Empty Promises

by Edwin Dasso

  “I think you’re right. They’re supposed to be the watchdogs—responsible for protecting the consumer from unsafe drugs.”

  “Well, there’s not even a hint of any complications being reported in any of the study reports I’ve been able to find. With as bad a reaction as Hank had, I can’t believe it was an isolated experience among the participants.”

  Smithson snorted. “Sounds like the watchdog is napping on this one.”

  “Or got a big bone from somebody.” Jack saved the search results in a file. “The possible lack of FDA oversight concerns me—I want to dig into it a little more.” He flipped his laptop closed and looked at Smithson. “What do you say we call it a night? We’ve been at this for hours and I’m getting cross-eyed from staring at the computer screen.”

  “I think that sounds like an excellent idea—see ya in the a.m., Jack.”

  Jack watched George leave the room then snatched up his laptop and carried it into his bedroom. He fluffed up a pillow against the headboard and plopped down, making himself comfortable, then set his computer on his lap and popped it open.

  “I have a hunch—let’s see if I can find any corroborative information.”

  Jack searched local newspaper obituaries from towns where there was a VA hospital and a Greater American Pain & Spine clinic. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for but assumed he’d recognize a concerning pattern if there was one.

  “Bingo!” he said after about an hour of searching.

  He’d found an obituary for a vet in one of those towns. The snippet stated that the family had lost track of the man for several years after his return from several sequential deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. The ex-soldier had been awarded three Purple Hearts for wounds he’d received during these battleground tours. Jack shook his head slowly when he read that the man had recently been found dead in an alley. Apparent narcotic overdose was listed as the probable cause of death.

  “Jesus!” Jack muttered. “That’s not right!”

  He located a follow-up “human interest” article in the same newspaper about vets who became estranged from friends and family after their discharge from the military. When asked during an interview, members of this vet’s family vehemently denied he was an addict. That piqued Jack’s interest. He broadened his search to look for veteran deaths that appeared to be related to narcotic overdose or uncertain cause of death. A number of the vets had also apparently suffered from PTSD. Often, there didn’t appear to be any autopsy report for the deceased, even if the cause of death was uncertain.

  “That makes no damn sense at all,” he grumbled. “And goes against convention…not to mention, the law.”

  Many of the ex-soldiers’ bodies were found in isolated or back-alley locations. When searching newspapers in the locales of these deaths, he ran across an article about a “apparent epidemic of veteran overdose deaths.” Jack scooted up in his bed as he focused intently on this article. For each suspicious death listed, he recorded it on a map of the U.S. Several geographic clusters quickly became apparent.

  “Sonofabitch! Somebody, please, tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing,” he muttered.

  He toggled his laptop screen back to the map where he’d pegged Greater American Pain & Spine facility locations.

  Okay—now to cross-reference all of this. He toggled back-and-forth several times. Damn! This correlates too tightly to be coincidence, Jack thought then shuddered. This is starting to make the hairs on my neck stand up. The VA may be sponsoring the Greater American Pain & Spine study…but I wonder if anybody at the VA is aware of this information?

  He slammed his laptop closed.

  “I guess before I get too pissed off I should bounce this off George and see what he thinks” He tossed his computer aside. “But I think something stinks.”

  He looked at his alarm clock then groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Oh shit! Two a.m.” He flipped the light off and pulled the blankets up over himself. “I’m too damn old to be up this late.”

  Chapter 19

  Jack was waiting at the kitchen table early the next morning when Smithson stumbled through the doorway from the bedroom hallway. Smithson rubbed his face and halted abruptly, his wary gaze shooting from the cup of steaming coffee sitting on the table at his usual spot to Jack’s face.

  “Uh…something tells me you want to talk about something.” He trundled over to the table and dropped into his chair. “You mind if I get a little caffeine into me first?”

  Jack shook his head and grinned. “Nope—that’s why it’s there waiting for you.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Smithson mumbled then picked up his mug and blew across the hot liquid.

  Jack waited for Smithson to take a few more sips then barraged him with his findings from his online search the night before.

  “There are just too many correlations for all of it to be mere coincidence!” Jack said as he concluded.

  “I agree there’s some concerning possibilities but…let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  “I don’t think I am.” Jack sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m ready to go down to VA’s Biomedical Laboratory Research and Development headquarters and tell them what I think is going on with this damn study. Ask them if they’re aware of all these veteran deaths that I think are related to that study.”

  “Uh, I don’t know…I think we should explore a little further—”

  “I disagree! If nobody has good answers down there, I’m ready to start kicking some asses for them not paying attention to that study!”

  Smithson cringed and gazed into Jack’s eyes. “Slow down, Jack—especially before you start knocking heads. Okay?”

  Jack glanced at Smithson then stared straight ahead. “I do agree with you on one point—you should keep your distance. Leave this to me.” Jack puffed out a long, loud sigh. “I hate to say it, but…this is starting to look like it may be another one of my hornet nests. I don’t want you getting sucked in.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay away—”

  “You know I can’t do that, George!” Jack jumped from his chair and began pacing rapidly. “This put Hank’s life at risk; I can’t look the other way. Then there’re all the other vets who may have actually died from being part of this,” he snorted derisively, “study. You let me look into it—you just keep an eye on Amanda for me.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this. What do you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know yet… I just know I need to keep you and Amanda as far from it as possible. I’ve got Hank and Wes if I need backup.”

  “I wouldn’t count on Hank just yet.” Smithson put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I understand why this is getting under your skin, Jack, but, please…calm down. Like I said, let’s nose around a little more—let me make some calls before you stir things up. Please.”

  Jack stared at Smithson briefly then slowly nodded. “All right…but I’m not waiting long. In the meantime, I’ll make some calls, too. Maybe we can compare notes later this week.”

  Smithson patted Jack’s shoulder. “I think that would be better.”

  Jack glanced quickly at the wall clock. “Whoa! I gotta get over to the hospice—I’m already late for my shift.” He stopped at the door and turned back to Smithson. “By the way, do you know how Hank’s doing? I haven’t seen much of him.”

  Smithson frowned. “It’s touch-and-go. I’m keeping a close eye on him—any signs of him slipping back into using and I’m dragging him to a rehab facility.”

  “But we promised—”

  “Screw what we promised! I’m not letting him fall back into being an addict!”

  Jack nodded slowly. “Okay, George. I can’t argue with that.”

  * * *

  That Afternoon

  “I was an army medical corps colonel so you can save your slick talk for somebody else—I want some answers, goddammit!” Jack yelled into the phone. His jaw dropped when he hea
rd the distinctive click of the call being disconnected. He slammed the phone down in its cradle.

  “You sonofabitch! How dare you hang up on me! You are supposed to be there to support veterans, not ignore them.”

  Jack glared around the cubby hole he now called an office at the hospice, his gaze finally falling on his phone again.

  “Guess I might as well call George and see if he’s had any luck.”

  “Hey, Jack,” Smithson answered after one ring. “What’s up?”

  “Well, since I’ve been running into nothing but brick walls all day—lousy VA bureaucratic stonewallers—I thought I’d give you a buzz and see if you’re doing any better.”

  “If you’ve been talking to them like this, I think I can see why you might not be getting anywhere.”

  “Like what? What are you saying?”

  “Well…I’m just saying that since your…death, you’ve become a little…bristly, that’s all. No judgement, just an observation.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “You see that—right there!” Smithson snapped. “That’s what I’m talking about, Jack.” Smithson sighed. “Look, we both know brain injuries can change people’s personalities—especially toward a more combative demeanor. You know that’s a fact. You’re not Superman. Like it or not, things can affect you just like everybody else.” There was silence for several seconds. “Maybe you should bring it up with Brent on your next visit.”

  “Yeah, sure, George.” Jack frowned. “Maybe I’ll do that. The reason I called, though, was to see if you’ve made any headway calling your contacts.”

  “Not much…other than getting a few VA administrators a little rattled, that is. I could tell I hit a nerve with a couple of them when I asked if they were aware of all the narcotic overdose deaths of veterans in their city. I swear I heard the one guy start choking.”

  “Yeah? Did you ask them about any drug experiments taking place at their facility? Experiments with a high complication rate?”

  “I didn’t exactly approach it that way. I tried to use a little more…finesse.”

  Jack was silent for several seconds. “I think you’re trying to make a point again…”

  “Maybe—just promise me you’ll talk to Brent about what I said. I’d hate to see you act this way around Amanda.”

  “I will, I will,” Jack replied impatiently. “Did you ask these administrators if they knew whether Greater American Pain & Spine had done full disclosures of the risks to vets they were trying to enroll in a drug study? You know—tell them the drug could kill them?”

  “Again—not quite in that fashion.”

  Jack huffed. “So, do you think you learned anything useful then?”

  “Yes…I do. They did give me the runaround, but eventually, it was clear enough that a couple of them had some knowledge of a drug study being conducted at their facility. Whether he’d admit it outright or not, I think at least one was aware of an inordinate number of narcotic overdose deaths in the local vet population. Doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. I think my call drove a point home—we’re onto what’s happening.”

  “That’s great, George! I think you’ll find this interesting. When I called the medical examiner’s offices to try to get some info about autopsies not being done on a number of these vet ‘overdose’ cases, I got nothing but vague answers. I got so frustrated I asked one of them if I could come down there and do the damn autopsy myself!”

  Smithson groaned. “And how did that work out for you?”

  “Not well!”

  “No shit?” Smithson mumbled, barely audibly.

  “Anyway, they said that wouldn’t be possible because the bodies had been cremated already. Cremated! What the hell is up with that? When I asked if that was per the family’s request, they friggin’ just hung up on me! Can you believe that?”

  “Uh…yeah. Well, if nothing else, I think we can assume there’s some kind of organized activity going on—and it’s not boding well for some veterans.”

  “Damn straight!”

  “Hey, Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How about I do the rest of the investigating that involves talking to people? You know—just until after you’ve had a chance to talk with Brent. I feel like maybe you’re getting some doors slammed in your face just because of your, uh, approach.”

  Jack was silent for several seconds. “Okay. Message received. A good patient always listens to their doctor.”

  “Good. I was hoping you’d see it that way. Let’s catch up tonight at home.”

  Chapter 20

  “After I talked with General Smithson, I called a couple of my colleagues at other VA facilities where Greater American Pain & Spine is doing your study,” the VA facility Chief of Staff said. “One of them said Smithson had called him, too. Smithson is supposed to be pretty well-connected in D.C. and the Pentagon. The other guy had been called by some doctor by the name of Bass, also an ex-army medical corps doctor.” He groaned. “I don’t mind telling you I’m a little spooked, Mr. Schanlon—high-powered medical corps officers nosing around about a study that’s supposed to be secret. It’s bad news!”

  “We knew all along that we couldn’t really keep it a ‘secret’ if we were recruiting vets to participate. I think you’re getting too worked up about nothing.”

  “I don’t agree! There’s more! I about fell out of my chair when Smithson asked me about the dead veterans who had been found in some downtown alleys around here. Shit! If he and that Bass guy find out those dead vets were in the study we’re sponsoring for you, I’ll be in deep kimchi! People will ask me why I wasn’t aware of the deaths—why I didn’t halt the study!” He huffed loudly. “I’m ready to cut and run!”

  “I don’t think so—I’ve already paid you your blood money. You’ll stay with it until I tell you you’re done,” Schanlon snarled. “You said it was a Dr. Smithson and some guy named Bass?”

  “Yep. Jack Bass. Both were high-ranking, army medical corps brass when they were active duty.”

  “Why did you even talk with Smithson?”

  “I wasn’t given a choice! My chief administrator is apparently an old pal of his. Told me I had to talk with Smithson—give him a meeting if he wanted.”

  “Got it—thanks for calling and letting me know.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  Schanlon didn’t respond, slowly replacing his phone on its rack, staring at it for several seconds.

  “Well, Drs. Smithson and Bass—who are you…and why are you so interested in our VA studies?” He slapped his desk hard. “And, more importantly, how the hell did you uncover our little project?” He jabbed his intercom button.

  “Alain, get your ass in here! I need you to do some sniffing around for me—something right up the alley for a gossip like you.”

  Schanlon’s secretary rushed into the office, notepad in hand. “Yes, Mr. Schanlon—what can I do for you?” he asked breathlessly.

  Schanlon frowned at him. “Don’t ever wear that ugly shirt again, for one thing. You look like a goddam peacock.”

  Alain rolled his eyes dramatically. “Of course, Mr. Schanlon. What else can I do for you—or is that all you called me in here for?” he asked, making no effort to conceal his sarcasm.

  “I need you to Google a couple of clowns for me—find out all you can about them. Especially any connections they might have with the VA hospital system.”

  Alain sat for a short time then huffed impatiently. “And are you going to give me their names, or shall I just read your mind?”

  Schanlon’s gaze darted to Alain. “Bass. Jack Bass, I believe. The other guy is a General Smithson. They’re both ex-military docs—seem to have connections to some people in the VA. They’ve got a couple of my study administrators all in a tizzy.” He jabbed a finger at Alain. “I want your results this afternoon.”

  Alain rolled his eyes again. “Of course! Let me just get out my pixie dust and make it all magically appe
ar.”

  Schanlon jabbed his finger at Alain again. “You know, you can be a real smartass sometimes.”

  “Well, only when you’re a pain in my ass,” Alain lampooned. He straightened his shirt, stood, and strutted out of the office, his nose in the air.

  Schanlon smirked, admiring Alain’s hips as he watched him leave.

  * * *

  That Evening, Schanlon’s Office

  “Ew—this is not good,” Schanlon said, reviewing the email he’d received from Alain. It outlined in significant detail the histories of Jack and Smiths. “What’s gotten these two doctors so interested in my little study?”

  He flopped forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk, then turned his face to his office door.

  “Alain!” he yelled.

  “You know you have an intercom on your desk, right?” Alain yelled back.

  “Shut up and find my security assistant. Tell him to get his ass up here. Now!” Schanlon bellowed.

  Schanlon glanced fleetingly at the trim man in his mid-thirties who appeared at his office door after a few minutes, admiring his high level of fitness, apparent even in his business suit.

  “Chip, I don’t understand why you wear those stupid sunglasses inside,” Schanlon groused.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you’re not going to take them off, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Schanlon huffed loudly. “Whatever! I just sent you an email about a couple of guys I want you to keep an eye on. I don’t like the way they’re nosing around. Get to know them…but don’t get too close…yet. Report back to me if they do anything you feel might…interfere in any way with our new project. ¿Comprende?”