Free The CleanSweep Conspiracy by Chuck Waldron

the interviews we have on CleanSweep, especially the ones with Mattie and Clifford. That’s pretty damning evidence. When we match this with the stuff the blogger has … ”
    He paused, looking thoughtful. “What if they’re waiting outside? I’m guessing they’re waiting for us to come out. They’ll be ready to search me — or maybe us?” He chewed at his lip in frustration. “Hand me my old camera — that one,” he said, pointing to one resting on a high shelf. “I have an idea.”
    Susan did something unprecedented. She obeyed without question.
    He motioned for her to sit while he looked at the vintage camera. “I haven’t used this in over five years. It’s ancient, a dinosaur.” He laughed as he opened a compartment on the side of the camera and pulled out a videocassette. “Look, there’s still a videotape in here, the kind we used back in the day.” He ejected a plastic case the size of a small brick. Carl picked up some nearby tools and sorted through them until he found the one he was looking for. He used a specially designed screwdriver to gently unlock and pry open the casing, revealing the tape. It passed over the recording head, wound from reel to reel.
    “Hand me those media cards taped up under the table,” he whispered. He watched Susan kneel, noting vaguely how it created an immodest pose. She finally straightened up and gave the three small media cards to him. “I have the equivalent of more than two hundred and fifty of these tapes on just one card. Technology.”
    Carl held one card between his thumb and finger as he reached for a pair of tweezers, then carefully used it to insert the first media card under one of the reels of the cassette. He repeated this with the other two cards until they were well hidden inside the dated, used cartridge.
    “There,” he said, looking satisfied, and put the cover back on the cassette. “That’s the best I can do.” He reached up for a case on the shelf and pulled it down, rubbing the dust away with a cloth. “This sure brings back memories,” he murmured wistfully. He nestled the camera into the case as gently as if it were a baby swaddled in soft blankets.
    “You carry it,” he said to Susan. “That is, if it doesn’t offend your on - air talent sensibilities or get me in trouble with the union.” She didn’t argue and accepted the case, swinging the strap over her shoulder.
    He turned back to the workbench and picked up the case containing his working camera. “They can look through this all they want now,” he said. “They won’t find what they’re after.”
    When they went back into the newsroom, the control center had returned to operating in full form: absolute chaos, barely under control. Carl led the way through the hooting and screaming interns and technicians. Everyone was racing around, trying to piece together what was left of their production as the clock approached the thirty - minute mark. They were halfway through the broadcast. Susan followed as Carl walked out of the newsroom and down a hall to a door leading to a short set of stairs that would take them to the parking garage.
    They were walking up to their parked news van when a woman’s voice echoed in the silence: “Stop! Now!” Her tone was dark and rough.
    “Drop the cases,” a man’s voice followed, much softer, in a way more feminine than the woman’s. “Put them on the ground.”
    Carl looked at Susan and shrugged. Someone appeared with two sets of tripods, assembled them, and attached sets of bright lamps — the kind police used at crime scenes. Other men, on bent knees, started to rifle through the cases. One man began taking the cameras apart, causing Carl to flinch. Two other men faced Carl and Susan, ordering them to keep their hands visible. They began an expert pat down and, leaving nothing to chance, made sure they didn’t try to run. Carl sensed the tightness in Susan and moved slightly so his hand lightly touched Susan’s arm. It was