“What did you do?” Sara asked, her tone distant.
“My rage consumed me. I started to look for any way, legal or not, to get the money away from the clinic and into the Cancer Center. Raymond Markey—he’s the Assistant Secretary—”
“I know who he is,” Sara interrupted. Her voice was cold. “Go on.”
John cleared his throat. “Anyway, Dr. Markey contacted me. He said that there were other people who felt the way I did, people who felt too much emphasis was being placed on AIDS, people who wanted to bring down the Sidney Pavilion.”
“What other people?”
John took a deep breath. “Reverend Sanders, to name one.”
Sara glared at her father. “You signed on with that con man?”
“Listen to me, Sara. We both knew that we did not share the same ideology—just the same enemy. Sanders had his reasons for wanting to destroy the clinic, and I had mine. His reasons did not matter to me. The only important thing was getting the money for the new wing—even if that meant working with Sanders.”
“And who else joined you?”
“Me,” Senator Jenkins replied from behind John. “I was the fourth member of the conspiracy.”
She turned her glare toward his. “And what was your reason, Senator?”
“A strange one,” he replied in an oddly calm voice. “Love.”
“What?”
“Let me explain,” Senator Jenkins began, his voice hollow as though he were speaking through a long tube. “I was readily accepted by Sanders because of my right-wing affiliations, but politics had nothing to do with why I joined.”
“Then why?”
“Sara, you’ve covered political campaigns before, am I correct?”
“So?”
“So I don’t have to tell you that politics is a strange game. The strangest. Like it or not, a candidate must compromise to win elections. I am the leading senator in the Republican Party. I agree with most of the party’s platforms, but let’s say, for example, that I came out against the death penalty. Do you know what would happen?”
Sara folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“I’d be finished. Wiped out. All my years of service would go right down the drain. I wouldn’t get elected dogcatcher. Let me give you a better example: our current president’s position on abortion. He used to be pro-choice. Now he has magically shifted to pro-life. Do you honestly believe he had a change of heart? Of course not. He just accepted reality. He knew that if he ran as a pro-choice candidate, he would have never won the Republican nomination. And it’s not just Republicans. The Democrats do it too. Do you really believe that every liberal senator is for abortion or against tax cuts? Of course not. They are just trying to get elected. Like I said before, you have to compromise. You have to compromise your very values and beliefs. It is not necessarily the politician’s fault. It’s just the system. Play the game or don’t get elected.”
“I don’t see the point in any of this,” Sara said.
“I am just saying that a man cannot be so neatly labeled as right or left wing. At times we are all hypocrites. At times we all do things that others would consider sinful.” He glanced at Cassandra quickly and then continued. “What I am trying to say is this: despite popular belief, I do not agree with a good many of Reverend Sanders’ views.”
“Then why did you join him?”
“For my son,” he replied.
“You joined up with Sanders for Bradley?”
The senator nodded. His eyes were moist, but his voice did not waver. “I was just trying to save my boy. When I found out that Sanders wanted to destroy an AIDS clinic, I figured that it must be making strides in discovering a cure. So I contacted Sanders and told him I was interested in enlisting in his ‘Holy Crusade’ against the unnamed clinic. Sanders welcomed me aboard. Truth was, I just wanted to find out more about it so I could enroll Bradley there.”
“Which you did.”
“Yes. Dr. Riker and Dr. Grey promised to keep it a secret.”
“So,” Sara said, “you joined this crazy conspiracy to help your son, my father wanted to help the Cancer Center, and Reverend Sanders so he wouldn’t have to explain a cure for ‘God’s Plague’ to his parishioners. Does that cover it, gentlemen?”
Both men nodded.
“So where does Assistant Secretary Markey fit into all of this?”
“I can’t say for sure,” John began. “Markey has known Harvey for a long time. He claims he doesn’t trust him. He says Harvey cuts too many corners, but I think there’s more to it than that. I think Sanders is blackmailing him with something.”
“And on top of that,” Jenkins added, “Sanders’ influence got Markey his job with the government and his office on the NIH campus. It’s nice and quiet there. Markey likes it.”
“A political payback?”
Her father cleared his throat. “I guess you could say that, yes.”
Sara felt her head spinning. She focused on the faces in front of her. Her father and Senator Jenkins looked a mix of embarrassment, fear, and anxiety, like children waiting outside a principal’s office. Cassandra remained silent, her eyes watching her sister with uncommon concern.
“Do you know what is so odd about all this?” John asked, his voice near a plea. “I think Harvey Riker and Bruce Grey would understand what I did.”
Sara continued to glare. “I doubt it.”
“No, Sara, I think you’re missing my point. Harvey and Bruce felt the same way about their clinic as I feel about the Cancer Center. But I let it get out of hand. I let it consume me. And I was lied to. Sanders and Markey tricked me. They led me to believe that Riker and Grey were not even close to finding a cure.”
Sara’s voice was unforgiving. “I think we’ve wasted enough time listening to your self-justification, Father. Just tell us what you did.”
Again John looked over to Stephen Jenkins before speaking. Then he said, “Very little.”
“Very little?” Sara shouted. “You call the murder—”
“We never killed anyone,” John interrupted. “At least, we never sanctioned any deaths.”
Sara looked at him in disbelief. “Am I hearing you right? You never ‘sanctioned’ any deaths? What the hell are you talking about? Patients were murdered. The senator’s own son was murdered. Are you trying to tell me that your little conspiracy had nothing to do with any of that?”