Nathan Haynes hadn''t noticed how stiff his back had become until he stood for the thirty-second break he''d allotted himself, his first in a couple of hours. The ache was an acceptable price to pay considering the flow he''d been in during this all-night writing session. He was in a great zone, which was fortunate, because this rewrite had to happen yesterday . Out the hotel room window, a ruddy orange sun glowed low on the eastern horizon, hazy beneath a translucent layer of wispy gray clouds. Nathan allowed himself exactly five seconds to take notice of the outside world before returning to his seat and diving back into his work. He arched his neck a couple of times and then reread the two paragraphs on the laptop screen in front of him. I''m overwriting , he thought. I can''t let the words get in the way of the message .
He quickly deleted the last graph, deeming it superfluous. Nathan had a contract with his readers - I''ll never waste your time with unnecessary information - and he wasn''t about to start breaking that now. Not with what was unquestionably the most important book of his career. Satisfied that he''d introduced the chapter with the proper preliminaries, he got on to the core of the matter. I was on the final leg of my whirlwind tour promoting my last book, Broken Trust: How Big Food Deliberately Poisoned America . I was standing at the podium in the main ballroom of the Doubletree in Springfield, Missouri and getting ready to begin my presentation. Just as I was about to speak, a giant of a man rose from his seat in the front row and thrust himself toward me. "Let''s hold questions until the end," I told him reflexively, though I was taken aback by his enormous size and the black patch covering his right eye.
"I don''t have a question, Mr. Haynes. I have a flash drive." He unfurled a massive mitt of a hand in which the drive was cupped, so I took it cautiously but curiously. When my presentation was finished more than ninety minutes later, the packed crowd of two thousand responded with thundering applause, most on their feet. I wondered if the giant was responding as enthusiastically, but when I looked, I noticed he was gone. What was on that flash drive? Nathan saved his work and shifted his eyes to the cornscape that filled his twelfth-floor hotel room window. I''m definitely in Iowa.
Des Moines was the final stop of his tour, four cities after Springfield, where the giant had given him the digital files - and instigated this massive rewrite of his next book. Nathan had been wary about opening the flash drive, afraid of what it might do to his computer, but curiosity won out. And he was so glad it did. On the drive was a massive trove of top-secret documents about the processed food industry - documents that confirmed what he''d been preaching for a long time: that processed food, sugar, and corn syrup had turned America into "an adulterated sea of obese diabetics." While this sounded hyperbolic, Nathan was convinced that the phrase wasn''t alarmist enough . After all, when you had a nation of more than one hundred and twenty million diabetics and prediabetics and one hundred and forty million obese, could any warning be alarmist enough? And now he had the hard data to back up every claim he''d ever made. Nathan had always prided himself on his research, and he''d presented every one of his books with the utmost integrity. But he''d always had to do a certain amount of filling in of the blanks because his research could only take him so far.
Not this time. This time, he had all the details. Nathan had just repositioned his hands on the keyboard when a swoosh caught his ear, prompting him to look toward the door in his room. There, on the floor, was an envelope. As he approached it, he could hear footsteps receding down the hallway. He opened the thin package and pulled out the document inside. Shit, another one , he thought angrily. Except this time, it wasn''t a verbal threat on his hotel phone, a message that could be left by anyone who''d Googled his tour schedule.
This was more real. This time the person knew his room number. He jerked open the door and scrutinized the hallway. Not a soul was there. He turned quickly to the room phone and punched "Reception." "Hello, Mr. Haynes," said an Iowa-nice female voice. "How can I help you?" "Someone just slid an envelope under my door.
Did you just give my room number to anyone?" "No, no, of course not, Mr. Haynes. We don''t give out room numbers to anyone except hotel guests. Hotel policy." "Could it have been the concierge?" "Let me check for you." She placed Nathan on hold, allowing his mind to sift through possibilities. A minute later the woman returned. "No, it didn''t come from anyone at the hotel.
Sorry." "Thank you." Nathan hung up and looked again at the bleakly typed message: If you call for a food boycott, you and every member of your family will be killed. Just like the phone threats he''d received on every tour stop since Springfield. Whoever was trying to scare him hadn''t done all their homework. If they had, they''d have known that he didn''t have a family unless you counted his three ex-wives. No living parents, no children, not even a pet. Not that any of that really mattered.
Then there was the new wrinkle: If you don''t agree to bury the book, we''ll soon be burying you. The phoned death threats had never mentioned the book. Did that mean that someone knew why he was revising it so tirelessly? Before he could allow the chill to make its way up his spine, he grabbed his mobile and tapped on a missed call. "Hessen USA, office of James Darnell," a pleasant voice said. "Hi, this is Nathan Haynes." "Oh, Mr. Haynes," the voice said cautiously. "Tell Darnell I''ll meet him Friday at lunch to discuss his offer.
" "I''m sure Mr. Darnell will be happy to hear this. He was planning to take you to the Chop Stop. Do you know where that is?" "I''ll find it. And tell him if those death threats are coming from Hessen -" "Death threats, sir?" "Never mind. Noon Friday, the Chop Stop. Make sure he''s on time, please." James Darnell was a top executive at Hessen Foods, one of the world''s largest purveyors of processed food.
He had recently offered to "buy" Haynes''s next book for ten million dollars, as long as Haynes also agreed not to go forward with the boycott of all processed food in America that he''d been hinting at to his massive following for weeks. Nathan knew that what Darnell was really offering was a "buy-and-bury" deal. The book would never see the light of day and all talk of a boycott would end. He could see how that would easily be worth ten million dollars to a company like Hessen. Nathan had made it clear over the phone that Hessen couldn''t buy his silence. That''s when Darnell had suggested lunch while Nathan was in Des Moines. Nathan had pencilled it on his calendar but been noncommittal. But this latest threat suggested that it might be a good idea to give the appearance of being willing to get in bed with the enemy.
At least until he could finish the manuscript. He moved to sit back down at the desk, but he needed to take a few minutes. As much as he hated to admit it, this latest threat had left him a little rattled. He looked over at the clock. It was a little after 9:00. Still too early to call Bobby . His lifelong best friend Bobby Greystein lived on the west coast, where it was just past seven. They had so much to discuss: the boycott, the book, the threats - the trust , God, he''d not even discussed the trust with him yet.
He''d try Bobby in an hour, though he wasn''t optimistic about reaching him. He hadn''t been able to get through to Bobby for weeks. For a reason he didn''t fully understand, Nathan made another backup copy of the material he''d gotten on the flash drive along with the most current version of the manuscript, wrote a quick note, and slipped the two items into a Revolutionizing Food envelope. He''d explain to the concierge what he wanted done with it later. That accomplished, Nathan moved to sit down at his desk, and once again he found himself feeling a little less bullish than he''d been all through the night. Maybe a shower first.