Zephyr Dorsey

“The War-Luncheon” from Splendide Mendax

            Senator Loreen Kiley smiled at the handsome young man across from her. What was he? Forty? Maybe forty-five? It was heard to tell anymore. Everyone seemed young to her now. She had thought she was old when she was forty, but she hadn’t known what old was.

            She didn’t know much about the confident man seated across from her, only that he had turned his company into one of the biggest non-military contractors currently on the payroll of the United States government. In less than fifteen years he had built-up an international, billion-dollar company from scratch — well, with a few hostile takeovers along the way. She respected him for what he had accomplished. He obviously had talent and drive — the things that had built America.

            On the other side of the table, Jamal McTurner sat across from the stoutly built elderly woman with the short white hair and reminded himself that she wasn’t just some little old lady and that this wasn’t just some lunch. This was war. The table was the battlefield and on the other side sat the enemy, the person standing between him and his objective. He would fight with everything he had, as he always did, but he knew that he must look relaxed and assured while doing it. This was Washington, D.C. after all.

            The politicians he spent so much of his time courting were mostly underbriefed about what it was his company actually did. They knew he did something having to do with environmental health research, but what exactly “environmental health” meant they couldn’t have told you. In truth, the term “environmental health” didn’t have much of a meaning even for him. The phrase had simply sounded good and so he had put it on the brochures and grant applications. In practice, what his company spent most of its time doing had to do with studying bacteria and viruses and other things that had an annoying tendency to gum-up the works inside the human body.

            Politicians like Senator Loreen Kiley held the purse-strings to federal grants, and since his company survived by securing new federal grant money every two years, he had little choice but to devote big chunks of his valuable time to schmoozing inside the beltway. Over the years, as he had built his company up from nothing, he had needed to play every card in the deck to get politicians thinking and moving in the direction he needed them to think and move. He had flattered, cajoled, threatened, tricked, appeased, and even bribed a few times in order to get the money flowing down the proper pipelines and into his company’s accounts.

            The government was his one and only customer. That meant there were only five hundred and thirty-five shoppers he needed to please — the four hundred, thirty-five members of the U.S. House of Representatives and the one hundred members of the U.S. Senate. Actually, it was less than that. If he only kept twelve people happy in Congress — the right twelve people — then his funding remained secure. Those twelve people could change from election to election, but a dozen usually covered it. Each one was either a top committee member or belonged to the Congressional leadership. For a hundred-million-dollar contract, Jamal could afford to make twelve people feel like the center of the universe from time to time.

            “You picked a nice restaurant for our lunch today, Mister McTurner,” said Loreen.

            “Only the best for you, Senator.”

            “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

            Hee, hee, hee, laughed Jamal.

            Jamal’s laugh sounded as if he were saying, “Hee, hee, hee” in a baritone voice. It could sometimes sound fake, and sometimes it was, but it was also his genuine laugh. And it was the same laugh no matter how amused he was by something. Unless he was really tickled, then he also bounced his shoulders a little. But only his little girl could make him laugh that hard.

            The pretty waitress arrived, and they each ordered one of the “featured entrees” — or what less pretentious restaurants called “lunch specials.”

            “I want you to know, Senator Kiley,” began Jamal after the waitress had walked away with their menus, “I respect the fact that you’re a fiscal conservative. I do. You want to make certain that the government’s not wasting the taxpayers’ money. I get that.”

            Loreen took a sip from her glass of wine, leaving some of her red lipstick on the rim. She was a septuagenarian now. She felt she had earned the right to a glass of wine with a daytime meal if she wanted. She could remember a time when her father’s generation frequently cut big business deals over martini lunches.

            “Fiscal conservative?” she said. “They have a much worse name for it on the internet.”

            “Oh, I don’t read that stuff,” said Jamal with a dismissive wave of his hand. And he didn’t either. He found that the trash-talk of internet trolls just muddied the waters when it came to ascertaining the real-life dispositions and personal proclivities of the people he dealt with. Much more valuable was the read he could get on people while spending time with them face to face.

            “Sometimes I feel like the last true conservative on Capitol Hill,” said Loreen. “Everybody likes to tax and spend now-days. It doesn’t matter which side of the aisle they’re on. The liberals want a big government to take care of us all, and the so-called conservatives want a big government to tell us how to live our private lives. Both sides today would love nothing more than to use the national government to force their own version of morality on everybody else — not just in their own communities or in their own State, mind you — but on the whole country. Sea to shining sea.”

            “It’s not like the old days, is it, senator?” asked Jamal. He had never met an older person yet who did not think things were better in the old days. He, however, did not share that opinion. When he thought of the old days, he pictured the darker side of American history. He held no special love for the past.

            “I don’t want to go backwards, Mister McTurner. I want to go forward. But in the right direction.”

            “Amen,” said Jamal, before putting his water glass to his lips.

            “Today’s Congressmen… They want it all, and they want it now,” said Loreen. “They don’t understand the Jeffersonian doctrine that half a loaf of bread is better than none at all. And they don’t think twice about the destruction they cause along the way. They’ll change voting regulations, twist election-districts into pretzels, destroy ancient parliamentary rules… whatever it takes in their scorched earth policy to get what they want.”

            Jamal nodded. The old woman wasn’t wrong.

            “But what they don’t understand,” continued Loreen, “is that they’re going to wind-up killing that skinny little lame goose they call Democracy just to get at the golden eggs they think are inside.”

            Jamal nodded, but he was thinking that he needed to steer the conversation to the reason they were meeting in the first place. The money.

            “Gaia Holistic is not looking for a golden egg, senator,” he said. “Just a couple of hard-boiled grants tossed our way so we can keep fighting the good fight.”

            Loreen smiled. He was clever. Handsome and clever. She appreciated the combo.

            “I have to tell you, Mister McTurner, I’m skeptical that we need to renew this grant. The federal government is already spending many billions of dollars in the health science field. And I’ve just been re-elected to shrink government spending. My constituents made it crystal clear that they want their tax burden reduced. I almost lost my primary because I refused to promise to defund the Department of Education and the Environmental Protection Agency.”

            “I’m sure it must be tough to run as a Republican these days,” said Jamal. “No matter how far right you go, there’s always someone willing to go farther.”

            “You bet there is,” said Loreen. “And believe me… I want to shrink this government as much as anyone. But we’ve got to work within the confines of the real world. And within the confines of a two-party system where the other party is pretty darn strong. It won’t work if each party just takes turns stepping on the other side’s face every few years as the reins of power are passed back and forth.”

            The conversation paused as Loreen stopped the waitress to ask her to bring another glass of wine when the meal came.

            “In this age of entitlements,” continued Loreen, “there are just not that many programs sitting near the chopping block. And frankly, Mister McTurner, your grant is standing closer than most. Personally, I think we could pause funding in this area for a couple of years without any real detriment to the American people.”

            “I understand, senator. But you’re focusing on the cost.”

            “Darn tootin’ I’m focusing on the cost. A billion here, a billion there. Pretty soon you’re talking real money.”

            “I understand your position. You wanna cut dollars. I’m a taxpayer. Hell, I pay more in taxes each year than most people bring home as pay. I want you to cut dollars, too. But there’s two different kinds of dollars.”

            “Two different kinds?”

            “Oh yeah. There’s spending dollars and there’s investment dollars.”

            “I see.”

            “Grants made to my company are investment dollars. Investment dollars come back to you. With interest.

            “Is that so?”

            “Absolutely. Interest in the form of better health for the American people. That means more work hours, less sick days, and greater longevity in the workforce. All that’s interest. And all that comes from investing in the things Gaia Holistic facilitates.”

            Loreen was becoming more impressed with the young man the more time she spent with him. This was someone who got what he wanted. And what he wanted, she had to admit, sounded pretty good for America. She wanted to give it to him. She really did. But she was the people’s steward. She had fiduciary responsibilities. And she had to start making cuts somewhere. The federal government had simply become too bloated, too powerful. And far, far too much in debt.

            Jamal continued. “Every dollar invested in disease prevention has the potential to save Americans thousands of dollars in healthcare expenses and missed work. If we’re talking about really helping-out the American taxpayer here, truly improving the life of the American worker, then not much beats giving him more healthy days to provide for his or her family.”

            The food arrived, along with Loreen’s second glass of wine. Jamal could not help but pause a moment to admire the meal set before them. The fancy sparkling silverware, the spotless white tablecloth, the fine dishes with the food arranged upon them like tiny works of circular art.

            He had always known he would arrive here. Even when has just a poor kid in hand-me-down overalls. He had never doubted himself, his rise. And to that degree, he had never doubted America. Sure, he didn’t expect America to lend a poor, unconnected boy like him much of a helping hand, but he never thought it would much stand in his way either. America was like water. It could set heavy on top of you. It could be treacherously slippery. And it could drown you if you weren’t careful. But if you kept your arms and legs moving, you could rise, you could breathe. And if you were fortunate enough to have had someone teach you how to swim and to point out the way to shore — or else if you were pig-headed enough to teach yourself how to swim and smart enough to learn from your mistakes along the way and keep right on swimming — then you might even get somewhere.

            That may not sound like much of a deal to some, but Jamal knew it was better than you could say for a lot of countries. Now, or in the history of the world. There had never been a utopia. America certainly wasn’t one. It had a whole mess of problems. But if you learned its rules and language, and abided by those, and worked hard and didn’t slip-up — and if God granted you health and life enough — you could do alright here.

            Jamal had come up with some other boys who were fine-enough kids, but they didn’t have the right kind of head on their shoulders. They had gotten the wrong sort of education at home, and so they went out and drew the wrong sorts of lessons from life. They had acquired the wrong set of expectations and the wrong set of values. A few of the boys he had known had been bright kids, but they didn’t have the fire in the belly needed to make it in this world. They were too willing to give up, too likely to cut corners or take the easy way out. Or else they grew too bitter and angry after failing or being pushed down a few dozen times.

            But Jamal had had his grandfather, his mother’s father, and that had made all the difference. Before being thrown into the great big, troubled ocean that was America, his grandfather had made sure that Jamal was strong, and that he understood how to keep his head above water, and that he knew which way to swim. He had taught him not to give up in the face of adversity, and not to give-in to anger in the face of bullies or other oppressors. Just keep those arms and legs churning. Keep determined. Stay focused. Never lose sight of the goal, and never give up.

            By the time Jamal had gotten to college, he had known that he would even outdistance the privileged individuals he found sitting next to him in class. It was just a matter of physics. They didn’t have the same fuel he had. Sure, they were lucky enough to have been born into good families, and they had been instilled with good work ethics and a fine set of values and plenty of money to help them get started — but they didn’t have the fire in the belly. And he did. He still did.

            As the conversation with the senator slowed while they enjoyed their exquisite food, Jamal’s line of sight strayed toward the edges of the beautiful dining area, to the shadows and corners that most of the diners didn’t have the eyes to see. But Jamal was not blind to the people working at the margins of the good life. The waiters and waitresses, the bartenders, the cooks, the low- or mid-level managers. These were hard jobs, hard lives filled with hard days. They earned every dollar. They were the calloused hands of America. No honest person could claim that these people worked any less hard than the rich people they served. It was just that their path had led them into a less remunerative kind of work. They had not had a grandfather like Jamal’s to help guide them and prepare them. They had not been taught the proper way to swim. They had not had the shore pointed-out to them.

            Jamal was thankful to have been born in America. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t know there was a barrier here that separated the servant class from the elites. Oh yes. America still had its servants and its masters. That had never ended. Only the names had changed.

            In the old days, the servants all worked for the same master. But the servant class was spread-out now. And the lords shared their servants. It had turned-out to be a much more efficient use of labor this way. There were still cooks and servers and soil-tillers and fruit-pickers and cleaning services and drivers and all the rest. And there were still the rich folks who they served. But today’s servants were not paid in room and board. Instead, they got wages — wages which they then had to go exchange for room and board — after deducting some for the greatest feudal lord of all — the tax man.

            Jamal knew that, at heart, he was part of the servant class, too. Sometimes, he felt like an imposter. Sometimes, when he locked eyes with a waiter or a janitor or store clerk, he wondered if they saw in him the little boy in overalls, just some huckster out there fooling all the elites into thinking that he was one of them. And he would feel ashamed in those moments. Ashamed of his success.

            In those times he wanted to strip off his fancy suit and find a t-shirt and a pair of old jeans and go back in time and help his grandfather build that third and fourth chicken house, the ones that were supposed to have provided his Gramps with a well-deserved retirement income. But a disease had wiped out those chickens the same year he had poured all his savings into his new investment, and he had never gotten the retirement he deserved.

            “I suppose we both want what is best for American health,” said Loreen as they neared the end of their meal. “And your company is obviously very respected and successful in the field. But as a member of Congress, I have to look at the full spectrum of the nation’s challenges.”

            Jamal set down his fork and leaned forward a little, his elbows just off the edge of the table. It was time to go nuclear.

            “Senator Kiley, America is going to be hit with a deadly pandemic within five years, probably three. It’s almost a certainty. The best we can do is to be prepared to counterattack. This grant is a step in that direction.”

            Loreen frowned and looked down. She hated that her job forced her to think so often about some of the worst scenarios that could befall the nation.

            She spoke more softly now. “I know. I’ve been told we have to expect that.”

            “I don’t know if you’ve had the opportunity to review last year’s National Biodefense Strategy…” Jamal paused for a response.

            Loreen’s expression was noncommittal. She was not sure if she had read that particular report from that particular year of not. She read so many reports. So many, many reports.

            Jamal continued. “But that report should have made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It spelled out the very real risks that the world is facing when it comes to diseases such as SARS or Ebola or Zika. As I’m sure you’re well aware, there have been recent, serious outbreaks of these diseases in recent years. In a globalized world such as ours, we should view these as shots across our bow. We’ve basically been dodging bullets for years now. But a man don’t live long when his life depends on dodging bullets.”

            “It seems like the warnings get more strident every year.” Loreen reached for her wine.

            “Healthcare professionals have been sounding the alarm for a long time, senator. The Global Health Security Index reports that the world is completely unprepared to deal with a deadly pandemic. If a pandemic were to strike today, in the twenty-first century, you know how we’d respond? We’d respond the same they did in the fourteenth century. We’d panic, take useless precautions and even more useless medicines, and then sink into death and despair until the last wave finally passed. Then you know what we’d do? Nothing. We’d just go back to our old ways until the next disease came and we’d repeat the whole cycle again. The human mindset toward pandemics hasn’t changed since the Stone Age.”

            “What do you suggest?”        

            “We need to prepare, senator. The people in my profession stand aghast at the lack of preparation made by governments around the world. Everyone’s behaving like that myth about ostriches burying their heads in the sand when they’re afraid. Just because we refuse to look at a problem doesn’t mean the problem goes away. The simple fact is… America is not prepared to face a plague threat.”

            “And giving money to Gaia Holistic is the way to make America prepared?”

            “It’s part of the solution, yeah. The Biodefense Strategy calls for a three-prong approach… First, we have to quickly detect the threat. Second, we have to quickly define the threat. Today, that includes determining the pathogen’s genetic structure and how it is harmful to us, not just its symptoms, but what it’s doing to harm the cells of our bodies. And third, we must respond rapidly to the situation with overwhelming force. We must contain the threat as quickly as possible. If we can’t do that, we’ll be in big trouble. It’s the nature of pathogens to progress exponentially.”

            “Yes,” said Loreen, “but where does your company fit into all of this, Mister McTurner?”

            “Senator, my company contributes to all three prongs of the bio-defense strategy. Our researchers study how to detect threats better and sooner, and we’ve also been making great strides in genetic research, providing us with tools we’ve never had before when it comes to directly neutralizing pathogens at the molecular level. And we have the expertise and the infrastructure in place to come out fighting immediately when our skills are called upon, reducing infection rates and providing medicines.”

            “I agree with you about the need for research and preparation. But I’m a little concerned about your business model. You hire a lot of foreign crews.”

            “Senator… Gaia Holistic is an international company in the health-research business. It’s not soda pops or automobiles. Scientific research works within the framework of an international community. And thank God we do. Everyone benefits when science crosses borders and researchers share data and discoveries. Diseases and environmental hazards don’t stop at some boundary-line drawn upon some map.”

            “Indeed. But why can’t you hire more American workers?”

            “I would love to use more American researchers. But the plain truth is that they’re too expensive. And, to put it bluntly, they’re not always the best educated. I just can’t get the same level of work for the same price here in the States.”

            “That’s sad to hear,” said Loreen. “I suppose that’s partly the government’s fault. The educational system. Anywhere the federal government steps-in with its big fat foot, we ruin the market. Destroy the efficiency, drain the quality. Prices go up. It’s what we do best.”

            She said the last sentence with a smile and a twinkle in her eye just before downing her last sip of wine. Jamal knew that he was running out of time to make his case.

            “Here’s the bottom line, Senator Kiley. We’re racing against the clock here. All of us. Trying to outrun the minute-hand before the next plague strikes — a plague for which every expert agrees we are long overdue. I’m asking you to help my company help save lives. American lives. There are marvelous, wonderful technologies out there, and new ones being discovered every day — and we need to take advantage of these things and leverage them. This is not something you want to be behind the curve on.”

            “I want you to use more American research institutions,” said Loreen.

            Ah, thought Jamal. She’s getting to her bottom line at last.

            He was tempted to lie, of course. To placate her. To tell the elderly senator what she wanted to hear. But he’d seen too many other business leaders go down in flames by promising more than they could deliver. Some got away with it. But others never received another government contract. He couldn’t take that risk. Not with his daughter’s future on the line.

            “I can promise you that I’ll try to do that, Senator Kiley. But Americans are depending on us to do the best we possibly can to keep them safe and secure. That means using the best minds with the best equipment in the best facilities. Sometimes that will be found in the States, and sometimes it may be elsewhere.”

            “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say that I can understand, or at least overlook, your farming-out of research to non-Americans. But the subcontractors you deal with… some of them are operating in countries with the most oppressive, least transparent totalitarian regimes on the planet. It makes it very hard to make certain they are spending the money in right way, and that they’re truly sharing any discoveries made.”

            Jamal was ready with his answer. This was not his first war-luncheon. “If we only did business with countries we approved-of, senator, we wouldn’t get much business done.”

            Loreen flipped through the pages of the pamphlet Jamal’s secretary had sent her last week. “I’ve been warned to look for gain-in-function experiments in here. Where you take a pathogen and make it even worse. I don’t think I like that idea very much.”

            “No need to worry, senator. Gain-in-function experiments are forbidden by the terms of the contract accompanying the grant.”

            “To purposefully genetically engineer a virus to be more contagious and more deadly…” continued Loreen. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea. Especially if it’s being done under the auspices of a foreign power where we have no direct control or oversight.”

            “Yes, of course. That point has been raised before. That’s why the terms of this grant prohibit that. There are caveats in the contract.”

            “Caveats!” Loreen chuckled. “Do you think countries like China or Russia care about our little caveats? It doesn’t even slow them down. They laugh at our wagging finger. They used to laugh behind closed doors, of course, but now they laugh right to our faces.”

            “Many of the world’s most beneficial industries involve dangerous elements, senator,” replied Jamal. “But that’s precisely why Gaia Holistic scours the globe to find only the best professionals and the most secure facilities to carry-out the work.”

            Loreen sighed. “To tell you the truth, this whole area of research frightens me,” she said. “Seems like we’re overstepping somehow. Playing God. Messing with things we don’t fully understand just because we can.”

            “There are safe-guards in place–“

            “I don’t want the U.S. funding some foreign military’s creation of a bio-weapon.”

            “Of course not,” said Jamal, allowing his tone to indicate his horror at the very notion. “This grant doesn’t go anywhere near that. It’s all private and proprietary. And most of all, safe.”

            Loreen closed the pamphlet and laid it on the table beside her plate. “It’s happened before, you know? A virus escaping a laboratory, infecting people, killing people.”

            “I can assure you, senator, that any laboratory working for us is operating under the absolute highest safety precautions.”

            “The hubris…”

            “Pardon?”
            “We think we can play with fire and not get burned.”

            “We’ve been playing with fire a long time, senator. Civilization was built upon playing with fire. Well, that and agriculture.”

            Hee, hee, hee. Jamal laughed at his own anthropological philosophizing.