Chessa thought for a moment. Am I trying to protect my husband? Or is it Leif Mitchell I’m really concerned about? In asking herself that last question, she realized she might be starting to develop some type of feelings for her husband’s archenemy. That bothered her….
Darren was looking at her, waiting for an answer. “You know, exposing this to the public,” Chessa said, “… it’s really personal. And it might make you out to be some type of monster for putting it out there.”
“Well, first of all, I’m only exposing the truth—that Leif Mitchell is a lying, hypocritical imposter who doesn’t deserve to even be in this race. And second….”
Darren stood still, staring at Chessa, his eyes glazed, not really seeing her. He’s hatching one of his brilliant ideas again, she realized, then knew it was true when his eyes cleared and refocused and he smiled at her.
“Chessa, congratulations, you’ve done it again.”
“Done what?”
“Made me think of another great idea. You’re absolutely right. I can’t expose this. Some people might really think I am a monster. But if the press exposes it….” Darren sat on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly stroking his wife’s arm. “Now, who do we know that’s a reporter with a major newspaper?” Darren pretended to concentrate, knitting his brows. “I’ve got it! Amy Darlington!”
Chessa smiled despite herself. “She would love a story like that, wouldn’t she?” Chessa could picture her best friend tackling the story like a shark smelling blood. But her concern for Leif quickly overshadowed her delight for her best friend, and warning bells sounded somewhere in her distant conscience.
Darren continued, excited about his scheme. “Do you think you could talk to her? I don’t think it’s appropriate if I call and tell her. She’ll be skeptical if it comes from me. But you—she’ll believe you, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate the lead. This could be a big story for her.”
Since when did he start caring about Amy? Chessa wondered. He’s right though. Amy will be thankful for a story like this.
Chessa suddenly felt like she had an angel and devil sitting on her right and left shoulders.
“If it is true, then just like Amy always says, the American people have a right to know, don’t they?” The little devil whispered in her ear. “Besides, you’re married to Darren, not Leif. Of course, if you want to give in to your lust….”
“It’s not lust but love,” the tiny angel whispered back. “Love for doing what’s right. Love for your fellow man. And yes, love for this man who you hardly know but who you believe to be the best candidate to lead this country. Your country. He’s a man after God’s own heart, unlike your husband….”
“But then you are still married and if your husband wins, you will be First Lady don’t forget. Besides, it won’t be worth fighting your husband over now, will it?”
The little devil does have a point, Chessa thought, figuratively whisking the pesky characters off her shoulders, deciding to act of her own volition. And if my husband wins I will be able to do lots of good in the world, she reminded herself. So perhaps the end this one time would justify the means…
Chessa trusted that Amy, more than anyone, would get all the facts and would be accurate and fair in her coverage.
“Okay.”
“So why don’t we celebrate under the covers, my lady?” Darren leaned toward her, kissing her cheek, lips, and neck.
Chessa really wasn’t in the mood, but it had been a long time, even months, since she and her husband had been intimate. He is being awfully sweet and romantic, she reasoned. Even though his breath smells like champagne. Better than whiskey or beer though. Chessa forced all other thoughts out of her head and focused on pleasing him.
Chessa met Amy at a designated time and place in a secluded spot in the middle of Central Park. It was cloudy, cold, and windy for an early October afternoon, and there weren’t too many people about since those who weren’t in school or at work would usually stay indoors in this weather. Chessa was accompanied by a bodyguard, who was assigned to her by the Secret Service since she was the wife of a presidential candidate and it was getting close to the election. The man in the suit stood casually watching from several yards away, trying not to attract any undue attention as he had been instructed in his training and by Chessa herself.
So anyone who happened to walk or jog by saw only a young white woman—indistinguishable because she was wearing sunglasses and her head was covered by the hood of her jacket—and a nondescript young black woman embrace and then sit on a park bench chatting.
Chessa had briefed Amy by phone. She figured sending an e-mail would be too dangerous, and kept her conversation brief, saying she had a possible lead on a news story that would potentially make very big headlines, and that she had documented proof that she had to show her in person. Besides, Chessa said, it had been way too long since she had seen her old friend anyway. But Chessa also warned her that she had to stay incognito, since it pertained to the election.
When Chessa handed Amy a copy of the same paper the intern had shown Pete Connor, the New York Times reporter couldn’t stifle her surprise and let out a loud whistle.
Chessa uncomfortably asked her friend to “act natural.”
“If this is for real, this is huge,” Amy whispered.
“It’s definitely real.” Chessa suddenly felt a nauseating sickness rise up within her, and for a moment she wanted to snatch the paper back, tear it up, say it was all a mistake. But it was too late.
“Just be careful. And for God’s sake, please don’t say it came from me. You promise, right?”
“Yes. If…when I verify that this is legit, it won’t matter who gave it to me. And of course I’ll protect you. But now I’m curious. Why wouldn’t Darren want to jump on this?”
“Oh, he will all right. He just didn’t want to be the one to leak it. He figured it should get objective coverage. And he thought you might want to have the first crack at it—you know, get the scoop.”
Amy laughed. “Yeah, maybe I’ll be promoted to editor-in-chief. Except I like being a reporter and wouldn’t want that job no matter how much they paid me. But you’re right, I just love getting the scoop and exposing the truth. And yeah, getting my byline on the front page every once in a while is good for a girl’s ego. Maybe I’ll even get a raise. Thank you.”
The two women stood and hugged again and then parted company, walking in opposite directions. Chessa’s bodyguard stayed a safe distance behind so as not to draw attention to her.
The same nauseating feeling hit Chessa in the gut as she sat in her living room watching the news two nights later.
“… abortion paper signed by his wife.” The television reporter was live outside the governor’s mansion in Kentucky and was almost breathless with excitement in her delivery. “Prior to the revelation of the document, Governor Mitchell has claimed his wife, Wendy, lost their baby and has since vehemently spoken out against abortion as part of his platform.
“Governor Mitchell had no comment when we tried to question him on the matter. But we do have his opponent, presidential candidate Senator Darren Richards, who is live in our New York studio to comment on this latest breaking news.” Chessa suddenly saw her husband sitting next to the female news anchor at the network news station. “Senator?”
“Well, I think the facts speak for themselves,” Darren said with earnestness. “It will be preposterous now if the American people can vote for a man who deceived them, who is clearly hypocritical, who doesn’t practice what he preaches. It makes me wonder if his whole candidacy has just been a sham from the start….”
Reporters in the field came on next with spokespeople from both parties to give their viewpoints. Then the female anchor came back on. “With the election only weeks away, I don’t see how Leif Mitchell can possibly recover from this,” she said conclusively.
CHAPTER 14
Leif was going over some financial statements at his desk in his private office in
the governor’s mansion when Logan Reese stormed through the door without knocking.
Logan slammed the New York Times down on the desk in front of Leif, who looked up, startled. Leif had never seen Logan angry before, so he was shocked to see his loyal campaign manager visibly enraged at him.
“How could you let this happen?” Logan barked in a shrill voice. “You have betrayed us.”
Leif stood up, stunned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” While he was Logan’s boss, in effect, he had always treated Logan as an equal. In turn, Logan had stood by Leif as his chief supporter and friend for many years, just as he had when they were kids. Still, Leif was the governor, and Logan had never raised his voice to him before.
“Just read the headline.”
Leif looked down at the front page of the New York Times and saw the big black letters, taking a few moments to comprehend them. “Leif Mitchell’s Wife Had Abortion.”
“It’s all over the Internet too. Why didn’t you tell us?” Logan’s tone changed from angry to disappointed, sad, resigned, and he stood staring at Leif from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, the servant looking to his master for an answer that would save them all. “Is it true?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. And I didn’t tell you because it was personal. I had nothing to do with Wendy’s decision. In fact—and you must keep this to yourself—Martin Greene talked her into it while I was away in Israel, when he wanted me out of the picture. He basically framed me to talk her into it by telling her I had an affair over there, which, of course, wasn’t true.”
Logan’s boyish face reddened. “That son of a—”
“He told her I was fooling around with the Prime Minister’s daughter, then talked her into the abortion and the divorce,” Leif continued. “She came unglued. I wasn’t even in the country when she had it, and we can prove that by the dates on the documents. But I guess none of that really matters now.” Leif bowed his head in silence for a moment. What matters is the damage this is going to cause—to Wendy, to Jordan, even to Martin and Carol. I gave them all my word I’d protect them.”
“I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through.” Logan’s voice was sincerely compassionate but then his resentment returned. “But Leif, what about us? Are you going to just give up? You have thousands—no, millions—of people who have supported you, who are counting on you.”
Leif looked up from his reverie. Like Logan, Leif had never been prone to showing his emotions, but now a righteous fury started to fill the reservoir of sadness and regret within him. He picked up the front page of the paper and tore it in two.
“Of course I’m not going to give up.”
He picked up his cell phone and called Jordan, who had been campaigning in his home state of Georgia. “I just saw it too,” Leif said, hearing that Jordan had just received news of the story and had been blindsided by reporters right after his campaign appearance. “I’m sorry. We will fix this. How is Wendy?”
Jordan had informed Leif that he had quickly called his mother, who had told him she gently broke the news to Wendy, and that his sister was going to be staying at home with them at the White House for a few days until the media storm passed.
“Good, thank you; she will need to be watched. Right now we need to get together and come up with a plan. How soon can you get here?”
Jordan said he would get on the next plane to Kentucky.
“Great, I’ll see you then.” Leif looked at Logan, who was standing in front of his desk looking confused but hopeful.
“Don’t just stand there,” Leif ordered. “I need you to rally every single campaign staffer and bring them here as soon as possible. We’ll have more room here than at the headquarters. We’re going to fight this, and we’re going to win. I’m sure Darren Richards was behind this, and by God, I will make him pay.”
Leif was inspiring to many youths with his music, and as a result was able to recruit many passionate young people from college campuses. Many were students who were going after their political science degrees and wanted to intern to gain experience. Most were not only eager to help but extremely intelligent. So he had his own batch of bright interns.
The Committee to Elect Leif Mitchell leaders, headed up by Logan Reese, channeled the students’ energy into investigating anything and everything about Darren Richards—his childhood, background, family, friends, work, military and political endeavors—including anything that might unlock a potential scandal for Leif to use if needed.
And from this band of college campaign warriors soon came the key to his revenge.
One of the most exceptional interns, who was double-majoring in science and government at Columbia, had been on the team investigating RA Technologies.
There were just three-and-a-half weeks left before the election on the day Logan called Leif and Jordan into the new campaign headquarters conference room in a wing of the governor’s mansion and shut the door behind them. The student, known only as Charlie, sat at the end of the long conference table to tell them his findings.
“We’ve discovered something important.” Charlie, a tall, gangly young man wearing a Columbia sweatshirt and jeans, sipped on a can of energy drink. He looked disheveled and haggard for his young age, as if he had been up all night, but his eyes glittered with excitement. He pulled a sheaf of papers from his worn backpack. “It’s all right here, but I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve found out that there’s been an increase—a huge increase—in the shipments of oocytes, or human eggs, coming into the labs at RA over the past year.”
“And why is this important?” Leif asked. “Excuse me, but you’ll have to fill us in.”
Leif, Logan and Jordan were all aware of the debate over the ethics of stem cell research. The Mitchell for President campaign had included rhetoric that called for resurrecting stricter regulations on providing federal funding for it under laws that had been passed in 2001 but were abolished eight years later under the Obama administration.
But Leif was largely unaware, as were Jordan and Logan, with so many other issues in the forefront, of the recent proliferation of human egg harvesting in the US, and of the growing outcry against it.
Charlie was a fountain of knowledge on the subject, however, as he had written his dissertation for his doctorate on it. He told the men gathered that he had become engaged in the topic when he noticed flyers on campus enticing female students to “help a good cause and make money” to help fund their education at the same time. Upon further research, Charlie found out college campuses were ripe with female students engaging in the process of donating their eggs not only for in vitro fertilization to help infertile couples get pregnant, but for scientific research involving cloning. In fact, sometimes the young women donors didn’t know or care why or to whom they were donating—just so they got paid, which often amounted to about five thousand dollars per donation.
“It’s all over the Internet.” Charlie said. Then he added he had discovered that a friend who had talked to him for his paper about going through the process ended up having some serious side effects. And he found out she wasn’t alone.
Charlie outlined the process, apologizing ahead of time for using so much scientific jargon. “The average woman only produces one egg a month. In order to build up her egg supply for maximum collection, a donor goes through a process called hyper-ovarian stimulation, a procedure in which she takes large doses of hormones that over-stimulate her ovaries into producing approximately a dozen eggs.
“The eggs are then extracted by a long suctioning needle, which is guided into each ovary using a tube attached to an ultrasound probe inserted into the vagina. Donors are given anesthesia, and usually stay in the clinic for one or two hours following the surgery.”
Jordan spoke up in a soft voice. “So, I’m afraid to ask—what are the side effects?”
“Most girls experience fluid buildup, cramps, the same symptoms as a bad period. But some—usually about one in ten—suffer from what they call ovarian hyper-stim
ulation syndrome or OHSS.”
“And what happens to them?” Logan asked.
“The drugs they use to stimulate the ovaries can sometimes cause permanent damage,” Charlie said quietly. “Some have to have their ovaries removed and can no longer have children of their own. What’s more, since egg retrieval involves surgery, these girls can suffer damage to other organs like their kidneys, bladder, bowel or uterus. There have been many women who end up with serious infections, and even some who have died.”
“It sounds like the money’s not worth it. Why would these girls possibly take those kinds of risks?” Logan spoke up, baffled.
“A lot of times they’re not told the truth about the side effects.” Charlie sadly shook his head. “My friend was only told to sign the papers, and that there would be only mild discomfort and minimal risk involved at the clinic she went to.”
“So what happened?” Leif and Logan asked at the same time.
“She donated her eggs several times over the course of two years. She also wasn’t informed that the risks increase the more you donate. She was saving to finish college since her parents had divorced and couldn’t afford to send her any longer. Her ovaries developed cysts and had to be removed, and now she’s no longer able to have children of her own one day.” Charlie sighed. “She was devastated.”
“And all of this is legal.” Leif made the statement with disgust. “And these women apparently still volunteer. So how is that going to help us bring down RA Technologies and Darren Richards?”
“Egg donations made by US women aren’t nearly enough to conduct the research being done at RA,” Charlie responded. “It’s all about the numbers. There are only sixty million childbearing females in the US, and of course only a fraction will donate their eggs. Average estimates suggest that at least one hundred human eggs are needed to create just one stem cell line. The number of eggs necessary for stem cell research is astronomical.
The Peace Maker Page 20
