Part 24 (1/2)
”So she told me. But she's a scientist. How can a scientist believe in all this supernatural stuff?”
Jana picked at her oatmeal bar, placing a piece of oatmeal about the size of a molecule onto her tongue. She chewed. Swallowed. ”Sue's the most brilliant woman I've ever met.”
”So you believe her? You believe in angels?”
”Let's just say I keep an open mind. If Sue is convinced they exist, who am I to discount them? I mean, as a reporter I interview all kinds of people. I once interviewed this guy at Qualcomm who attempted to describe to me quantum entanglement, where two particles are joined together in some weird way even though they're separated by as much as a million miles.
”Apparently, if you change one of them in some way, the other one instantly reflects that change. He said that scientists have done successful experiments on particles as far as sixty-two miles apart. He was all jazzed about it, saying that experiments would improve communications and make quantum computers possible. He claimed it may even make teleportation a reality. Did I understand everything he said? Of course not. Did I believe him? Why shouldn't I? The guy knew what he was talking about. And anything that will eliminate the dead zone in Rose Canyon for my cell phone, I'm all for.”
She pinched off another molecule, looked at it, and popped it in her mouth. She was refusing to look at me, which meant she was still miffed for my not going to Myles Shepherd's funeral. But I wasn't going to bring it up and I hoped she wouldn't either.
”Jana, I need your help,” I said, getting down to business.
Still staring at her oatmeal bar as though it was the most fascinating oatmeal bar she'd ever seen, she said, ”You flew all the way out here to ask for my help? Why didn't you just pick up the phone? Two days ago you told me you had no plans to return to San Diego.”
”Things changed,” I said.
I hadn't told Jana about the coded confession in my book. Had Sue Ling? Even though Jana said they shared everything, I doubted Sue had told her. Jana's a reporter. If she knew about a threat to the president, she wouldn't be acting aloof. Which meant she didn't know about my access to the White House being cut off or my trip to Montana. So without revealing any of this to her, somehow I had to convince her to help me get close to the president.
”Does this have anything to do with that silly death threat in your book?” Jana asked.
I stared at her dumbly.
She smiled. ”I told you Sue and I tell each other everything.”
My life suddenly got easier or more complicated depending on how she answered my next question. ”Have you told anyone else?”
Exasperated, she turned her attention away from her oatmeal bar to me. ”Do you mean will you hear about it on the evening news? Of course not. I know you. It's a prank. It's not newsworthy unless you write for the tabloids, which I don't.”
Her news director might disagree with her, but I wasn't going to press the point. ”Thank you, but I fear it's more than just a prank.”
As briefly as I could, and speaking in a low whisper, I caught her up to date, everything that had happened since I learned about the coded message, including my interview with Doc Palmer.
She wasn't aloof anymore.
”Grant! What have you gotten yourself involved with?” she cried.
”That's what I have to find out. And that's why I need your help.”
She shook her head while brus.h.i.+ng crumbs from her hands. She shook her head while taking a sip of orange juice. ”No . . . no . . . no . . . no, Grant. I will not help you a.s.sa.s.sinate the president.”
”But you just said-”
”I didn't know the full story then.”
”Jana! You know me. Do you really think I'm capable of a.s.sa.s.sinating the president?”
In my exuberance I let my voice carry. A pair of shocked faces stared at us from behind the refrigerated display cases. ”I'm a writer,” I explained to them. ”We're working on some dialogue for a novel.”
The bakery employees nodded as though they believed me, but a spark of doubt remained in their eyes.
”See?” Jana said. ”That's what I'm talking about. No, I don't think you're plotting to a.s.sa.s.sinate the president. But it doesn't matter what I think. If something happens, it'll appear you had something to do with it.”
”What you think matters to me.”
”Look at it from a reporter's perspective. One, you confess to the killing in print. Two, the president himself warns you to stay away from San Diego, yet here you are. Three, you tried to break into the White House, and even though the Secret Service has warned you to keep your distance, you are currently trying to find a way to get close to the president.”
”Do you think you can get me a press pa.s.s?”
Jana raised her hands in exasperation.
”OK . . . look at it from my perspective,” I pleaded. ”Everything you said is true. Someone is setting me up. But I can't just sit back and do nothing, can I? I have to find out who's doing this to me and why so that I can clear myself.”
”You could fly to Oakland,” Jana said.
”Why Oakland?”
”It's not San Diego.”
I reached across the table, across the oatmeal bar, and took Jana's hand. ”I need your help,” I said. ”The president will clear me, I know he will. All I have to do is get close enough to ask him.”
”Close enough. How?”
”With a press pa.s.s.”
”Out of the question.” She pulled her hand away, pushed back her chair to leave.
”At the fund-raisers,” I said. ”Maybe I could get close to him there.”
”Good luck,” Jana said.
”Maybe I don't have to get close enough to talk to him,” I said. ”Just get his attention.”
”How?”
”Four words,” I said. ”Doc Palmer is alive.”
”Do you think it'll work?”
”If the president knows I know the truth about Vietnam and his drug problems, he'll talk to me.”
”Or eliminate you.”
”He wouldn't do that.”
”A man doesn't rise to his level of power without having the means to protect himself.”
She had a point. Though I still didn't want to admit it, Douglas wasn't the man I'd portrayed in my book. ”Are you going to help me?” I asked.
”No. And I don't know how long I can sit on this, Grant. I really don't. Just Doc Palmer being alive . . . this is . . . this is big.”