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I can't tell you what a relief it is to get this off my chest. For too long I have been constrained by the Official Secrets Act and the reluctance of Eliot Whipsnade to take the public into his confidence. But now that the Statute of Limitations has run out and Whipsnade can use the money, at long last I am able to provide a full accounting. I doubt there is anyone in the world who has not heard of Eliot Whipsnade, so widely reported is his crusade against the forces determined to destroy us. It is not too much to say that without his intervention our society would already have collapsed. Whipsnade's preference for anonymity is responsible in large measure for the media's zeal in his pursuit, and, of course, a lot of rubbish has been written about the man and his exploits. In fact, the real story is considerably more chilling than any of the shameless fabrications foisted upon an unsuspecting public. We became acquainted when I accompanied Whipsnade to the jungles of Venezuela, where he had been sent on a mission. Whipsnape disliked me at first and refused to discuss the nature of his business, or even our destination, fearing that I intended to write derogatory articles about him upon our return. From the moment our plane landed on a makeshift runway in the jungle and throughout the appalling goings-on that we encountered in Musa Pusa, Whipsnade regarded me with suspicion and placed me in harm's way more than once, although I must admit that on one occasion he saved my life. My contribution to his success was negligible. That was to be expected. As I pointed out to him, a journalist's role is to observe and report, not to take sides, much less influence the course of events. I trust that my book recounts the horrors we faced in a lucid and objective manner. Some may find the subject matter shocking. To one who experienced the ordeal at first-hand that is entirely understandable. -R.W.
