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CHAPTER 033

Brad Gordon clicked off the TV and yelled, “It’s open. Come in.”

It was noon. He was lounging in his third-floor apartment in Sherman Oaks, watching the ball game and waiting for the pizza delivery guy. But to his surprise, the door opened and in walked the best-looking woman he had ever seen in his life. She had elegance written all over her-thirtyish, tall, slim, European clothing, heels that were not too high. Sexy, but in control. Brad sat forward in his lounger chair and ran his hand over his chin, feeling the stubble.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t expect any visitors-”

“Your uncle, Mr. Watson, sent me,” the woman said, walking directly toward him. He hastened to stand. “My name is Maria Gonzales.” She had a slight accent, but it didn’t sound Spanish. More German. “I’m involved with the firm that does your uncle’s investment work,” she said, shaking his hand.

Brad nodded, inhaling her light perfume. He wasn’t surprised to hear she worked for Uncle Jack: the old guy surrounded himself with good-looking, extremely competent businesswomen. He said, “What can I do for you, Ms. Gonzales?”

“Nothing for me,” she answered smoothly, looking around the apartment for a place to sit. She decided to remain standing. “But you can do something for your uncle.”

“Well, sure. Anything.”

“I don’t need to remind you that your uncle has paid your bail, and will be assuming the cost of your legal defense. Since the charge involves sex with a minor, the defense will be difficult.”

“But I was set up-”

She raised her hand. “It’s none of my affair. The point is this: your uncle has helped you many times over the years. Now he needs your help-confidentially-in return.”

“Uncle Jack needs my help?”

“He does.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“In strict confidence.”

“Right. Yes.”

“You will discuss this with no one. Ever.”

“Right. Understood.”

“Word of this must never get out. If it did, you would lose your legal defense funding. You’d spend twenty years in prison as a child molester. You know what that means.”

“Yes.” He wiped his hands on his trousers. “I understand.”

“No screwups this time, Brad.”

“Okay, okay. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Your favorite company, BioGen, is about to announce an important new discovery-a gene that cures drug addiction. It’s the first step toward a huge commercial product, and it will attract a lot of financing. Your uncle currently holds a large position in the company, and he does not want his position diluted by additional investors. He wants them scared off.”

“Yes…”

“By some bad news coming out of BioGen.”

“What kind of bad news?”

“At the moment,” Maria Gonzales said, “BioGen’s most important commercial product consists of a cell line, the Burnet line, which the company bought from UCLA. The cell line produces cytokines, important in cancer treatment.”

“Yeah…”

“Contamination of those cell lines would be disastrous.”

She reached into her purse and brought out a small plastic bottle of a well-known brand of eye drops. The bottle contained clear liquid. She unscrewed the cap and put a single drop of liquid on the tip of each finger of her other hand. “Got it?”

“Yes,” he said.

“One drop on each finger. Let it dry.”

“Okay.”

“Go into BioGen. Your swipe cards still work. Check the database for storage locations and research lockers containing the Burnet line. The storage number is on this card.” She handed him a small card with the number BGOX6178990QD. “There are frozen samples and there are live in-vitro incubators. You go to each one and…just touch them.”

“Just touch them?” Brad looked at the bottle. “What is that stuff?”

“Nothing that will hurt you. But the cells won’t like it.”

“The security cameras will record me. Card swipes are recorded. They’ll know who did it.”

“Not if you go in between one and two a.m. The systems are down for backup.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are. This week only.”

Brad took the plastic bottle from her and turned it over in his hand.

“You realize,” he said, “they have off-site storage for that cell line, too.”

“Just do what your uncle asks,” she said. “And leave the rest to him.” She closed her purse. “And one final thing. Do not call or contact your uncle about this or any other matter. He wants no record ofany contact with you. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“Good luck. And on behalf of your uncle, thank you.” She shook his hand again and left.

BBC Reported False Story Absent Fact Check

No WHO Study, No German Study

A Bad Blonde Joke for 150 Years

The World Health Organization (WHO) today denied it had ever conducted or published any study predicting the extinction of the blonde hair gene. According to the UN group spokesman, “WHO has no knowledge of how these news reports originated but would like to stress that we have no opinion on the future existence of blondes.”

According to the Washington Post, the BBC story stemmed from a German wire service account. That story, in turn, was based on an article published two years before in the German women’s magazine Allegra, which cited a WHO anthropologist as its source. But no record of the anthropologist exists.

The story would never have run, said Georgetown media professor Len Euler, if even minimal fact-checking had been done by BBC editors. Some media observers noted that news organizations no longer check anything. “We just publish the press release and move on,” one reporter observed. Another reporter, speaking on condition of anonymity, said, “Let’s face it, it’s a good story. Accuracy would kill it.”

Further inquiry by the urban legend site Snopes.com uncovered multiple versions of the extinct blonde story going back 150 years, to the time of Abraham Lincoln. In every instance, scientific validity was claimed to bolster the story’s credibility. A typical example dates from 1906:

•BLONDES DOOMED TO VANISH FROM EARTH •

Major Woodruff Sounds Their Deathknell-It’s Science

The girl with the golden tresses is doomed, and within six hundred years blondes will be extinct. The fate of the blonde was foretold today by Major C. E. Woodruff in a lecture at the Association for the Advancement of Science at Columbia University…

Clearly, blondes will not become extinct, but neither will the news stories that predict their demise, since the stories have been repeated for a century and a half with no basis whatsoever, said Professor Euler.