Ellie sat back, stretched her legs out in front of her, and arched her back. She’d need a dozen people to help sort through the mess and still not know what to look for. The DoD had overwhelmed them with so many documents—many of which seemed blatantly irrelevant—that she suspected that was their strategy. It was as if they were taunting the committee to try to find the needle in their haystack.
And what did it really matter? There had been a hearing years ago. That hearing had insisted a study be conducted. Hadn’t those committee members gone over all these same documents? If there was damning evidence, wouldn’t it have been found by now?
She tossed the files in her hand off to the side. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. Did she really care or was she simply angry that Quincy might be keeping her in the dark? He was even using her chief of staff.
But why didn’t they want her to know about Frank Sadowski? He was a veteran from her home state of Florida who was affected by Project 112. Of course she’d encourage him to testify. But in July she didn’t even know about these congressional hearings. Was Sadowski the only reason that Senator Quincy had allowed her to be on the committee? Did he think he might somehow be able to control the veteran’s testimony if Sadowski thought he had his own senator on his side? What kind of game was Quincy playing? And using her chief of staff to do it?
She wondered if Quincy had ever intended to treat her like a full-fledged member of this committee. But how could she complain? She had used being the token woman as a trump card to get on the committee. And her reason for wanting on? She needed to lift her profile for reelection. How lame was that? How selfish was that?
Ellie raked her fingers through her long hair and leaned against the sofa.
Dear God, she was as bad as the rest of them.
Games, compromises, quid pro quo—everything came with a price. From the very beginning she should not have put up with any of their sexist actions and degrading comments. Her first month in the Senate she was stunned when one of the most senior members had told her that she had the “prettiest bottom” for a senator. Okay, so at least he hadn’t pinched it, but his remark certainly set the stage for what the others thought was appropriate.
She thought it would get old and go away. Sort of like a fraternity initiation ritual. But just last week another senior senator had asked her if it was tough being without her Latin husband, insinuating that she must be accustomed to sex and lots of it. In so many words he went on to offer his services. She had laughed like it was the funniest joke she had ever heard because she had no clue how else to respond.
Isn’t that what the men did—tell each other rude, crude jokes and then roll with laughter?
She pulled out another stack of files and stopped. This was ridiculous. A waste of time. She started to shove them back into the box when a manila envelope fell to the floor. Even before she picked it up she could tell it was old. The metal clasp indented the fold and rust encircled it. The envelope felt brittle between her fingers. There was something thicker than paper inside.
Ellie glanced at the outside of the box. All these files were copies of original documents. Was it possible someone had mistakenly dropped an original?
She tried to carefully and slowly bend the metal clasp. One side broke off in her fingers and she felt a slight panic. She set the piece of metal aside and caught herself actually thinking she might be able to glue it back on.
Stupid and silly! Just open the damned envelope.
She slid the contents out onto her coffee table. And then she stopped, her hand in midair holding the now empty envelope. The black-and-white photographs were eight-by-tens, the kind a professional photographer would take. The dates were stamped in scalloped white edges: 1953, 1958, 1962, 1965.
Ellie held each one up. They were nothing like she expected. So much talk about ships and bases being sprayed, about sailors and soldiers being exposed to biological weapons.
But these were not photos of sailors or ships. These photographs were of schoolchildren.
47.
Ellie dug back into the box and found the file folder she thought the envelope had fallen out of. Unlike the others, this one was not labeled.
In all, there were five photographs. The children were lined up and smiled for the camera as a man in a suit waved a strange wand with some kind of light beam. Ellie didn’t recognize it as any kind of magic trick.
In one photo he held the wand over their feet. In another, they were facing away from the camera while he waved the light beam across their little backs.
There was no explanation in the envelope. Only the date stamped on each. She pulled out yellowed newspaper articles from the folder. They were from the Chicago Tribune, The New York Times, and the Minneapolis Star Tribune. Two were from 1994. One was dated 2012. All had disturbing headlines:
MINNEAPOLIS CALLED TOXIC TEST SITE IN ’53
ACCUSATIONS RAISED, DATA DEMANDED
ARMY SPRAYED ST. LOUIS WITH TOXIC AEROSOL
“You haven’t touched your pizza.” Ellie’s daughter startled her. She was standing over her and Ellie closed the folder and plopped it on top of the photographs.
“I will. I just got carried away.”