“What’s on the menu, today?” he asked Nurse Hollister as he took his seat between Big Rollins and Nicolo.
“Meatloaf, buttered peas, and mashed potatoes,” the nurse said, setting a plate with the measured portions before him. Days of suffering from a slight but persistent headache made him almost certain he was in the test group. The chemicals were either in the meatloaf or the mashed potatoes.
Nicolo must have been thinking the same thing. “Want my potatoes?”
Dr. Wiley’s head jerked up. “Everyone is to eat their own meals,” he said, even though Nicolo had only been teasing. As far as Luke could tell, no one had been shirking their duties,and in truth, the food didn’t taste bad. He tried not to think about it as he lowered his head and said a quick, silent prayer. The men of the Poison Squad were a rowdy bunch, and prayer had never been a part of their routine, but Luke vowed not to take a single meal for granted.
“Who’s up for a snowball fight after dinner?” St. Louis asked from the neighboring table.
Half the men in the room raised their hands. They shouted insults at the others for declining. Dr. Wiley insisted they wait half an hour after the meal, lest the roughhousing cause someone to lose their dinner, which provoked another round of boasting about whose stomach was tougher.
This was typical of the evenings Luke had spent in the boardinghouse. Some of the men indulged in sport, others a game of cards, and Nicolo usually challenged people to arm wrestling. For a man of such small stature, he was pure muscle and usually won.
“What about you?” Princeton asked Luke as men began picking sides for the snowball fight. “I could use you on my team.”
Normally Luke would have loved to join in, but he had an important meeting in a few hours. “I’ll take a pass tonight,” he said.
That earned him a cuff on the head from Princeton, but Luke didn’t care. The battle he was fighting was far more important than a romp in the snow, and he needed to be in top form for his meeting tonight.
Luke met Dickie Shuster at a crowded tavern near the Marine Hospital. The lighting was dim and the air smoky, but it had booths with high backs so he and Dickie could speak privately. Gray thought he was insane for meeting with Dickie, but Luke knew how the wily journalist forThe Washington Postoperated and intended to use it to his advantage.
“Good heavens, you look ghastly,” Dickie said as he arrived at the booth and slid onto the opposite bench. “Almost like you’ve been moldering in a Cuban prison cell for the past two years.”
“What a colorful imagination you have,” Luke replied.
Dickie wore a floppy yellow tie embroidered with tiny blue and red hummingbirds. It clashed with his cheerful green vest, but it was all part of the disguise Dickie wore to make him appear to be a harmless gadfly. Friendly, fun, and not to be taken too seriously.
The first two qualities were true; the last was a mistake most people made when dealing with Dickie Shuster, who had tentacles that reached throughout Washington society. Although Dickie had a history of pandering to the Magruders, Luke was confident that the only thing Dickie truly cared about was himself.
“I’m wondering if maybe we should cooperate,” Luke said. “No one covers Washington politics the way you can, but I’ve got better access to the national magazines. I’ve had three cover stories forModern Century.”
“Not lately you haven’t,” Dickie pointed out.
“I’ve been otherwise occupied.” Those fifteen months in a Cuban prison again. “You and I haven’t gotten along in the past,” Luke continued. “I’d be willing to give you the inside scoop on an interesting project going on in the Department of Agriculture in exchange for your help with a little research.”
Dickie looked intrigued, so Luke slid a piece of paper across the table with five names written on it.
“Tell me what you know about the chances of these congressmen keeping their seats in the November election.”
Dickie skimmed the list. If anyone would be able to identify the weaknesses of these congressmen, it was him.
“There are some powerful men here,” Dickie said. “Roper and Garza are totally safe in the next election. Magruder and Westheimer are likely to win, but vulnerable. I’ve heard rumorsthat the fifth man is about to retire. Somehow I think the only man you really care about on this list is Clyde Magruder.”
“I care about them all,” Luke said. To see a particular bill passed, he needed all five of these men to lose their next election. But Dickie was right. He cared mostly about Clyde. “What is Magruder’s greatest vulnerability?”
“What’s the scoop you’ve promised me over at Ag?” Dickie replied.
“They’re conducting a study using human test subjects to identify toxic food additives.”
Dickie rolled his eyes. “Old news. It was already blanketed all over the newspapers when they called for volunteers. Dr. Wiley has been closemouthed, so I doubt anything will leak out until the study is over.”
“I’m one of the volunteers,” Luke said.
Dickie immediately dropped his nonchalant attitude. He straightened his spine, whipped out a pad of paper, and leaned forward. “Tell me more,” he purred.
“I can tell you everything. What’s on the menu, how people are feeling, how they collect data. For now they line us up each night to take our temperatures and record our symptoms, but soon they’ll start drawing blood and taking other samples. You’ll be the only man in Washington with that sort of insight. Things will get more interesting as the test progresses.”
Already Luke was suffering persistent headaches and achy joints. Maybe it was all in his mind, but he’d know more in a few days. He wouldn’t pass the information along for free, though, and nodded to the list of congressmen still on the table.
