Ginger snaps, p.28
Ginger Snaps, page 28
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 wel-
come 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 facili-
tate 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
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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 it s 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 appli-
cations 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.
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“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 what-
ever 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 busi-
ness, 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 repre-
sentative of the Drug Czar’s office met with Pulaski County’s sheriff,
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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?”
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46
D
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 sit-
ting 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 gov-
ernment 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 econo-
mist friend tomorrow.”
“The answer’s simple—enormous. Medically, it would be more sig-
nificant than the polio vaccine and possibly bigger than the discovery
of penicillin. A huge segment of our economy is dedicated to the treat-
ment 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?”
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“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 per-
spective.
“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 com-
pany 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 irri-
tated. 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 sig-
nificant medical breakthrough needs to be in the hands of the people
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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 auc-
tion 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?
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tuESdAy
April 29, 2014
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47
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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 rela-
tive 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
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uncovered something peculiar in Micki’s computers. Clovis knew
