Plague

CHAPTER 15

The Center for Anti-Vaccination Studies was a five-room suite in an office building occupied by middle-income lawyers and dentists. The first floor always smelled like popcorn and massage oil from a parlor that took up the first suite. They claimed to be licensed massage therapists, but Ben had never seen one degree or certificate on the wall. Plus, the men coming out of there seemed just a bit too happy.

He walked past it now and smiled to the receptionist at the front desk, a stack of files under his arm as he hit the up button on the elevator.

The fifth and top floor was much like the first except that it smelled a bit better. The CAVS’s five rooms were better decorated than most, with glass walls on the interior and exposed brick in the offices. The floor was a slick hardwood donated to CAVS from a contractor whose daughter had developed autism after a routine vaccination at the age of two.

Ben went through the office space, wondering where everybody was until he checked his phone: it was five in the afternoon on a Friday. He went straight to his office and shut the door. He placed the files down on his desk and sat in front of them a long time, just staring. There was a knock.

“Come in.”

Tate Buhler walked in, sipping a Mountain Dew Code Red. He saw the files on the desk and nearly spit up his drink. He shut the door. “You got them?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Tate sat down across from him at the desk and they both stared at the files. There were fifteen total. Fifteen medical records of research physicians that specialized in vaccinations. One of these physicians had recanted everything they had ever written about the safety of vaccination after one of their children developed a severe learning disability days after the MMR vaccine.

“You think it’s real?” Tate said. “I mean, I know the government does some crazy shit, but firing a doctor and then suing to keep him quiet just ‘cause he’s against vaccinations sounds extreme.”

Ben smirked. “Do you remember the serial killer from the eighties who supposedly poisoned bottles of Tylenol and half a dozen people died?”

“Yeah, that was in Chicago or somewhere.”

“Well one of the people that died bought their Tylenol from a pharmacy. The public doesn’t have access to medications in a pharmacy. That means the Tylenol was tainted when it left the factory and so Johnson amp; Johnson and the dim-witted law enforcement who investigated the case came up with this serial killer story. They dodged lawsuits, criminal liability, any repercussions at all just because money can buy you whatever you want. If they can cover up the murders of innocent people, they can certainly cover up firing one person.”

Tate shook his head. “What’re we even gonna do when we find this doctor? I mean he can’t talk about it, right? What good is he gonna be?”

Ben’s phone began to ring. He picked it up. “He’s a symbol, Tate. He’s a symbol of what we’re trying to do here. He doesn’t need to open his mouth at all. If he sits next to me on a stage with a name tag, that’s enough. People will Google him and find out the rest…Hello, this is Benjamin Cornell…yes…where?…when?…who else knows about this…okay…okay.”

Ben hung up the phone and sat quietly a few moments, staring at the desk.

“You okay?”

“I’m going to be gone for a while,” he said, standing up and heading out the door.

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well where you going?” Tate yelled as Ben headed toward the elevators.

“Hawaii.”