a couple of inches from the gaping wound, there is a patch with an orange- gold liquid inside it. The doctor pats it gently and says, “What the hell is this?” The man is able only to whisper, “He blew my goddam cover." Then he gasps for breath. The doctor says he’ s dead, and the security guard tells me | have to leave. | had been looking forward all day to a room-service dinner of Colossal Pacific Coast Prawns simmered in Thai curry sauce with sticky rice and toasted coconut, but now | wasn’ t hungry. | was too preoccupied with what had transpired that evening. | kept asking myself, “Who shot the mad scientist? And why?” | felt like a poker player who’ s been dealt a hand of all blank cards. Finally an epiphany arrived, and | knew exactly what | had to do. | made three phone calls, then went down to the bar to keep an appointment with David Icke that we had arranged early in the day. We selected a corner table, | took out my cellphone, dialed my own number at home, and when the answering machine started, | dialed the code to get my messages and handed the phone to Icke. This is what he heard: “Hi, this is Paul, calling myself. I’ ve already left a message on [my wife] Nancy’ s answering machine, asking her to save this tape in case anything happens to me. About the shooting that took place here, | called HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015266