Читать книгу The New World Oligarchy: Destroying the United States Through Globalization - John R. Krismer - Страница 8

Chapter 1

A Fresh Start

As Doctor Bill Warner sipped his morning coffee he recalled Susan’s love for the mountains, and even though the fresh snow offered him a different outlook for that day, he still couldn’t look at Pike’s Peak with-out deeply missing her pleasant smile that had greeted him for so many years. And since her murder, he often found himself grieving over those trips into the mountains to see the golden Aspen. As he sat absorbed with these painful thoughts of the past, he recalled when the Catholic Sister’s he’d worked for demanded he and his wife Susan take a fully paid vacation to Hawaii as their gift to him for a job well done. As he thought about that vacation, he remembered how the phone jolted him from a sound sleep, and how completely disoriented he was as he reached out several times before grabbing the phone and finally saying, “Hello?”

“Hi Dad.”

“John? Is that you - is everything all right?” He’d asked, wondering why his son would be calling in the middle of the night, but sensing that something was terribly wrong.

Then John sobbed, “Dad, Kate’s dead.”

“Dead! Oh God no! - John, what’s happened?”

“She drowned in her apartment swimming pool. They tried to revive her at the Hennepin Hospital in Minneapolis - but they couldn’t,” he gasped. “I guess they were able to restart her heart, but only for a short time, and she was pronounced dead at nine-thirty last night. Dad, Donna told me there were abrasions on her head, and that the police were concerned about that.”

Bill recalled how his mind was racing wildly, thinking back to the phone threat he’d received. I … I can’t believe this … what should I do? He’d thought to himself.

“John, where are you?”

“I’m in Texas, but I’m leaving for Minneapolis in about an hour and I don’t know too much about what happened just yet.”

After they’d finished talking, Bill remembered how he and Susan sobbed in each other’s arms, neither one speaking before he finally gathered enough energy to call the airport. Since it was an emergency, they were assigned the next flight that would return them to the mainland, but it seemed like an eternity before they were able to finally sit down with their three children and talk as a family at Kate’s apartment. Donna explained how the police had secured Kate’s apartment until just a few hours before they arrived, and John and Peggy also shared whatever information they could, but none of them believed that Kate would have willingly gone into a swimming pool with her allergy to Chlorine. They also were concerned that Kate couldn’t tolerate cigarette smoke, and yet there were several cigarette-butts in that dish on the end table. As Bill sat starring at the floor, he finally told Susan and the children about that threat he’d received, and the corrupt doctor organization the FBI had been investigating. Terrified by all this, they talked about it for a good hour before Bill finally decided to call Joel Wilson at the FBI. Joel was shocked and asked Bill to meet with a Mr. Donald Anderson, their investigator in Minneapolis.

Taking another sip of coffee, he recalled how this tragedy was a torturous ordeal for the entire family and how he’d gone to Anderson’s office almost daily, only to pace the floor and stare at the huge Catholic Basilica on Hennepin Avenue from his second floor office window. Anderson was an elderly gray haired man that was obviously suffering from some type of burnout before Bill ever met him.

“I prefer to work from my office,” Anderson had told him. “But I’ll assign a very capable private investigator to do the leg work on your daughter’s death.” Later, that investigator told Bill how a young lady had pulled Kate out of the pool and ran to the apartment store to get help before finally giving CPR. “I guess she almost saved Kate’s life,” he explained.

Bill also remembered how concerned he was that Kate was found in the shallow end of the pool, in that she was a very capable swimmer.

“My Agent looked through all the police records and the only reason he could find as to why they were investigating things further was because they were concerned about those abrasions on her head, and now that they’ve checked everything out properly, they’ve closed the case,” Anderson told Bill.

Then as Bill sat thinking about all this, he remembered how Donna was throwing some things out from the apartment when she found this weird man with long hair crouched inside the dumpster. He’d obviously been going through Kate’s things, and quickly climbed out without saying a word, as he leaned casually against a tree smoking a cigarette. Later, Donna pointed him out to Bill just as he was climbing into a red Corvette, with California license. Bill recalled how he was short and thin with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, probably weighing less than a hundred and fifty pounds. After he left, Donna recovered his crushed cigarette, which matched identically with the one found in Kate’s ash tray. Later Bill gave the man’s description, the cigarettes, and the car’s license number to Anderson, who said they’d find this guy and check him out - but they never did. So why did the police close the case? - Bill had asked himself over and over. And thing’s still aren’t right, he whispered to himself, as he thoughtfully took another sip of coffee. Then as he thought about how the family went their separate ways after their tragedy, tears once again filled his eyes - a reoccurrence that had been happening far too frequently, clearly rekindling the deep loss that was always there now.

Then as usual, his thoughts jumped to another traumatic time, when Susan and he were sitting down to dinner, and the phone rang.

“Hello, is this Doctor Warner - are you the father of Peggy Downey?”

“Yes I’m Doctor Warner,” Bill replied, again sensing something wasn’t right.

“Doctor Warner, my name’s Doctor Kilbride. Your daughter Peggy has been in a car accident, and we have her at the Brakenridge Hospital in Austin, Texas. She’s in ICU, and we’ve stabilized both her and her unborn child.”

Once again Bill couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Although things were touch and go for a while, she’s now in no immediate danger, but you need to know she did have a serious concussion. At this time we don’t feel she’ll require surgery, and her prognosis should be for a normal recovery.” As he continued he explained, “She has no recall of the past or the accident, but we expect things will clear up in a few weeks. In fact, she would most likely not even recognize you if you were here right now.”

“Oh my God,” Bill said. “Doctor, we’ll make arrangements to get down there right away,” as he turned to explain to Susan.

With that, Susan just dropped her fork and covered her face with both hands, unable to respond.

“Doctor Warner, since your daughter’s not in any eminent danger you shouldn’t have to race down here right away!”

“Oh no, we’ll definitely get there as quick as possible,” Bill responded, “In fact we’ll leave as soon as we’re packed.”

As Bill hung up the phone he recalled how he turned to Susan and yelled, “If that God damned Lanin had anything to do with this, I’m driving to North Dakota and kill that bastard.”

“My God Bill, how much more of this can we take?” Susan had shouted.

* * * * *

In that these accidents were more than a coincidence, Bill had talked with the FBI, demanding tighter security measures for his family. Then later that evening, after leaving the hospital, he remembered turning onto Westgate Drive near Peggy’s home, when he heard an explosion that shattered the glass on Susan’s side of the car. He recalled the odor of gunpowder as he struggled to wipe the dust particles of glass from his eyes, and slamming his foot on the brake he instinctively hunched forward to protect himself.

“What in the hell was that?” He’d screamed - his eyes still not able to see clearly. Then after blinking several times he could finally make out what looked like a small bullet hole in Susan’s window. At first he thought a car had hit them but there was no impact, and as he stared at the hole it slowly became larger with each piece of glass that fell. Finally his eyes cleared enough so he could see the blood covering the side of Susan’s head and as her body slumped forward he screamed her name. Fumbling to get his seat belt off - his hands were shaking so badly that it took several attempts before he was finally free. Then after checking Susan, he whispered, that bastard killed her, finally screaming at the top of his voice, “I’ll get you - you son-of-a-bitch.”

Just then the FBI security car that had been following them screeched to a halt and it took both men to hold Bill back. Finally one of the agents ran up the steep wooded embankment where Bill had been pointing.

“You’ve got to get him,” he’d shouted. “He shot Susan in the face - and I think he killed her,” he screamed, hopelessly fighting to get away from the agent who was restraining him.

After the agent stared at the spattered blood and pieces of flesh on Bill’s shirt, he finally let go and ran to the car. Checking for a pulse, he turned toward Bill. “Bill, she’s dead,” he whispered, as Bill pushed him aside and grabbed Susan in his arms. Touching her, he remembered that hopeless feeling, and then he realized that everything important had now been taken away. “How could I have been so stupid to feel that my family wouldn’t get hurt,” he remembered shouting at the top of his lungs. “I risked my family’s lives to save a hospital, when life and death means nothing to these money grabbing bastards. They’d sell their soul for a buck,” he’d sobbed, pulling Susan tightly into his arms.

Bill also remembered how it took several days before he was again aware of his surroundings after Susan’s murder, and how his life had become a maze of confusing thoughts - mostly revenge. Over and over he’d thought of how he’d like to get his fingers around Lanin’s throat and choke the life right out of that bastard. In fact, that same intense uncontrollable hatred had automatically taken over almost every time he thought about Susan or Kate. And now - even after more than a year - he still couldn’t sleep.

Damn this cruel world, he muttered to himself.

But Susan wasn’t a damning person, and his bitterness would usually fade after he thought about the positive influence she’d been. Bill had accepted a few consulting jobs since he’d rescued the Sister Hospital from a hostile takeover, but his real hope was to still try and expose this greed that was now plaguing his entire healthcare profession - a human service that was almost completely shattered by this endless grabbling for more money. And although he’d probably fail in his promise to Sister Gerome, to expose these outrageous crimes, his recent writings had at least given him the opportunity to vent some of his anger over what had happened to both him and his family.

All their damned money making schemes are destroying this whole country, he cursed.

As he backed away from the window, the phone suddenly jolted him back to reality. Setting his coffee on the table, he apprehensively said, “hello,” since it was still early in the morning.

“Hi Bill, how are you?” A familiar voice shouted.

Bill paused, wondering who’d be calling him at such an hour in the morning.

“Dave Nelson?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Dave replied rather uneasily - “how are you?”

“Oh shit,” Bill snarled. “The last time I talked to you it cost me way too much - you’re no friend of mine!”

“Oh yes I am,” Dave quickly retorted, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Bill, there’s no way I can ever make up for what happened to your family - and you know that.”

“Bull shit!” Bill growled, showing his revulsion at what his family had been subjected to - then after a short silence he finally whispered, “Oh to hell with it all - maybe I am still trying to find a scapegoat for all the guilt I carry.”

Bill hadn’t heard from Dave since he’d persuaded him to move to North Dakota to help get that Sister hospital back on track - but that damned experience hadn’t been without an enormous cost to his career, let alone the damage to him and his family.

“I understand, “Dave whispered. Then after chitchatting for several more minutes, he finally had the courage to once again ask, “Well - are you okay?”

“It’s not been a bed of roses, but I still get up each day and try to understand this whole damn mess.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dave said. “I understand the FBI is still looking for that bunch of crooks. But I hear they just suddenly disappeared from the planet - and the FBI isn’t making much headway.”

“I guess so - but I’ll tell you this - I’m all done worrying about them.”

“I can understand that, but it sure makes you wonder what’s going on. I thought the FBI had them in their sights,” Dave scoffed. “By now, all those con-artists have probably high-tailed it back to their own countries. You know Bill; someday we’re all going to maybe realize this damned globalization isn’t everything it’s supposed to be.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Bill growled, casually pulling back a chair and sitting down.

“All right Dave - let’s have it - you haven’t called me just to chitchat. What’s on your mind this time?”

“Hey buddy, I’m concerned about you. I guess it’s just this damn business we’re in,” he mumbled, rethinking his approach to what was now clearly a very touchy subject. “All right, so I do need your help! You know there aren’t too many Bill Warner’s running around, and I’ve got a serious problem you could help me with.”

“I knew it,” Bill choked, reaching for his coffee. “Damn it Dave - what do you want this time?”

“Bill, I flew to Colorado Springs last night, and first thing this morning I had breakfast with the Administrator of your local pediatric hospital, a Mr. Bakencamp. Then after our meeting I called the Director of the State Health Department and he scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m not familiar with that Administrator,” Bill explained, taking a quick sip of his cold coffee. “I didn’t even know his name, until you just told me.”

“From what I can gather, Bakencamp’s done some real stupid things, and as a result he’s gotten his ass in a jam.”

Bill fidgeted uncomfortably, anticipating what might be next. “Well, at least you chose my home town,” he scoffed.

“Listen, I’m staying at the Broadmoor. Why don’t you meet me for lunch in the Tavern? I’ll get a reservation for twelve thirty, and we can visit.”

As Bill hung up the phone his mind flashed back to Doctor Lanin, screaming for his life.

Damn it, I should have told Dave I’m not interested. I just can’t go back to that type of salvage work again - but I need to tell him that face to face. Hell - I don’t need any more skeletons in my closet - I can’t sleep now.

* * * * *

The Tavern resembled an English pub, and it took Bill a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. After he pushed through the crowd, he dodged several waiters dressed in starched white shirts with black bow ties, scurrying from table to table. And as he greeted Dave it was obvious his suit needed a good pressing, which of course was the result of living out of a suitcase.

“I suppose you’ve heard James Baker, our former President retired,” Dave said.

“Dave, you know I’d never work for that bastard again - after what he did to me.”

“Bill, it’s a whole different organization without him.” Wrinkling his forehead, he stared squarely into Bill’s eyes. “In fact, I’m beginning to enjoy my job again,” he smiled, swiveling his chair a bit so he could face Bill directly. “I had no idea he was dealing from the bottom of the deck. I guess he wanted to retire so bad he’d do anything.”

Dave had already ordered a cold draft beer, and as he tilted his head back he took a deep swallow from the freshly iced mug. Bill just stared at him until he set the mug back on the table.

“I should have followed my intuition,” Bill snarled, shaking his head from side to side. “I knew he was using me as his straw man. Dave, if you ever pull that type of shit on me again, you can go straight to hell.”

“I’d never do that, and you know damned well I wouldn’t,” Dave quickly retorted. “I honestly had no idea what we were getting into, and to be very honest, no one else could’ve accomplished what you were able to do for those Sisters. At least you stopped those corrupt bastards in their tracks, and the Harrington and Associates, and the whole country for that matter are indebted to you. The sad part is Baker exposed our strategy to those bastards for some sort of kick-back, and sold you and your family down the river, which I promise you - I will never do.”

“I guess I have to blame myself for that - I knew he was using me right from the start and it was all very stupid on my part to ever agree to help him out in the first place. Look, I’m just not ready to consult for you again. I’m too busy trying to tell the world about our crises in healthcare - that’s if the public will ever listen to what I have to say - but I guess nobody wants to hear bad news. That dammed Oligarchy that’s running our country, thinks the myopic herd will just hide its head in the sand and hope it’ll go away.”

Tensing his jaw, Dave bristled, “Bill, this insidious money grabbing is growing by leaps and bounds all over the country. What’s worse is it seems like everyone wants to market the hell out of the poor sick and disabled, and it’s not just these God damned insurance companies and the pharmaceutical houses, it’s these international bankers that want to control everything, including the entire world market. Hell, we don’t have a clue as to where this New World Oligarchy is taking us, and no one seems to give a damn as long as it doesn’t hurt any of these wealthy bastards that are benefitting from it all. Every place I consult I’m seeing more and more executive fraud, and with all these damned CEO’s and politicians stealing from our public treasury, we’ve got a monster starring us right in the face.” Dave paused to look around the Tavern - then leaning closer he whispered. “And the damned public acts as if nothings going on! No one seems to give a damn about the Great Cover Up that’s playing out right in front of us. It’s almost as if we don’t care that some entrepreneurial fat cat is picking our pockets. What a con job!”

“No wonder we’re all becoming so apathetic,” Bill snarled, feeling his emotions rise as he sat back to take a quick swallow of the cool draft beer the waiter had just set in front of him. “Shit - we could talk about this crap all day, and it wouldn’t change a thing. What is it you wanted to see me about?”

Dave waved his hand at the waiter saying, “Hey, we’d like to order.”

As soon as the waiter took their order, Dave slid his chair closer, so he wouldn’t be overheard.

“All right, let me tell you what’s on my mind. In the not to distant future, the Denver Post is releasing an explosive story that’s going to blow the lid right off Mr. Bakencamp’s hide out - and its all got to do with this damned deregulation this crooked Oligarchy’s been promoting. Then in a few months, a national news network is going to feature a story called, The Epidemic that Never Was. It’s all about a neurosurgeon and his young resident who’ve been performing a very radical surgical procedure on hundreds of infants, without the parents ever really understanding the risks involved.”

“What kind of risks?” Bill asked, looking confused.

“Apparently they’ve removed and reshaped hundreds of infants’ entire skull caps, to correct a questionable cosmetic problem called Craniosynostosis, or CS. And at last count, they’ve done more than a thousand of these major surgeries without following any surgical standards. Doctor Hanes, the neurosurgeon who started all this, apparently developed this fifty thousand dollar procedure all on his own - and he’s been getting very wealthy from it - that is until the Center for Disease Control blew the whistle on him and began to investigate the situation. Rumor had it that this very extensive procedure was even being done on infants who had no documented symptoms - and apparently he’s left a trail of babies that have grown up with terrible physical complications, and a batch of lawsuits that are now skyrocketing. In fact, if the hospital loses too many of these lawsuits, they just may have to close.”

“Sounds like they should,” Bill snarled, rubbing one hand over his unshaved chin. “Just what the hell does Bakencamp have to say for himself? Was he hiding in a closet when this was all going on?”

“That’s exactly where he’s been. And now he wants me to save his ass!”

Dave took another quick swallow of beer as the waiter set their sandwiches in front of them.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

Again Dave waved him off, briefly staring at his sandwich before he unconsciously picked it up to take a bite.

“Why are these characters removing the infant’s entire skull cap?” Bill asked.

Dave paused, slowly putting down his sandwich. “Well as you well know, CS involves the premature fusing of the skull plates, which can eventually cause some really bad deformities. And Doctor Hanes was terrifying these parents by telling them their child would have increased pressure on the brain and would probably become mentally retarded, or even insane - when there was no real evidence that could ever substantiate that.” Pausing just long enough to finally take a bite of his sandwich, Dave continued. “But what responsible parent would ignore the physician,” he mumbled through a full mouth. “They do just what all worried parents would do - they listen to this profound God-like creature. And Bill, as you know too well, some of these guys think they can walk on water. And since the parents are afraid of irritating this guy who might be performing major surgery on their child they just accepted everything he says. They don’t even get a second opinion from another qualified neurosurgeon - doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“Yah - it sure does,” Bill frowned, swallowing a bite of his Rueben.

“After the Center for Disease Control and the Health Department became involved, they did a study of some two hundred of his CS surgeries, and determined that Hanes and his resident were falsely diagnosing CS symptoms in over sixty percent of their cases and totally ignoring surgical standards.

“You can’t be serious!” Bill shouted.

“Oh yes I am. And on top of that, it appears that Hanes has a huge referral network of former residents who refer him all kinds of candidates.”

With that Bill stopped chewing. “So you’re saying there is no justification? Is there some sort of kickback?” he asked. “It always comes down to the almighty buck, doesn’t it? So was money the reason?”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Dave moaned. “And now Bakencamp has hired me to protect his treasure.”

“I don’t get it - what possible help do you want from me?”

“Hell, what I’ve described is just the tip of the iceberg. Some of these infants are now showing the results of his butchery. They have scars and lumps in their skulls, which they’re teased about in school, and they get headaches and a whole bunch of other physical problems. Worse yet, just three years ago a six-month-old infant with a known cardiac problem had a cardiac arrest on the surgical table. She’s now retarded and almost totally blind. Another infant died from the procedure, and a dozen or more parents are lining up in the wings to initiate lawsuits against the hospital and this self aggrandizing surgeon and his resident, Larry McGrath. And what’s even worse is this Young Turk, McGrath, recently signed an agreement to buy out Hanes, and now he intends to continue this money making fiasco. Bill - it’s just one big nightmare!”

“Well, at least the public is starting to show signs of standing up to these hoodlums,” Bill smirked, with a small tinge of satisfaction. “Yet, you say McGrath is still doing this surgery?”

“Yes! - And that’s the frightening thing about this whole damned deregulation mess we have on our hands today. But that’s not all,” Dave paused again, raising one hand. “One of the residents in training, a Doctor Rahn, stood up and fearlessly challenged both McGrath and Hanes, knowing full well he could have been thrown out of his residency. But by the grace of God, the national neurosurgeon’s organization got wind of it and saved him by threatening to investigate the lack of diagnostic criteria that the CDC had already identified. In fact, neurosurgeons from all over the country are now disagreeing with this procedure because there’s just too much blood loss. Bill, they often transfuse the infant’s total blood volume two or three times in this procedure - and as you know, the tissue that separates the skullcap from the brain can hemorrhage extensively when you remove the entire skull cap. In fact, the neurosurgery society has decided this type of procedure is far too extensive and dangerous for what’s been previously known as a simple cosmetic procedure. And from what I’ve been told, Hanes is lucky those babies haven’t been dying left and right. I heard that at the last national meeting of neurosurgeons, the whole professional society was up in arms on this issue, and they really took McGrath and Hanes to task.”

“Stop right there!” Bill said raising both hands. “You mean the neurosurgeons, as a group, are willing to openly oppose what these guys were doing?”

Dave nodded.

“Boy, that’s a positive change from their usual code of silence,” Bill chuckled, quickly washing down another full cheek of Rueben. Then suddenly he shouted, “Damn it!” Causing several other patrons to look his way - “Just what the hell is this administrator doing? He’s supposed to be acting in behalf of the patient, and all that crap is going on right under his nose?”

Dave quickly put his forefinger up to his lips, hoping to quiet Bill down as he reached over and patted his arm. Then cautiously looking around the room to see that nobody was still listening, he explained what he wanted Bill to do.

“Bill, I can’t put my name on any consultant report without knowing the facts, so here’s the bottom line. This administrator is so preoccupied with saving his ass that I need someone to investigate the situation and find out just what’s been going on here. I need you to go and talk to people and get the facts.” With that Dave pushed his empty plate away, again leaning closer to Bill. “I need someone I can trust,” he whispered. “Someone who can go out and visit with the parents, the residents, the members of the medical staff, and check out the condition of these children they operated on - and you’re the best in the business. You don’t have to take sides, or fight another corrupt organization this time, just get me the facts, and find out what the hell’s going on.”

For a long moment Bill sat with his eyes staring at the ceiling before he finally looked back at Dave with a sly grin on his face. His disgust at what Dave had told him was obvious, as he thoughtfully nodded before he spoke.

“Perhaps I could help you,” he said, gazing once again at the ceiling. “In fact, if I don’t have to take sides, it may even prove to be enjoyable - and I could use some extra money right now.”

They both talked for at least an hour, discussing in detail what needed to be accomplished before Bill came back with, “I’m really surprised that things have worked out between us - because I had no intent of ever helping you again when I came in here.”

Dave laughed. “Bill, I don’t mean to change the subject, but Bakencamp’s Nursing Director walked out on him last week, probably because he’s asked her to help him cover his tracks. She must’ve anticipated the level of scrutiny they’re going to be under, so now he needs a top notch Nursing Director - one who has no ties with the past. He needs somebody like a Mary Swanson,” Dave whispered, looking ill at ease as he uncomfortably shifted his position. “Have you kept in touch with her?”

With that Bill sat back and laughed so loud that almost everyone in the restaurant looked his way.

“You sure know how to use a guy!” He howled, biting at his lower lip and shaking his head from side to side. “Yes, Mary and I have kept in touch. In fact, she’s one of the few people I still trust.” With that, he looked directly into Dave’s eyes with a crafty grin. “Why do you ask if I’ve kept in touch?”

“Well, I want you to persuade her to take a sabbatical from her retirement and help get some standards back at this hospital. As you know, this New World Oligarchy is trying to deregulate everything so they can steal with impunity.”

Bill could only think of how wonderful it would be to have Mary working with him again, but he also knew that she was now financially set for life, and he already suspected she’d have almost no interest in getting back into this ridiculous rat race for more big bucks.

“You know damn well my chances of getting Mary to help us would be far greater if you were to call her,” Dave explained with a wily grin.

“Well, you better not get your hopes up. I doubt very much if she’d ever get back into this rat race. She’s worth several million dollars and seems very comfortable with her present life in Florida.”

“Wasn’t her husband a well known surgeon?”

“Yes he was,” Bill, said thoughtfully. “In fact, he was a very close friend of mine - but sadly he died of a stroke shortly after they retired to Fort Myers.”

“Oh my God - I’m so sorry to hear that. How old is Mary?”

Bill frowned, looking away for a moment - “Perhaps late forties, maybe forty-six or seven.”

“Why don’t you at least call her, and see if she shows any interest at all. Even if she’d only take on a short term assignment, she could be a big help right now.”

Pausing a moment, Bill finally said with a sympathetic smile, “all right - I should call her anyway. I really need to see how she’s been handling Doc’s death.” Folding his napkin and placing it neatly on the table he continued. “Yes, I agree, she could really straighten things out fast - but I just don’t feel she’ll take on this can of worms.”

* * * * *

As soon as Bill arrived home he called Mary. The phone rang several times before she answered.

“Mary? This is your old friend Bill Warner.”

“Bill,” she cried, pleasantly surprised. “It’s good to hear your voice. I think of you often.”

“Mary, I’ve been meaning to call you for some time. But as you know I’m not very good at that. How have you been?”

“Oh, pretty good. My friends have been a big help since Doc’s death. They certainly haven’t given me much time to think about myself. How about you? I worry about you.”

“Mary, I’ve been busy writing, but I’m not sure anyone wants to read what I have to say. I guess I’ll have to get my name on the front page of the New York Times before they’ll realize I have something worthwhile to say.”

“Hey, that powerful Oligarchy doesn’t want the public to ever understand what’s really going on in this country - do they? But we’re all going to have to face up to the facts someday, or go broke - and I don’t know anyone that can tell the truth better than you,” she added. “So what’s up?” she asked, knowing Bill would never have called just to chitchat.

“Mary, do you remember Dave Nelson, with The Harrington Associates?”

“You mean your good friend who was as wide as he was tall? Wasn’t he the one that played football?”

“Boy - that photographic memory of yours is still working, isn’t it? - Yes, that’s the guy. We just had a three-hour discussion on a very serious problem at one of the local hospital here in Colorado - and I promised him I’d call you and ask if you’d be interested in helping us out. I guess you’d call it a crisis.”

“Now that sounds interesting!”

Although Bill hadn’t anticipated it, he could sense an excitement in Mary’s voice.

“In fact, that’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard in a long time. It would certainly be an improvement over golf, bridge and shopping. When can I start?”

Bill was so shocked at her immediate response he didn’t know how to react. And after he described what Dave wanted, he finally answered her question. “And I believe you could start as soon as they agree to hire you.”

“I’d need to keep my home in Florida, but I’d love to help you guys out. In fact, I think I’ve needed something like this.”

After discussing a few more of Dave’s concerns, Mary agreed to meet with the Administrator.

“You know, the most satisfying years of my life were the years I worked with you,” she whispered before hanging up.