Ginger Snaps

by Webb Hubbell

  Doug.

  I didn’t remember getting anything from Doug in the mail, but after Angie’s death I seldom looked at her mail, except for the obvious bills, throwing them all away. Idiot.

  I unfolded the letter. It was directed to the Federal Food and Drug Administration and the Drug Czar’s office. It showed copies to the DEA, FBI, CDC, HHS, NIH, and Homeland Security. It neglected to mention this copy.

  Dear Sirs:

  My name is Douglas Stewart, PhD. I recently completed a fellowship at NIH and am now a professor of chemistry, occupying an endowed chair at the University of Arkansas-Little Rock. Over the past several years, I have become more and more convinced that besides its therapeutic benefits, marijuana in hybrid and modified form may offer significant curative benefits. I’m not talking about “medical marijuana” in its conventional understanding, but medical use derived from the chemical makeup of the plant altered by cross breeding and molecular alteration.

  I hope that instead of writing me off as a “crackpot,’’ you will review my credentials and study the attached summary of my research to date. Anyone familiar with chemical research will find my work exciting, especially as it relates to a breakthrough towards a cure for cancer.

  I recognize that medical research using cannabis is currently illegal, but I believe that, given what I have found, such research is vital. I ask you to give me permission to continue with my work. I know there is an accepted protocol, but it is too cumbersome and the research is seldom approved. I grow a limited number of plants in my backyard for research purposes only. I welcome your inspection of my garden or my records to verify the truthfulness of my statements. I keep meticulous records so you can verify that the plants are only used for research, not for personal or any other use. Any restriction you wish to place on the source of the marijuana I grow is fine with me as long as I can use it in my research.

  You should also know that I have no intention of profiting from my research. I have filed for patents on my discoveries, only to protect them from misuse or fraud. When the time is right, I will post my research on the Internet, much like open-source codes for computer programming, so it can be shared with the world. It is my fervent hope that this science will facilitate the development of cheaper, safer, and more effective treatments for cancer and other similar diseases using biochemically altered marijuana and other plants.

  I welcome the opportunity to discuss my discoveries with a panel of experts of your choosing.

  Sincerely,

  Doug Stewart

  Not only had Doug told the regulatory world what he was doing three years ago—he had invited them into the process. I felt sure that, given his reputation, his research had been carefully analyzed and had scared the shit out of law enforcement and those who profit from the disease. I also bet they had decided not to respond to his letter until their ducks were in a neat row and they could crash down his door with an axe.

  Maggie gave a whistle. “So you were right!”

  “Not so fast. A cynical lawyer would say Doug was just developing a convenient cover. We don’t have proof that the letter was received, and we certainly don’t have any proof that anyone took action on it.”

  “But you do have the letter, and we can prove its bona fides through the Patent Office. I’m already on my way to Virginia, as soon as I call Jonas to thank him.”

  “Go slow with the thanks to Jonas. Someone was bound to have seen you together, and he may be under suspicion by now. We’ll find a way to thank him later. We need to find out who stands to lose the most if Doug’s research proves credible. Want to bet his patent applications are sealed because of national security? But let’s not tip our hand. The less anybody knows the better.”

  I called Micki on the secure line Clovis had created to tell her about Doug’s letter. Her response pricked my balloon of optimism.

  “That’s nice, but it’s not much help legally. In fact, it proves he knew he was breaking the law. If that kind of letter would let you grow over fifty plants in your backyard, the Drug Czar would be inundated with letters. I’d be more interested in the summary. I guess he didn’t send that to you?”

  “No, although I’ll check at home just in case I didn’t throw it out. How do you feel?”

  “Better. By the way, Debbie and Paul just left for Dub’s latest press conference. She looked—well, sort of like a college girl. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I hope so. There’s a risk, but I’m trying to throw Dub off his game. Let me know how it goes.”

  She promised me a summary of what to expect at the forfeiture auction and a memo on forfeiture laws that would put me to sleep. After a few attempts at small talk, she asked when I’d be back.

  “I’d say this weekend. Maggie has gone to the Patent Office. I’ll know more when she gets back this afternoon.”

  I called a couple of Angie’s former associates to ask if they’d heard anything about a new cure for cancer. They were polite, but no help. I called another old friend, an economist I’d used as an expert witness in antitrust cases. We made lunch plans, and I told him I’d buy if I could quiz him a little “off the clock.”

  THE MAN HAD circled the block three times to find a legal parking space in front of the Foundation’s office—no sense in annoying the DC parking cops. His colleague had just phoned to say he was waiting for Maggie outside the patent office. Patterson was becoming a real pain in the ass. Good thing they had seen that inquiry coming and made sure she was stonewalled. He was always amazed at how many people the organization had co-opted. They did their jobs, never arousing suspicion, but at the right time they were ready to do whatever it took to accommodate the client, for a fee, of course. He had never asked how much this foresight cost the client. It wasn’t his business, and he felt safer not knowing.

  I WAS YAWNING at my desk when Clovis and Maggie returned. Maggie threw her purse down on the couch, looking hot and frustrated. She’d been shut completely out at the Patent and Trademark Office.

  “All filings by Dr. Stewart have been placed under seal for reasons of ‘national security.’ I was referred to a Mr. Atkinson, who had a hard time even confirming the existence of applications. A total waste of time.”

  “No surprise, but thanks for trying. More than likely, Dub plans to sneak Doug’s patent applications into what is auctioned. Even if no one will confirm they exist, whoever buys his research will certainly want them, so we should be on the lookout for a legal sleight-of-hand. We know a letter was sent, that Doug did exactly what he said he would. Now we have to prove they received the letter and acted on it.”

  “Oh, they got the letter all right.” Clovis spoke up. “About three years ago, word went out to every agency that no one was to touch Dr. Douglas Stewart. Totally hands-off. I’ve now confirmed that a representative of the Drug Czar’s office met with Pulaski County’s sheriff, Little Rock’s police chief, and the Arkansas state police. They were told a special task force would handle all matters concerning Dr. Stewart. Under no circumstances were they to interfere, and Sam’s office specifically was to be kept in the dark. Sam’s going to be really pissed. I wouldn’t want to be Sheriff Barnes when Sam finds out he held out on him.”

  “You’re shitting me!” I’d suspected something of the kind, but not a total blitz.

  “I am not. Apparently the attorney general and the FBI balked at the quarantine at first, but somebody got to them. The Drug Czar gave the task force total authority to handle the matter. Any time Dub or his associates step on someone’s toes, that someone hears ‘excuse me, national security,’ and the bull keeps stomping in the china shop. I’ve never seen so many people looking over their shoulders.” He frowned happily. Clovis loved a conspiracy.

  “We’re clearly way past ginger snaps,” I mused. “What’s more, we seem to be the only good guys standing in the way of the bull. We have evidence of Doug’s intent, we know the government wanted him stopped and why. The question is, how do we stop it?”

&nb
sp; 46

  WALTER JOINED US for dinner at Johnnie’s Half Shell, home of the best crab cakes in the city, light and delicate. But I still miss their crowded, noisy DuPont Circle location. Angie and I used to enjoy sitting at the bar, eating tiny succulent oysters from Maine or Prince Edward Island, chatting with people waiting for a table. The Capitol Hill location traded atmosphere for space, but the oysters and crab cakes are almost as good.

  The waiter brought us wine—Clovis opted for pale ale—and I brought Walter up to date. If he was going to give me a letter of credit, he needed to know as much as I did. He seemed mildly interested when Maggie told him about Doug’s letter, more so when Clovis told him about the government’s involvement in controlling how the government reacted to his letter.

  “Jack, do you realize what effect a free cure for cancer would have on the economy?”

  “Well, it’s crossed my mind. I have an appointment with an economist friend tomorrow.”

  “The answer’s simple—enormous. Medically, it would be more significant than the polio vaccine and possibly bigger than the discovery of penicillin. A huge segment of our economy is dedicated to the treatment of cancer. Think about it: drug companies, hospitals, insurance companies, treatment centers, and physicians . . . the trickle-down effect is enormous. I bet your economist pegs the number in the billions.”

  Maggie jumped in. “But we’re talking about a cure for cancer. Who cares about the economic effect?”

  “Well, sure, everyone wants to find a cure for cancer—beyond its invaluable worth to mankind, it’s the proverbial golden egg. Big pharma, insurance, the medical community, the government—they all want to control any breakthrough, either for profit or to control its effect on jobs, profits, taxes, revenues, and the economy overall. The thought of Doug putting his research online as open source, free for all, has got to scare them no end. Make no mistake: this isn’t about the illegal use of marijuana. The real issue is control of the bottom line. No wonder your friend Dub has been instructed to play the national security card.”

  Trust Walter to have seen the whole issue from a financial perspective.

  “Walter, I can’t believe my ears! We’re talking about cancer. Think of all the suffering.” Maggie always reacted from the heart first, a trait I dearly loved.

  “My dear, on a personal level, I don’t disagree. In fact, a cure for cancer would also mean hundreds of millions of dollars to our company alone. Life insurance companies love medical breakthroughs and life expectancy extensions. I’m sure any political administration would feel like you about a cure, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t want to control its timing and its protocol.”

  “Aren’t you being a bit cynical?” Maggie flushed, now clearly irritated. Walter didn’t lose a beat.

  “Well, maybe, but look at the reality: I’m in the business of insuring lives. Every week I see how new drugs and medical breakthroughs are affected by profit and politics. Hardly a bill gets through Congress that doesn’t contain some break for the drug or health insurance industry. You only have to look at how long it takes a new drug to get through the system—usually not until the patents on old drugs are about to expire. It’s my business to know how quickly a breakthrough will be approved because it affects my bottom line.”

  “Well, okay, but I have a hard time thinking our government would try to stop a cure for cancer.”

  “Darling, you’re probably right. Believe me, I hope so. But I wouldn’t put it past some fairly senior politico to decide that any significant medical breakthrough needs to be in the hands of the people who’ve donated millions to their campaigns, not some chemist who’s talking about providing invaluable research to the world for free. And you’re right to be troubled by the facts—trouble is, they’re true.”

  The waiter returned with hot crab cakes accompanied by really crispy fries and excellent slaw. No one said much of anything while we gave our food the attention it deserved. But I didn’t stop thinking.

  His point of view had proved my theory. “Walter, you’ve hit the nail on the head. It was Doug’s reference to ‘open source’ that got them all riled up. No one wants to prevent breakthroughs in cancer research, but everyone wants to own it.”

  Clovis, who had been content to listen so far, carefully folded his napkin on the table and said, “You’re forgetting that if marijuana is legalized, even just for research, folks in the liquor and cigarette industries as well as law enforcement will howl like banshees. Those guys have invested a lot of money in keeping marijuana illegal. They sure don’t want anyone with credibility to claim smoking weed cures cancer.”

  Silence. I saw three troubled faces and tried to lighten things up. “Look at it this way. Even if we don’t win, we’ll have a great recipe for ginger snaps.”

  “Dub will probably claim the recipe is one of Doug’s assets and auction it off,” Maggie said, relaxing a little.

  “Seems to me someone needs to give Dub a few of those cookies,” Clovis deadpanned.

  We tried, but our laughs were halfhearted. The waiter returned with dessert menus. No takers—no surprise. Maggie and Walter excused themselves, and Clovis and I were soon ready to go home as well. Clovis wanted to watch the Cardinals game, and I opted for a shower. As the warm stream massaged my back a thought hit me. I’d hoped that Debbie’s presence would make Dub nervous, make him wonder why she was there, maybe cause him to screw up. What might help him slip over the edge? What would distract Dub even more than Debbie? What about a little unexpected publicity?

  TUESDAY

  April 29, 2014

  47

  I WOKE UP early and placed a call to Cheryl Cole, Woody’s former wife, now the host of an evening talk show on Fox News. Cheryl had divorced Woody long ago, but the publicity surrounding the Senator’s murder had given her the chance she needed to emerge from relative obscurity to her new status as host of the moment on talk news. Her ratings exceeded Bill O’Reilly’s, and she used both her obvious charms and her newly unleashed moxie to trap guests from business, politics, and entertainment. To the delight of her audience, once she had lured them into her silken web, she sunk her teeth in; Cheryl had found her calling.

  I knew it wouldn’t be long before she returned my call. Cheryl had invited me to appear on her show several times, but I’d always declined. I’d known her in college, and she kept in touch because she was a beneficiary of a trust I administered. I sent her a check every month, but she always seemed to need an advance. It amazed me how much she could spend, knowing she was getting at least six figures from Fox.

  Clovis appeared in the kitchen before long, silent and clearly out of sorts. I figured he was hungry and suggested breakfast at a favorite place of mine where you sit on stools and watch the cook deal with four orders at once, never mixing up bacon for sausage, scrambled for fried. His specialty was corned beef hash, which made us both happy. It wasn’t long before we both felt better.

  I’d given Clovis an extra office at the foundation to conduct his business. I wanted him to consult with Stella, Micki’s IT person. She’d uncovered something peculiar in Micki’s computers. Clovis knew enough to ask the right questions. I didn’t.

  Maggie was in the office before me, of course. I told her about my call to Cheryl, feeling lucky when she didn’t throw anything at me. Cheryl was not included in Maggie’s social register. But when I explained what I was up to, she agreed that Cheryl would be perfect.

  “All right, but don’t get too close. I don’t buy for a minute that you’re through with Little Rock women, and Cheryl Cole has them all beat by ten furlongs. She’d love to get her fangs into you. Why can’t you go for a woman with a little class, like that schoolteacher in Vermont? What was her name?”

  “Marion South. And it would take a stick of dynamite to get her out of Vermont. Believe me, I tried.”

  “You didn’t try hard enough.” Maggie almost never backed down.

  “Yes, I did—how would you know? And what about Micki? She has cl
ass.”

  “She’s spoken for, or have you forgotten?”

  I was never going to carry this debate. Bless her; Maggie Hen was nothing if not protective, sometimes a little too protective if you asked me.

  “Back to my point. You be careful around Cheryl.” She smiled easily, knowing she’d won. She also knew how far she could push me.

  We got down to business—foundation business. I had to reschedule meetings, take a first look at the new stack of proposals and grant requests on my desk, and an ominous-looking envelope from the IRS, which told us we were being audited. I wasn’t worried. We relied on a good CPA firm who made sure we dotted every “I” and crossed every “T,” but it would be a distraction. Walter had shown a sudden interest in meeting my economist friend, so we were set to join him for lunch at The Bombay Club. My afternoon was still free, but I hoped to hear from Cheryl.

  THE MAN LOUNGING against the meter outside the Bombay Club kept one eye out for the parking cops. All in all he felt pretty good—Maggie was lunching with her friend from the FTC, but she would learn nothing. Patterson and Mathews were clearly engaged in foundation business—why else meet with an economist? Nevertheless, he had reported the meeting to his boss, and he’d soon know if the meeting had anything to do with Dr. Stewart. Jones was another story. He was a tough nut to crack. His boss had told him to pull out all the stops and spare no expense, and he couldn’t help but wonder who was the client writing the checks.

  48

  I WAS LATE for lunch, couldn’t help it. Tag Bettis was an economist I often called upon in antitrust cases. He and Walter were already engaged in a lively discussion about the current state of the economy, economic theory, and what role the Feds should be playing. They managed to order lunch and enjoy excellent tandoori trout with almost no interruption in their conversation. I waited until the waiter brought coffee to focus on the issue at hand.