Living Proof

by Peter J Thompson

  “It’s microfilm. Do you know how to use this?”

  Lena nodded her head. “Sure. I’ve done it before.”

  She accepted the package and headed over to a table with a microfilm viewer in the corner of the room. She threaded the film into the machine and flipped on the light. She turned the knob, advancing the film to its title page: Strategic Arms Subcommittee – Armed Services Committee – U S Senate – October 2005.

  Still nervous, Lena looked up and scanned the room again. Nothing seemed unusual or out of place. The people in the room all appeared to belong there. They looked like academics or researchers, maybe reporters. No one even glanced at her, and no one appeared to be a threat. She relaxed a little as she turned back to the file and began to read.

  The file was a transcript of the subcommittee’s investigation into complaints of illness from soldiers in the Iraqi campaign. The first part of the file was made up of interviews between the members of the committee and soldiers who were healthy when called up for Operation Iraqi Freedom, but developed health problems since then. Symptoms included fatigue, memory loss, seizures, depression, and paralysis. Lena read reports of this before. Even now, years later, veterans complained of the same symptoms, although the army never acknowledged that there was a problem. Veterans’ groups blamed the their poor health on everything from germ warfare to environmental conditions in Iraq. Lena skimmed through this section. The examples went on and on.

  The next section was taken up by interviews with physicians, restating the symptoms and testifying that there was no medically known basis for the problems. Some theorized that the disorders were mental, some type of stress-induced hysteria. Other doctors said there was a medical basis for the complaints, but they could only guess as to what had caused it. After the first few interviews, Lena skimmed through the rest. There was nothing new here. At least nothing that related to her own concern.

  Lena checked her watch. She’d been in the archives for over an hour. It felt dangerous to be in one place for so long. But if there was something in the file, she had to find it. She ignored the queasiness in her stomach and continued reading.

  The next section was comprised of interviews with army officers. It was in this section that she found what she was looking for.

  Colonel Pope had been called before the committee to testify. The transcripts showed that the questioning was handled entirely by the subcommittee’s chairman, Senator Randall Morgan of Wisconsin. The early part of the testimony was simply a rehash of Pope’s record and what his duties had been leading up to the Iraqi campaign. After that, the transcript got interesting:

  Morgan: So, Colonel what exactly were your responsibilities as part of the invasion force?

  Pope: I was not part of the invasion force, Senator. For this campaign, I was assigned to the medical corps.

  Morgan: The medical corps? Isn’t that unusual, Colonel? Is it normal for a combat officer like yourself to work as a medical officer?

  Pope: I am a soldier, sir. I do not waste my time thinking of whether an assignment is normal or not. That was my assignment and I carried it out to the best of my abilities.

  Morgan: Yes, I’m sure you did. According to your records, you have no training in medicine. Is that correct?

  Pope: Yes, that is correct.

  Morgan: Well, I’m a little bit confused. Why would someone with no medical training whatsoever be put in charge of the medical corps for a full-scale military campaign?

  Pope: That was not my decision to make. However, I do not feel that this is unusual in the least. You see, Senator, my position is to be a leader of men. There is little difference between leading infantry and managing doctors.

  Morgan: Yes. I have another document here, Colonel. This is a transcript of a speech you gave to the War College at West Point back in December of ‘2001. Do you recall that speech?

  Pope: Yes, I do recall it, in a vague way.

  Morgan: If I can refresh your memory of it, Colonel, the speech was in regards to biological warfare. You called for a program of, if I can quote you here, ‘prevention and containment.’ Your plan was to develop a series of vaccines. Is that correct?

  Pope: That was what I stated in that speech. That is correct, Senator.

  Morgan: Did you move forward with this proposal, Colonel?

  Pope: That is entirely beyond the scope of this investigation, Senator. The issues you are bringing up are matters of strategic importance. I see no reason to discuss them further.

  Morgan: Were you involved in any experiments with biological warfare at any time during this campaign?

  Pope: That is an absurd question, Senator. Of course I was involved in nothing of the kind.

  Morgan: Did you set up a program of vaccinations while acting as a medical officer during Desert Storm?

  Pope: Vaccines were administered. That is standard procedure when operating in any foreign theatre.

  Morgan: Were you using a new vaccine tailored for the possibility of germ warfare in this conflict?

  Pope: I have nothing further to add to these proceedings. Good day, Senator. Good day, gentlemen.

  Morgan: Sit back down, Colonel. You haven’t been excused. Colonel, sit back down or you will be ordered to—Colonel… let the record show that Colonel Pope has walked out of the subcommittee chamber. I would like to issue an official rebuke through his commanding officer and have him called back at the earliest possible opportunity.

  Lena sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. She looked around the room again. Nothing had changed. She turned back to the viewer and quickly searched through the rest of the file. Pope was never called back to the committee and his name wasn’t mentioned again. She took the film off the machine and got ready to go.

  Now it was all making sense.

  Ramon waited outside. At first, he stayed in the car, but the longer he waited, the more anxious he felt. After half an hour of sitting, he got out of the car and paced along the sidewalk, trying to stay where he could keep an eye on the building’s entrance. Why was it taking so long? The longer she was in there, the more dangerous it was. Being out on the sidewalk was dangerous too, but he couldn’t sit still. He felt like he’d explode.

  Ramon took a deep breath and tried to relax, but he couldn’t. They were still alive, both he and Lena, but there was a trail of blood in their wake. And it was all his fault. If Lena hadn’t called Philip, the two roommates would still be alive. If Ramon hadn’t contacted Lena, her editor would still be alive and Lena would be free. In the end, it all came down on his shoulders. The blood was on his hands.

  But at each step along the way, it seemed to Ramon, he’d had no choice. When he’d been a guinea pig at the Installation, all he wanted was the chance to be free. But his pursuers were determined to prevent that. Something horrible was going on at the Installation and somehow he was at the center of it. He didn’t know everything, but he knew too much. His tormentors wouldn’t let him disappear. They wouldn’t rest until he was dead and buried. Well, he wasn’t dead yet. If there was anything he could do to bring them down, he had to do it.

  Ramon walked slowly at the edge of the sidewalk, keeping his gaze down, avoiding eye contact. It had been two hours since Lena went into the building. He knew it didn’t make sense, but he had an urge to go inside, just to make sure she was safe. He was headed toward the building’s entrance when Lena came out onto the street. Seeing him, she walked toward him.

  “You’ve been in there too long. We need to get out of here,” he said.

  “I know.”

  They quickly made their way back to the car. Ramon started it and they pulled out in the street and blended in with traffic. It felt good to be moving again. Inside the car, he felt safe and protected. He checked his mirrors, nothing seemed out of place.

  “I was worried. You were in there a long time.”

  “I found what we were looking for.” Lena’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “There was a missing piece and I think I found it.”
She twisted around in her seat as she talked. “Colonel Pope gave a speech planning a preventive vaccine program way back in 2001. It looks like the army staff liked the concept. I think Pope was the head of a vaccines program that they tried in the Iraq war—but something went wrong. Most of the soldiers who received the vaccine turned out fine. But some of the soldiers developed a kind of neurological disease.”

  Ramon nodded his head. “It came from the vaccine?”

  “This was all hushed up of course. The army never acknowledged the problem. But they sent Pope in front of this committee and let him take the blame. Pope was the scapegoat and that’s why his career stalled. That should have been the end of it, only we know he’s doing it again on a much bigger scale. The army brass must be behind it. This has to be a sanctioned project, otherwise he’d never have the funding to run the operation after the problems he had before.”

  Ramon kept his eyes on the road. “So we can’t go to anyone in the army.”

  “No. That explains how they’ve been able to manipulate everything. There’s a lot of power behind this.”

  “So we’re still in the same place we were before. Who can we turn to?”

  Lena hesitated for a moment before she talked.

  “The senator who ran the committee really seemed to have it in for Pope. He’d have the power to stop it. Maybe if we can get him to believe us. It’s Senator Randall Morgan.”

  Ran-dall-Mor-gan. Ramon kept his eyes on the road as the Capitol building came into view.

  22

  The sun silhouetted the dome in a blaze of orange. It was late afternoon and the grounds were crowded with people who had made this their last stop for the day. Families and small groups of sightseers clustered along the Capitol steps, posing for snapshots with the building as a backdrop. Charter buses were lined up on the street, dropping off loads of tourists. Uniformed policeman paced casually about, maintaining order and watching for signs of trouble.

  As Ramon walked up the white stone steps leading to the east entrance, it felt as if a target was strapped to his back. Lena walked beside him, the way she moved told him that she felt the same way. It was crazy. They were back in the news—wanted for murders in two states—and here they were, walking out in the open, in the middle of a crowd, where anyone could see them. He felt a tickle at the back of his neck, a feeling they were being watched. But that was just paranoid thinking—justified, but still paranoid. They were vulnerable out here in the open, but there was really no choice. If this was ever going to end, they needed to take drastic action. And contacting Senator Morgan was the only option that made any sense.

  If people were looking at them, it was because they looked ridiculously like tourists. On the way over, they’d stopped at a souvenir stand. They were dressed in matching “I Love Washington” shirts and hats. They came to the top of the steps and queued into the line to get inside. Ramon glanced around. There were people of every race, age, and nationality there, dressed in every manner. Some of them had cameras hanging from their necks, others had their cell phone cameras out. Typical tourists. He hoped he and Lena fit in.

  As the line fed through the doorway, everyone had to pass through a metal detector. Guards on each side eyed visitors as they came through. Ramon turned to Lena. She was nearly shaking. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  She gave a tight smile and nodded her head. “I’ll be okay.”

  When their turn came, the guards hardly noticed them. They walked through the metal detectors and into the Rotunda, the great circular hallway that opened into the wings for the House and the Senate. Red velvet ropes cordoned them off along the side walls. Large oil paintings of historic events hung from the walls. The sounds of the people talking in the gallery seemed to echo, reverberating off the stone walls and marble floors. Ramon looked up. The Capitol Dome towered above them. It was a huge space.

  “His office is on the second floor,” Lena said. “We need to get up there without attracting attention.”

  A red-jacketed tour guide was moving forward, a string of tourists following behind. Ramon and Lena fell into line and joined the group. They walked through the gallery, pausing at different paintings or statues while the guide laid out the history of the building. A few people looked at them curiously. One person glared. But no one spoke and no one approached them. It wasn’t long before the guide led the party up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, as the group turned to go down a hallway, Ramon and Lena hung back. They were on their own.

  The space here was a mixture of offices and meeting rooms. There were hallways leading off of hallways; the building had a chopped-up feel to it. The fixtures were old and ornate, with carved wood and chandeliers in the hall. It took a few minutes of wandering before they found Senator Morgan’s office. The door was frosted glass and wood with Morgan’s name printed on the outside. Ramon took a deep breath. This was it. It was time to come clean. He turned the knob and they went in.

  As they opened the door, they were greeted with the smell of fresh paint. The room was near overflowing; a cluttered office with too many people and too much stuff in the small space. A dark-haired receptionist sat at a desk facing the door. There were two other desks off to the side. A tight-featured woman sat at the back desk, and a thin man with a weaselly face sat at the front. He fidgeted with a pack of cigarettes as he spoke into his headpiece. A drop cloth with painter’s equipment was piled up against the wall. One wall was freshly painted, the others sorely needed it. Papers and files covered every inch of the desks and were stacked haphazardly about the office. There was an aisle in between the desks that provided just enough room to walk through. Even with all the computer screens, the office seemed old and inefficient. At the far edge of this room, a wall jutted out to show the outline of a back office. Its door was closed.

  The receptionist looked up. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, we need to see Senator Morgan,” Lena said.

  “Do you have an appointment?” The cool tone of her voice said she knew they didn’t.

  “No, but it’s urgent that we see him.”

  “I’m sorry, but the senator has a very busy schedule. He’s not able to see anyone without an appointment.”

  “But this is important.”

  “Are you a constituent?”

  The weaselly-faced man looked up as he continued his conversation.

  Lena grasped her hands together nervously, “No, we’re not. And I can understand how busy he is. But he needs to see us.” She quickly jotted a note on a piece of paper and thrust it at the receptionist. “Could you please tell him that this is in regard to Colonel Pope and senate document #91-45688b.”

  “Look, I’m sorry…”

  “He will want to see us.” Lena spoke forcefully. The change in tone surprised Ramon. “Please give him that message.”

  The receptionist looked resigned and a little angry. “I’ll give him the message. Who can I say is here to see him?”

  Ramon cut in, “Just give him the message, please.”

  The receptionist went through the door into the back office. The weaselly man kept glancing in their direction but turned away as soon as they looked back, avoiding eye contact. Ramon’s tension increased. Maybe this wasn’t the right plan after all.

  A minute later, the receptionist came back out, an incredulous look on her face. “Please go on back. The senator will see you now.”

  She escorted them to the door to the back office and opened it. Ramon stepped in first and Lena followed. This room was half the size of the outer office but seemed more spacious. It was furnished with only a large paper-strewn, wooden desk and several red leather chairs. Morgan sat behind the desk talking on the phone. As they came in, he gestured for them to sit down.

  Ramon recognized Morgan from the billboard he’d seen in Wisconsin. He had a full head of silver hair, a strong jutting chin, and piercing steel grey eyes that reminded Ramon of a hawk. He sat straight in his chair, but his attitude was relaxed, at
ease with himself and his surroundings. He rubbed a finger over his thin nose as he talked.

  “The way I count it, Harry, you’re still short by three votes, and some of that support is soft …”

  Lena and Ramon sat down to wait while he finished his conversation. Ramon could hear Lena’s breathing, fast and shallow. Her chest rose and fell more quickly than normal. He sensed the stress she was feeling.

  Morgan kept his eyes trained on them while he talked. “…Put me down as a yes. But I expect your help on the parks bill, Harry. This shouldn’t be a partisan matter, it’s good for everyone. I don’t just want it to pass, I want to send a message …” His voice was smooth and comforting.

  Ramon looked around the room. The walls were plastered with so many awards and photographs that hardly an inch of paneling showed. Many of the pictures were of Morgan when he was younger. In one picture, Ramon recognized Morgan in a faded blue work shirt, standing with his arm around Jesse Jackson. Another picture showed a very young Morgan in a suit, standing stiffly, shaking hands with President Johnson. One more recent picture that caught Ramon’s eye was of Morgan, wearing hip-high waders, fishing in the middle of a stream. There were also awards of all kinds. Ramon noticed citations from the Wisconsin Dairy Association, the Sierra Club, and the National Education Association.

  “No, Monday will be fine… Good, I’ll see you then.” Morgan carefully set the phone down in its cradle, leaned back in his chair, and scrutinized their faces. “I understand that you have something urgent to see me about.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lena cut in. “We’re here because we had nowhere else to turn, and you’re in a position to help. We have some information regarding Colonel Lucian Pope and the possibility of biological warfare.”

  Morgan slowly nodded his head. “Yes, Colonel Pope. I saw your note.” He thought for a moment. “But first I need to know who you are.”

  Ramon glanced at Lena. She looked straight at the senator.