heaviness in the air, an invisible darkness that threatens to invade me, and I want to cover my eyes like a child and pretend I am invisible. He looks at me as if we know each other.

  I take a deep breath, affect a bravado I don’t feel, and swing my legs off the bed, ready to stand.

  “Don’t get up. You need your rest.” His voice is deep, pleasant.

  “Who are you?”

  His lips curl in a smile. “All in good time, my dear.” His tone is mocking.

  I take a deep breath and stare at him. I am afraid to speak.

  He pulls a chair next to my bed and sits. “You are a brilliant young woman. It’s why I chose you.”

  “What have you done? Why am I here?”

  He arches one eyebrow. “You have been chosen to bear my child.”

  His child? My stomach tightens, and I feel sick. I glare at him. “Did you rape me?”

  A look of repulsion transforms his face, and the corners of his mouth point to the floor.

  “Please, Maya. I am not an animal. Think. There are other ways to impregnate someone. Rape you? What a nauseating thought.”

  “Why? Why would you hope to impregnate me?”

  “We do not hope. We plan. I have your entire medical history; you have been monitored for the past month. I’m fairly certain that you are pregnant.”

  I jump off the bed and began to pace. “Why in God’s name?” I scream. I don’t understand. Why would he need to do such a thing? With his looks, I am sure there was no shortage of willing women.

  “God has nothing to do with it. You need know nothing but this for now. You have been chosen from thousands. You should be pleased. You have not only made it to the top
of the class, you have made it to the top of the world.”

  “I don’t understand. I came here to learn. You can’t do this! Who are you?”

  “Damon Crosse. I am the one in charge here. You were selected from a great many to come here—but not for the medical internship.” He stands and walks to the corner of the room, picks up a folder, and opens it. After reading something inside, he closes it and returns to the chair.

  “It was very close. I almost chose someone else. But your pedigree was better.”

  What is he talking about? “Pedigree? I’m not a dog.”

  He smiles again. “No, Maya, you are more like a brood mare.”

  “Go to hell, you bastard.” Spittle flies from my mouth.

  He looks at me with no change in expression.

  “I’m getting out of here. I’m going home. This is insane!” I rant.

  He withdraws from the room without another word, and then the men arrive. They push me down on the bed and strap me into a white vest.

  “You’re making this harder than it has to be,” one whispers in my ear.

  I scream until my throat is raw. I can no longer move my arms, and the more I struggle, the tighter everything becomes. I don’t know when I finally fall into an exhausted sleep. When I awake, he is there again. Watching. Calm. Cold.

  “The sooner you learn to accept things, the better.”

  “I’ll never accept being held prisoner. Why have you done this?” I croak, my voice barely audible.

  “In good time. In good time you will know the part you will play, but not quite yet.”

  “I need to move. Take these off.”

  He frowns. “You must learn the proper way to address me. You may request but never demand.” He stands up and hovers over me. “Do you understand?”

  My stomach tightens. I nod my head.

  He sits back down. “Good.”

  “Would you please take this vest off me?”

  “Not yet. When I believe you can be trusted, then I will have it removed. In the meantime, we shall continue our chat.”

  I lie there while he sits, seemingly bored, and indifferent to me. I fear I shall never see my family or anyone else again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The country road was full of bumps and potholes. Taylor winced as she was bounced again, and her head bumped against the headliner.

  “Sorry ’bout that. Almost there.”

  “Hope I don’t give birth early,” she joked.

  He gave her a worried look. “That’s not possible, is it?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s too early. I was just kidding. It’s hard not to be preoccupied with the pregnancy.” She didn’t know why she felt that she needed to explain but she did. “I’ve had some miscarriages, and I’m considered high risk. That’s why I need the progesterone shots for the first eight weeks—it helps decrease the chance of it happening again. This is not the best time for me to be stressed out.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel. “I wish Malcolm had told me.”

  “Yeah well, I don’t understand what was going on in his mind. Truthfully, if those guys with guns hadn’t shown up, I’m not sure I would have believed any of it was real. I just want to find Jeremy, whoever he is, and get some answers.”

  The scenery began to change as the road narrowed, and civilization faded away. Everything was a green blur. Never had she been in the middle of so many Evergreens. As they crested the top of the hill, she saw what looked like a brown rectangle nestled in the patchwork of forest. As they got closer, a small A-frame log cabin appeared. The enormous trees dwarfed the dwelling, and Taylor shivered, thinking of old horror movies involving isolated houses. Jack pulled into the gravel drive.

  They walked up to the door, and Jack took the key from his pocket and opened it.

  Beau began running around the house in frantic loops. After about ten rounds, he bounded up to Taylor and prodded her to pet him.

  “Poor guy, stuck in the car all that time. Maybe we can walk him a little later?” she said.

  Jack looked at his watch. “Let’s get settled first.”

  He seemed familiar with the place, as he walked over to a lamp with a base made of miniature canoes and turned it on. The amber glow made the room cozy and inviting, and she went over to a plush brown sofa and ran a hand over the velvety fabric. Large windows with sheer, white curtains on two walls looked out at the barricade of trees, and she suddenly felt safe and cocooned.

  “Why don’t you take a shower and change, and I’ll fix us something to eat?” Jack said.

  “We don’t have any food.”

  He opened the refrigerator, which was filled to overflowing with a huge variety of meats, fruits, and vegetables.

  Taylor’s stomach growled in anticipation. “Where did that come from?”

  “Let’s just say I have resourceful friends.”

  “Good to know.”

  “How about an omelet?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Taylor freshened up and then sat down at a wooden table by one of the windows. She took a bite from the still-steaming omelet. “Delicious! What kind of cheese is this?”

  “Goat. I also chopped some dates in.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Impressive. Last time you made me something to eat it was a lumpy peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  “I seem to remember your liking those sandwiches.” He laughed. “Remember in fourth grade, you would trade me your turkey and cheese for my PB&J?”

  She had forgotten that. “They were good. My mother’s never tasted the same. The bread was wrong, and so was the peanut butter. You always had Wonder Bread and Jif.” She used to feel so bad that Jack’s mom didn’t get up with him before school and make him breakfast or pack him a lunch. He had been taking care of himself for as long as she could remember. He became such a regular fixture at their dinner table that, after a while, her mother automatically set a place setting for him.

  “I’m happy to make you one any time you want.”

  His tone was flirtatious, and she bit back a light-hearted response and finished eating. That was a lifetime ago, and they had both changed.

  She brought his laptop to the table and opened it. She had gotten through the rest of the bill last night and was now looking at the rider. Now this was interesting. “Jack, I think I found something.”

  He walked behind her and looked at the screen where she was pointing.

  “Look at this. It’s talking about a TB vaccine. Doesn’t one exist already?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of one. Don’t know.”

  “Well, this rider claims that one is in testing now and that once it gets FDA approval, it can be mandated in case of a national health emergency.”

  “Mandated for kids?” Jack asked.

  She shook her head. “No, no. And this has nothing to do with the main bill. This would make all health care workers have to get the vaccine if there was a breakout, and the language around what a breakout is goes on for pages.”

  “So what? Don’t they already have to do that with flu shots?”

  Taylor thought a minute. That was true, but something was niggling at her. “Yeah, but I think that’s more a hospital requirement. This would make it federal law. Right now states mandate those decisions.” She kept reading. “Here. If the incident rate rises above .05 everyone would be required to get the vaccine.”

  “Define incident rate.”

  “The number of cases per one hundred thousand. The incident rate is now .03”

  “I guess that’s a significant increase, not sure if it’s enough to justify forcing the vaccine on the entire population,” he said.

  She swiveled around to face him. “Jack. Why would Congress pass a law about a vaccine that doesn’t even exist yet?”

  “Good question. I wonder which drug company is developing it.”

  She turned back around and started typing
again.

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “There is already a TB vaccine. BCG. Says here it’s been around since the 1920’s but is not highly effective. Hold on.” She typed in “more effective TB vaccine.”

  “So there’s the Tuberculosis Vaccine Initiative, a non-profit working together to find a better vaccine.”

  “Interesting. I’m assuming they partner with drug companies. Can I take a look?”

  She slid the computer over to him.

  He clicked on through the website. “Yeah, they do. So, we need to find out who’s working with them on this new TB vaccine. They receive funding from grants and donations and industry. We have to figure out a way to get a hold of their annual report.”

  Taylor got up and took their dishes to the sink to wash them. “So in the meantime, what are we doing here?”

  Jack walked over to the fireplace. He pushed aside the mesh curtain and reached inside. Taylor watched as he dislodged a brick and pulled out an envelope. He dusted off his sleeve and walked over to her.

  “Our next set of clues.” He held the envelope up.

  “If I didn’t just see it, I wouldn’t believe it.” She shook her head.

  Jack ripped the envelope open and took out a map and a note. He scanned the note then waited for Taylor to come over.

  “Does this mean anything to you?” He handed it to her.

  She read it aloud. “Go to the library in Claremont, New Hampshire. Taylor, find your favorite book. The one that has always spoken to you of resilience and fortitude. There, you will find the address. The number can be calculated by multiplying the number of letters in her maiden name times 6 and adding 7. The town bears the same name as the town where her true love returns. The street name will be in the book.” She smiled. “He’s talking about Gone with the Wind.”

  Jack chuckled. “Don’t tell me—your favorite part is ‘I don’t know nothin ’bout birthin’ babies’.”

  Taylor smacked him on the head with the letter. “Very funny. He meant the scene where Scarlett swears she’ll never be hungry again.” For a moment, she forgot about Malcolm’s deception and remembered only the intimacies they had shared. She felt a wistful longing for him.