Lorraine Baxter knew too much about too many things. This knowledge was so dangerous that it affected not only her own life but the lives of thousands, maybe millions of other people.
I sat on the hard bench in the waiting area of the bus station in Washington D.C. and wished that I could have afforded to take a plane. I finished the letter that was writing, and signed my name with a flourish: Lorraine Michelle Baxter.
The bus I was waiting for would head North, and take me home to Ottawa. The young man I loved more than life itself was waiting for me there.
He wanted so badly to come with me, but his wife went into labour two days before I had to leave. Of course his place was with her . Fourteen hours in labour! I still winced when I thought about it.
At least I got to see my brand new precious little granddaughter before I left. Thinking about her sweet little face lightened my sour mood. I had hoped to sell my article to that magazine.
I've been an investigative newspaper reporter for twenty three years. I've earned a strong reputation for honest, and more importantly, true reporting. I saw what I saw. I have pictures, and video tapes to prove everything.
Those publishers were wimps and cowards. They wouldn't believe a true investigative story if it came up and bit them in the face. I did everything I could think of to prove my case, but they still didn't believe me. This information is so important to so many people. I just can't get anyone to let people know about the danger that is out there.