“Monkey Road"
                                         by J.T. Robbins




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Introductory Quotes:
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"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated."
---Mahatma Gandhi       www.animalwatch.ca/ WFAD2.htm
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"Science gets to the end of its knowledge and, in effect, says, 'I do not know what I do
not know,' and keeps on searching. Religion gets to the end of its knowledge, and in effect, says, 'I know what I do not know,' and stops searching."

---Attorney Clarence Darrow, during famous Scopes Monkey Trial, 1925                                          
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Dedication

This book is dedicated to the millions of animal lovers and protectors of animals who have been loved by, assisted and comforted by their animal friends and to the animals themselves, especially our primate cousins who ultimately sacrifice everything, albeit unknowingly, for the betterment of mankind in the name of scientific research. Additionally, without the guidance, encouragement and wisdom of so many dear friends, completion of this book would have been impossible.
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Prologue

As the issues and passions related to animal rights wage on internationally, the reality of trade and business related to the buying and selling of animals for scientific research continues unabated and mostly unaffected by any and all protests to the contrary. Like it or not, the raising and marketing of various types of animals for scientific research around the globe is a thriving business, providing large profits for international corporations and livelihoods for peoples of diverse cultures.

Understandably, there are people and organizations, who, for their own vested interests, don't want this book written. And yet, while it is no particular indictment of these people for what they do for a living, the book's purpose is to tell the story in a fictitious presentation of how common, every day people, along with profit-driven individuals and companies, are involved in this ongoing, little-known (at least to the general public) commercial trade that fuels the fires of scientific research around the world---the buying and selling of our biological "cousins," the primates.

However, this book in no way intends to sway the reader in one direction or another in regard to the ongoing animal rights debate and the literal global battlefield that has developed as a result. Protection of any life form, be it human or animal, involves sensitive issues, and in the case of the animal rights cause, it has now escalated to a volatile level that affects the lives, livlihoods and life works of many individuals and institutions all over world. This book aims only to cast a small, but distinct light on
both sides of this issue in hopes that the reader will become more aware of the dynamics of this subject, while posing the question, "Is it actually possible for
animals to have legal rights, or is it rather a matter of human beings having a social responsibility toward other creatures within the framework of a legalistic society and,
if so, at what cost to the future of mankind?"

While the material in this book is based on the author’s personal experiences, the story and the characters are ficticious.

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I. The Monkey Source

It was 5:00 a.m. and the little island of Murisa was reluctantly waking up, being nudged by clusters of dark violet storm clouds that were slowly creeping their way in from the west. The tall, elegant, but aging pualona trees were bending agreeably with the scattered gusts of wind coming off the beach while the morning tide predictably delivered its rolling succession of whitecaps to the shoreline. Soon, the first glow of the sun would find its way above the horizon and baptize the gentle island with its golden beams.

Ritalu had already finished his bowl of gac fruit and rice and could hear his fellow tribesmen in the other surrounding huts rustling about preparing for the day. He wondered if the threatening storm would prevent them from another full day of work. Such storms had done so in the past, sometimes lasting two or three days, and too much lost time could wipe out the entire season. All that could be done was to hope that the winds would blow the clouds over the small mountain on the northeastern side of the island and on out to sea. Meanwhile, the preparation for today's work had to proceed.

Capturing monkeys, or any wild animal for that matter, is no simple proposition and requires careful planning to be carried out successfully. Like many such activities involving close-knit groups of people, as in the sports world, the element of teamwork is crucial in carrying out a game plan to success. Leading up to this day for laying out the nets, long hours had already been spent, mostly by the women and young girls of the village, in the design and weaving of the large capture nets that would today be placed at pre-determined locations throughout the jungle floor. The nets had to be strong and they also had to be tied closely together so that a frantic, 15-20 pound primate running on surges of adrenaline could not stretch the hand-woven twine and escape. While it was very tedious work, it also was a labor that had paid off time after time for these simple village people. It was no easy business, this monkey capturing, but it was a business the Ualawi tribe had been active in since the 1930's when the first white traders discovered their idyllic little island off the coast of Indonesia. In those days, the grandfathers and grandmothers of today's tribal members worked on handshakes and smiles with white traders from all over Europe, Australia and the United States. Their pay then was in cheap trinkets and farming tools and sometimes, rifles and pistols and ammunition, the primates being gathered mainly for zoos and carnival acts. The business thrived well enough in the old days, but paled in comparison with the huge demand that had arisen in recent years from the worldwide demand for research animals. Now the tribe was under an exclusive contract with a British firm that had strategic business agreements all over the globe with companies that specialized in the importation of laboratory-quality primates for research purposes. Demand had literally outstripped supply and the people of this small tropical paradise with a seemingly endless supply of monkeys, had been thrust into the forefront of an aggressive worldwide research effort to discover cures for the ills of mankind. Payment to the tribe now was in the form of modern housing, schools, raw materials for their fledgling clothing business, and plenty of British pound sterling notes. In today's market for research animals, the Ualawi could literally name their price. Every research center in the world was crying out for more primates to conduct more and more research studies heavily financed by multinational pharmaceutical companies and prestigious universities, and a seemingly endless supply of research money was being made available every day.

Ritalu knew his job and did it well. He was a man of the jungle and capturing monkeys was something he had done as a way of life since he was a boy. But he only knew his work from a tribal point of view and had but a dim concept of the monkeys' fate after they left the island. Many of the tribe's traditions and ceremonies had focused on the lore of the monkeys for generations and although the monkey was viewed as their brother, the monkey was, nevertheless, ultimately destined to be given up as a sacrifice for the survival of the tribe. This belief had its origin with past generations when the monkey was an important food staple for the tribe. But once it was understood by the tribe's leaders that the white traders would pay and pay well for each monkey captured alive, the concept of monkeys as food was abandoned by the tribe. And whatever the future held for the monkeys, it was, for the Ualawi, still in line with the concept of the monkey as their sacrificial brother.

The crates were stacked five-high in a perfect six-foot by six-foot square of crates---a living Rubik's cube of primates. As soon as the last crate was set in place, a tall, black half-African, half-Indonesian native picked up a nearby water hose and aimed the nozzle toward the crates and with precision accuracy, masterfully shot a continuous stream of water into each individual crate, exactly at the point where the water cup in each was located..

As soon as his task was completed, a team of four other natives draped a large web of shipping net around the cubed pallet and pulled it tightly into place while locking it securely at all four corners as well as on each side of the cube, now bustling with 125 live, screeching cynomolgus (Rhesus?) monkeys. Once the last lock had been snapped into place, a well-used, near antique forklift arrived, commandered by a youthful-looking native, and in one fell swoop the arms of the forklift scooped up the pallet and carted it off to a nearby staging area at the edge of a natural earth tarmack at the end of a crude, jungle runway. There the crate was joined with nine other already completed pallets to await the arrival of the aging [________Huey?] helicopter which would eventually shuttle the entire contingent of 1,250 primates to the [____Indonesian] airport and the waiting chartered Turkish Airlines cargo plane. Final destination: Bush Intercontinental Airport, Houston, Texas USA.


II. The Driver

The dozen or so executives sat squarely upright and intent as their firm's leading stock analyst delivered his closing remarks after a challenging fourth quarter overview.

"Now while this approach may seem somewhat radical compared to what we have done in the past, I prefer to consider it, rather, a bold, decisive move---a move based on proven past performance and supported 100% by the available data…"

After Paul Sheffield spoke, while there may not have been total agreement with his presentation, you would never know it by the emotionless faces and the hushed silence in the room. It could have been either way--total support or total rejection of the idea, but there was no reading or second guessing what those in the room really thought. Sheffield was, after all, the top senior analyst in the company with a proven track record, but a record that had been on a gradual, yet clear downslide for the past six months. Today was
Sheffield's chance to explain away the shaky, recent past and present a glowing blueprint of his ideas for the future.

"Gentlemen, today we are faced with both a great challenge and a great opportunity. Bringing the Murphy-Solo Group into our fold will shift the cumbersome burden of research to their team and free us to do what we do best---communicate success to the client. Granted, there will be a period of reorganization for all of us, but I believe that after six months, the results will be very evident and we'll be congratulating ourselves on what a good move we made today. So I say, let's make this happen. I look forward to your comments and replies on email before Friday. Thank You."

Within seconds after he had completed his presentation, Martin Bosworth, CEO of Dorsett Whately Brokerage, walked up to Sheffield and looked him squarely in the eye.

"Paul, that was a hell of a talk and I want to believe in this move as much as you do---but I still have a few questions. How about we talk tomorrow morning, say about 9:30?"

"Sure Martin, sounds good. I'll see you then." There was no arguing or discussion after Bosworth asked you to a private meeting in his office, but instinctively Sheffield knew something was up. And when you were asked to a private meeting with Bosworth you could bet it was going to be a one-way conversation...his way.

Sheffield was always positive with Bosworth, but had never really trusted him. To him, Bosworth was the type of man that would tell you one thing, then do the complete opposite after he walked away from you or whenever you turned your back. He had become rich using these tactics on numerous customers over the years, many of whom he had also made rich, so there was scant complaining whenever his methods may have been in question. Rather than a man of his word, he was known as a man of fierce independence, deceptiveness and even defiance, beholden to no one. In the business
world, he could seek out and hire the best people, the best organizations to work with and make the best decisions which were usually unpredictable at best, but gutsy and profitable in the long run. So knowing his boss's track record, Paul Sheffield knew instinctively when he heard Bosworth say, "I want to believe in this move…" that something was definitely up. (later to be fired)

…
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IV. The Interview: One Monkey Run

The only work even closely resembling a labor job that Paul Sheffield had ever done was working in a furniture warehouse one summer when he was in college. At the time, he fully realized it was a temporary job and little more than a stepping stone to his eventual career in statistical analysis.

Now at the age of 44, Sheffield found himself on his way to an interview for another labor job, a "non -discript "driver" 'position with a company he had never heard of, but nontheless one with a friendly enough sounding name: Indian Springs Enterprises. All Sheffield wanted at this point was a "job"--any job, that would get him up and out of the house, a dependable routine and an income that would at least pay the
bills until he could get back into the corporate world where he felt, after all, that he really belonged. Maybe this "driver" thing would be something that would hold him over until he could find something in his field. The advertised rate of pay for the job was nothing even close to his six-figure income at the Dorsett Whately Brokerage, but, along with his wife's income, it would at least help pay the bills.

The address for Indian Springs Enterprises was one that was located close to the city's large airport and was set somewhere within row upon row of small, commercial buildings that housed private companies that dealt with international trade and cargo.

The idea of doing something different for a living right at this time in life was starting to grow on Sheffield and was beginning to intrigue him. It could even be interesting to deliver boxes of overseas cargo to retail outlets all over the city, he mused to himself---
a good opportunity even to meet new people and see how business is really done, hands-on, instead of being cooped up in a 30th-floor office building, sweating over piles of information and figures.

The two large men working on the cargo dock at the Indian Springs address were so busy awinging and shifting around boxes into a warehouse that they did not notice Sheffield as he approached them.

"Excuse me," Sheffield called to them, " I'm looking for a Mr. Robert Cantrell with the Indian Springs company."

"Yeah," the larger of the two men fired back, "that would be Bobby….you can catch him in the office right over there. Just stick your nose in the door and ask for Bobby."

"Ok, thanks," Sheffield reply, immediately aware of the casualness of the operation. "Just stick my nose in the door and I meet the head man, " he chuckled to himself.

The door to the Indian Springs office was located right on the dock, next to the warehouse, but was
unmarked, except for the numerals, 106. Opening the door, Sheffield encountered a stairway to a second floor, as well as a second downstairs floor on the left that led to what appeared to be a kennel. Peering inside, Sheffield saw row upon row of animal cages that contained a wide variety of dogs and cats.

"Looks like this outfit is in the animal transport business of some sort," he deduced (?).

Taking the stairs to the second floor, Sheffield was impressed by the dimness of the stairwell and kept a firm grip on the railing, finding his way carefully upward by following the light emitting from the head of the stairs which he surmised was an office area.

Reaching the foot of the stairs, there was yet another door, which upon opening, Sheffield encountered a hulk of a man sitting in front of a computer monitor, staring intently into a screen full of what appeared to be airline schedules. Sheffield's entrance was all but ignored or unnoticed.

"Mr. Cantrell?" Sheffield quizzed.

"Yeah…have a seat. I'll be right with you," the figure at the desk replied, without looking away from the computer monitor.

Looking around the office, Sheffield studied his surroundings in an effort to figure out just what type of business these people were into. Whatever, it was, it had to do with animals…probably boarding pets for people who were on vacation, was what made the most sense, he decided.

Gets hired….makes several trips around the country…..







Road Talk and Monkey Cruisin’

"You know, there are a lot of crazies out there that would just as soon run us off the road, beat us to pulps, or maybe worse, and let this whole truckload of monkeys go wild."

"Yeah, right, but I have a hard time understanding what their beef is, if you'll forgive the pun. I mean, sure, animals get cut up and all wired up and connected to testing machines or whatever, but if It means that a cure will be found for some diseases, isn't it worth it in the long run?"

"Sure, if that's your point of view, but these people are out for blood…I mean, they have already destroyed countless labs all over the country, mostly at universities, but also private research labs too.They go and do their damage wherever they think it will do the most harm."

"Oh, I get it, they are willing to injure or maim human beings in the name of protecting animals!? Somehow, I can't get into or justify that kind of thinking or the actions it encourages. And anyway, where does it say that animals have "rights?" If you ask me, it's more like what responsibilities do humans have as far as taking care of animals? I can be just as "environmental" and as much of a protector of wildlife and their habitats as any person who has a passing knowledge of nature preservation, but jeez, man, if testing new medicines on monkeys is the only way we can discover cures for a long list of diseases, I say let's shake out the trees and fill up our nets with monkeys! Maybe I'm insensitive, but that's what makes sense to me. And understand, as a kid, I lived on a farm…I helped take care of the animals and one more than one occasion, I became attached to some of these animals. I knew their habits, their personalities and admired their strength. But when it was their time, it was their time. They made their contributions, then they were either put out to pasture or "faded into the sunset" in one way or another. We took care of them and they took care of us…as far as I'm concerned, it's the same with any animal that is used for scientific research….we take care of them and they help mankind. And when it's their time, it's their time. Meanwhile, hopefully, because of these animals, a lot of human pain, suffering and illness in the world will be eliminated."

"You can believe what you want and feel what you like, but these people are way past discussion, if you know what I mean. I even heard the other day on the radio that, in India, there is a big move to protect chickens…people are out there are giving seminars and demonstrations on how sensitive chickens are to their environment…I mean, I just wonder where it will end?"

"Probably won't. Before I took this job, I had a passing knowledge of this animal rights thing….hey, I'm a stock analysis, not a social issues freak…but now that we physically have to adjust our routes away from known activist towns, makes it more real for me…like, now my life is in danger because of this truckload of monkeys? First, I want to laugh, then I want to be angry, then again, I really don't know how to feel. I just know that I am just a person who needs to make a living and this was the only job I could find that paid anything decent. Then again, now I have been forced to think about it and seriously wonder how these animal rights people think, and why they would have no qualms about doing me harm…all for these monkeys!"

"So what would you do or say if these people got right up in your face over this issue?"

"Jessie (Conrad?), honestly, I really have no idea, other than the fact that at that point, if they came at me I would assume that they had nothing to discuss and I would just have to protect myself. They already have their minds made up how they feel and I by the same token, I have a job to do."

"So then it's a "war?"

"Yeah, if that's what you want to call it and that's what it comes down to. As far as I am concerned, they are in the same category as terrorists….they only difference is that instead of some religion or lifestyle, their cause is to use violence to protect one specie while harming another--us humans. It's just so bizarre to me that these people think like they do."

Maybe the key is education?""

"Like how do you mean?"

"Well, if these animal rights people had any knowledge of all the drugs that have been developed for, let's just say, AIDS, arthritis, cancer and polio alone, with more cures coming because of animal testing, maybe they would shut up or, at least, tone down their activities."

"Nice thought, but really I believe you are dreaming. These are educated , well-read individuals your're talking about. They know what is going on. Personally, I think the animal rights activists are here to stay, but so is scientific research, so it looks like the war will go on forever. "
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The Detour

The endless road construction that seemed to dominate all the interstates was just part of what had to be dealt with in making the deliveries across the country. So when Sheffield and his partner came upon yet another construction site, he thought little of it. At that point in the road there was very little other traffic and Sheffield noted that the two or three cars ahead of him had been flagged on through the construction site, evident only by the small herd of saw horses that barricaded the main road. Now that he was being waved off to the right and into a small dirt road, away from the other autos that had moved on forward, Sheffield could only guess that whatever construction was ahead would be too much for truck traffic and that this dirt road was just an inconvenient detour. Besides, after driving all night, they were only about 50 miles out of Colombus, Ohio, the weather had been perfect, the animals had been fed and watered and it was about time to give the customer a call on the cell phone to verify directions to the company. Sheffield was ready for some time in a rest area.

After the initial waveoff to the dirt road by the road crew, Sheffield noted there was a flagman about every 50 yards, each wearing an orange-colored, reflective vest and a white hard hat. About two miles into the winding road, through an esepcially thickly forested area, Sheffield, tired as he was, finally sensed that something was wrong. As they weaved their way deeper and deeper into the woods, their course was clearly becoming more and more easterly, when, in fact, the direction to Colombus would have put them due north of the original point of departure off the interstate. They were headed in the wrong direction.There was no doubt about it.

"What does all this mean?!" Sheffield asked himself outloud, his partner dozing quietly offering no response.

It was now close to 5:30 in the morning and the sun was coming up straight in front of them.

"I knew it! We're headed due east and dammit, whatever is going on, we are no way headed for Columbus, Ohio!" The road-weary Sheffield was at the same time angry, frustrated and now deeply concerned for their safety.

And in the road ahead, silhouetted by the rising sun, was yet another orange vest-laden flagman, standing statuesque and stone-faced alongside the now narrow road in the forest

"I'm getting to the bottom of this right now, "Sheffield asserted, again to himself, "somebody's got some serious explaining to do."

Leaning out the window of the panel truck, Sheffield peered squarely into the sleepy eyes of the tall, muscular, bearded flagman.

"Excuse me, fella. I must have missed a turn back a mile or so? Just how do I get back onto the interstate from here? "

“Cain't help you, mister. My orders is that traffic should jest keep movin'."

"Sure movin'. OK. Right. But movin’ to where?!" Sheffield demanded. " This doesn't look like the way to Columbus...it looks like the way further into some stretch of woods. Is there a connecting road up ahead? Help me out here, OK?"

" All's I know is you have to keep movin'...chance that traffic will increase here at first light and it's a bitch seein' around these curves...you might ask directions at the next town...called 'Friendship' 'bout 2 mile more....that's all I can tell you."

Sheffield could not believe his eyes...there must have been 50--75--maybe 100 people, women, men children of all ages...each carrying an animal...a dog, a cat--another leading a lamb, another with a calf, bird cages,.......even a small monkey....the people were not smiling...just stern-looking...silent stares emitted from each face...). Sheffield did not fully understand what he and his partner had confronted...but it was looking more and more exactly like that--a confrontation. Then, the signs appeared...they seemed to come out of no where, and yet, they came from every direction....and they clearly were not nice...somehow, some way, this had all been planned...welcome to "Petsville (Animal Port?)..."

In a flash, the gravity of his situation landed heavily on him. It was not only the stark realization of what was happening to him and his partner was a very bizarre encounter to say the least, but there were the inevitable physical manifestations. His stomach had started to churn and there was a chill of fear and remorse that engulfed his body...especially in his upper back, the calves of both his legs and his lower arms. He was, at one moment, caught up with the black cloud of a thought that "this was the end." All he ever wanted to do was to provide enough income for his family to pay the bills, raise his children and create some sort of a future after losing the position with (stock company name). That is why he took on this otherwise relatively low-paying position...just to get a little ahead. And now it's come to this: an eye-to-eye confrontation with some of society's most radical individuals. Although he had no political ax to grind with them, his very life apparently was now on the line...and for what? He really did not know. Only time would tell.

Now Sheffield saw only one slim chance out of this trap. As he grabbed his cell phone, he reached for the shipment's paperwork, his eyes searching the manifest desperately for the telephone number of Biogenesis, the research company that had ordered the shipment of primates. Somebody has to be there who can get in touch with the authorities and get us the hell out of this, he thought.

"Ralph Chambers, that's the man," Sheffield blurted excitedly as his eye caught the researcher's name on the manifest.

As he feverishly dialed the telephone number of the lab at Biogenesis, he prayed that someone would answer, since it was 30 minutes past 6:00, the company's normal closing time. After almost ten rings, there was an answer.

"BioGenesis, how may I help you?"

"Hello!" Sheffield shouted into the phone. "This is Paul Sheffield. I am a driver for a delivery company and I was in route to deliver a shipment of primates to your company when I and my helper have been overrun by some sort of animal rights protestors. I see on the manifest that a Dr. Ralph Chambers is your lead researcher. Contact him and have him call the authorities immediately. We're being held against our will. The last road I recall was I-84, maybe 25 miles out of ______ , Virginia, somewhere on the eastern side of the highway...off on some dirt road is where we are being held. Dr. Chambers and you guys are
our only hope. Just get us out of this....we don't know how far these characters will go. That's it...help us. Can't say anything more. Looks like they are coming to take us away."

"Sir, sir, I understand you," the voice on the other end of the line trembled, "but I am only the security guard for the night shift and Dr. Chambers, actually no one, is here tonight." The young guard replied hopelessly.

"Godammit kid, call Chambers tonight at home or wherever and give him this message. It's matter of life and death. Do it. And do it now. This is no prank! OK?!!" Sheffield killed the line and stuck the cell phone under his belt.


Petsville (Animal Port?) USA/The Detention/The Facility

While part of his being was numb and dumbfounded, or maybe actually
in shock at what was happening to him and his partner, Sheffield was
grasping mentally for something to relate it all to. He was less obsessed
with possible physical pain they might inflict on him, than struggling
to scan his mind for answers, for some related common ground of logic,
some fragment of reason. He had been, after all a strategic planner and
captain of numerous financial ships throughout his career for dozens of
clients over the years at the brokerage, but nothing he had ever done in
the corporate world even remotely matched the ambush of his senses he
was going through. And then, a thought crossed his mind he saw as
very odd considering his circumstances, and to himself, just for a split
second, he enjoyed a silent chuckle. Yes, this was just like it was when
he was a kid in the third grade when the older students tied a red bandana
around his eyes and blindfolded him and several other kids and marched
them into the “haunted house” during Halloween for the first time. The girls
were squealing and the boys were giggling and making challenging comments
to each other just up until they heard the cackling of the first witch. It was then
they all shut up and were in an instant taken from childhood frivolity to stark fear.
That was exactly what Sheffield was feeling--a fear he had really never felt since
he was 11 years old. But now, that same feeling of fear came with the addition of
a real life-threatening danger--a danger he had yet to define and was reluctant to
attempt to define. These people were up to something big. Lots of people with
radical ideas have specific agendas and many carry out their actions with different
levels of negative impact, regardless of whoever may get in their way. And this group
was smug. They exuded self-reliance. They behaved like fatcats, or were somehow
connected to radical fatcats, who knew exactly what they wanted to accomplish and
had the resources to do it. And in their boldness, they came off as supremely self-
confident, self-righteous even, as though they had it all together. But just what were
they up to? That was the question. Clearly they were aligned with some arm of the
animal rights movement, or at least shared the sentiments of those groups, but at the
same time they appeared to be quite independent and organized and probably were
running their own show.

It was though, faced with this unknown quantity of an experience, Sheffield’s entire system of understanding, logic, sensing and the ability to deal with this unknown situation simply shut down. He was numb. His heart was beating twice as fast as normal and his breathing was labored. He had no inkling of what would come next, but his captors seemed intent, even proud, to show him what they were up to. Maybe because they saw him as an educated person, someone who could heap some sort of twisted, momentary praise on them for their sordid accomplishments….whatever those accomplishments were. But in their hands for now, he could only do as they said and hope against hope that at some moment they would make a mistake and an opportunity for escape would open up.

“Hey Sheffield, that’s your name, ain’t it? Guess you didn’t have nothin’ to eat, right? Well, no ‘tour’ of this place would be complete without a box lunch, now would it?” he said sarcastically with an evil chuckle.

“I guess as your ‘tour guide’ I need to give you this…”

[the captor] handed Sheffield a small, brown paper bag which he reluctantly accepted with both his shackled hands.

“What…what is this?” Sheffied asked in a weak, fading voice.

“That’s your ‘box lunch.’ Same as our monkey buddies get. It should hold you over until we get over to the local McDonald’s,” the captor said now with an uproarious laugh.

Inside the bag was an apple, a handful of loose peanuts and a stick of chewing gum.

“I’m…I’m not too hungry right now.” Sheffield murmured.

“Well, suit yourself. Just hold on to the bag….you’ll be glad you have it later.”
1-16-06

[make following scene at night. Head honcho orders the lights to be turned on
like lights at a baseball field…stadium lights go on in the four corners of
the area…boom, boom, boom. boom] revealing the “community” in a
clearing in a shallow valley….

When the blindfold was taken off, it took Sheffield a few seconds to regain
his full eyesight. But when he did, he could not believe what his eyes
were seeing. There in a small valley of about 5-6 miles across that dipped down
into an abrupt openness was a sight that at first glance defined comprehension.
To the left were what appeared to be gazebo-looking quansit huts...maybe
two hundred of them, and to the right were row upon row of military-style
barracks...enough to house a small army. And in the center of the huts and
the barracks was a one-story building of approximately 5,000 square feet. Yet
there were only a handful of human beings roaming the expansive property,
and those Sheffield saw were scurrying around from building to building
in small groups of 3 to 5 people, all dressed in what appeared to be
either white surgical gowns or in other cases, white pants and jackets.
Clearly, some sort of medical activity was being conducted at this place
but it was not at all clear what that was.

"Not many people from the outside have the chance to see this sight,
Mr. Sheffield. Consider yourself fortunate. We refer to this as a rehabilitation
center for our friends. That includes primates, cats, dogs, deer...you name
it, we take care of them all here. Some survive and some do not. But we
give it our best shot."

The man they called Raymond had a serious and at the same time, compassionate
look on his face.

"Many of the creatures we treat here would not have survived without the center.
We rescue a lot of them all over the country through our network of helpers, but a
lot of them are brought to us by concerned animal lovers as well...and there are a
lot of those kind of people out there, believe me. And these you brought to us, we'll
check 'em out, see how they're doin', then get them shipped back around the country
to zoos or other safe places we know about."

"Look, I don't know who you are or what you deal is. I'm just a driver for this company
trying to make a living for my family. A lab in Cincinnati has purchased these monkeys
and I am under contract to get them there by Friday morning." Sheffield knew when
he spoke those words that they were going in one ear and out the other of the oversized
giant of a man he was dealing with.

"Mr. Sheffield, it's like this: You have a job to do, I understand that. But see, we have a
job to do too. Just so happens, something has to give...we both are not going to get
our jobs done, and it's looks like your job is not going to get done this time. You just
happen to have something we need...a full load of 150 cinnamungus (sp) (Rhesus?) monkeys. Once we check them out over the next couple of weeks, they'll bring big bucks that we can use to help finance the rest of the work we are doing here. So, in reality, you
don't have a vote in this, so why don't you just take it easy..." The big man's confidence
was firm and convincing and not to be denied. Sheffield felt helpless at the moment, but
knew he would somehow eventually have to outwit these extremist if he and Conrad were
going to get out of this alive. The coolness of his captures made it clear that their fate
was sealed. This was not a place they wanted anybody to know about and a couple of
human lives was a small price to pay to keep the operation away from worldly attention.

"Look mister, I'm no idiot. You have the upper hand here, OK? But I got a daughter back
home with ____ and if these animals don't get to this lab for tests, then she's gonna die.
They're workin' on a cure for ___ there and once they finish the tests, they tell me they can put together a batch of a vaccine within 6 months. Right now, the doc gives her 6 months to a year, so you see where I'm comin' from. I have no beef with you, man, I'm just tryin' to save my daughter's life. Plain and simple. This is not just another run for me, OK?"

"Like I said, Mr. Sheffield, you got a job to do and so do we. Now at the same time, I'm a
man who appreciates, shall we say, special circumstances, and I am not known to be
insensitive. I'm sorry about your daughter, I really am, but we lose people in our group
every day...all over the country, you know? Lots of times, it because they ain't got nothin'
to eat. So these monkeys, once we sell them off, can help save a lot other lives...so we
have to weigh all this out in perspective, you understand? Plus, it may just all come down
to simple arithmetic. Once we get a buyer for your animals, it may be we can hold some
back for your lab. but then, of course, we will have to be paid. Anybody ever tell you what these monkeys fetch on the open market?"

"Maybe a few hundred dollars each?" Sheffield had actually never seen or heard the figure.

"Try three to five thousand each, friend, and these places we know are happy to pay. We
route them away from the testing labs and research centers to places we know they'll live
safe, healthy lives...sometimes we are even able to route them back to where they came from, but that can get expensive, but we still have our ways."

"So what about us? How long do we have to be here, me and Conrad?"

"Well, one thing you have going for you is that you don't know exactly where you are. If you did, that would be a big problem. To be honest, you might not ever get out of this place. But since you don't know exactly where you’re at, it's possible we can work something out. But right now, we sort of need you. We want you to personally see this operation and understand what it stands for, then we figure you'll spill your guts at some point and once that happens, even more people will join us in our cause. And, of course, then the authorities will be breathing down our necks and we’ll just load up the operation and move to any one of several locations we have available. We’re always two steps ahead of the powers that be Mr. Sheffield.” A sly, self-assured grin came across his face accentuating an evil twinkle in his eye.

“And here (separate section) we have some very special patients. Take a look….”
The “people cages.” The scientists on whom tests were being run….instead of on monkeys.