Fire in a Haystack: A Thrilling Novel

by Erez Aharoni

  “I don’t know whether or not they’re looking for me. I spoke with the office, and they got word from the hospital that I can go where I please. From what you’re telling me I can also understand why. But I’m not sure this information reached the police officer who interrogated me. He’s a pretty obsessive guy, and I think he’s on my tail. But there’s a good chance he’ll end up finding a dead body.”

  “Then we’ll have work…” said Yoav with professional glee.

  Ofer knew Yoav could go on about it forever. He changed the subject and told him how he had checked Rodety’s body. “You would have been proud of me. I checked him and found out he’s dead as if I were an honorary medical school graduate.”

  Yoav didn’t demonstrate even a shred of enthusiasm. “Even a baboon can distinguish between live and dead creatures,” he said and ordered a winning cocktail from the bartender—a shot of Grey Goose vodka with half a pint of Carlsberg beer. “The truth is, it doesn’t matter what beer it is, as long as it’s blonde,” he detailed the philosophy behind ordering the drink. “But go figure, it’s the only blonde you know who will do the job right,” said Yoav.

  “Do you remember Gali?” Ofer surprised him with a question.

  “Do I remember Gali? What Gali? Shviro Gal? Are you kidding me?” whispered Yoav with a dreamy look that rolled to the ceiling then he rhymed, “Once you’ve met Shviro Gal, you’ll never be able to look at any other gal, you won’t be able to stay alive, unless she’ll take off her pants and let you take a dive…what made you remember her all of a sudden?”

  Ofer didn’t answer. His face became yellowish and his lips trembled. It was obvious he was about to throw up.

  “Come with me to the men’s room immediately,” said Yoav.

  Ofer obeyed and held his hand over his mouth to prevent the liquids in his stomach from spurting all over the place.

  They climbed up the spiral staircase to the second floor and entered the restroom. Ofer opened his mouth and filled the sink with foul liquid.

  Yoav hurried to wash his friend’s face. He checked his pulse, seated him on the toilet bowl in one of the booths and magically fished out, from a small bag hanging on his hip, a sphygmomanometer. He wrapped the pressure cuff on Ofer’s arm, stuck the earpieces in his ears and examined him with a detached look on his face. Ofer didn’t say anything. Yoav took a syringe out of his bag and searched Ofer’s arm for a vein.

  “What is wrong with you?” the pale and perspiring Ofer shouted.

  “Shut up and close your eyes. I’m taking another blood sample. I don’t like the way you look. I’m afraid you’re developing the reaction we feared most.” Yoav filled up a small test tube with the proficiency of a professional nurse, placed it in his pocket, broke the needle and threw the syringe in the garbage can. He took out a white pill from his bag and forced Ofer to place it under his tongue. Then he took an additional small syringe, sealed in a plastic cover, and told him, “Here, keep it with you. In twenty-four hours you’ll need to find someone to take another blood sample for you. If you can’t find anyone, you do it yourself. Got it? We need to monitor what’s going on with you.”

  Ofer carefully put the syringe in his pocket without arguing. Once Ofer was feeling a little better, they went back downstairs and sat at the bar again. They sat silently, each of them sunk in his own thoughts.

  “I think my dad killed himself,” said Ofer without explanation.

  Yoav slowly sipped from his glass.

  “Why are you all of a sudden raising him from wherever it is he’s been resting peacefully?” asked Yoav finally, his head hunched between his shoulders and his eyes avoiding Ofer’s gaze.

  “I don’t know, doctor. But it really bothers me. It weighs heavily on my chest and won’t let go and won’t go anywhere. Especially now that my life is in danger. It just hit me that ten years have passed. Ten years, Can you believe it? And I haven’t done anything to find out what killed my father at such a young age.”

  “Did you check his medical file?” asked Yoav.

  Ofer looked at him with round eyes, his pupils widened. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

  “Then it’s simple, we’ll start there,” said Yoav.

  Ofer was afraid to ask where “there” was. But the word “start” made his stomach feel warmer. The warmth was comforting after all the pain that had come from his stomach over the past two days. Yoav stopped interrogating him about the reasons for his distress and immediately took the practical approach. He’s a real friend, and I won’t be alone from now on, thought Ofer, feeling relieved.

  “There,” explained Yoav, reading his friend’s thoughts, “is the hospital’s medical archive. I assume we’re talking about Tel Hashomer Hospital because he lived and died in central Israel. Let’s go.”

  “Like this? Half drunk? What I threw up just now is only a general rehearsal, the main performance is soon coming.” Ofer wasn’t able to walk ten feet in a straight line. Sweat covered his forehead and his hands trembled.

  “No, not like this. First, we’ll have another drink to regain our strength, and then we’ll go. And don’t worry, this time of night, most of the medical staff is in as bad a shape as we are, drunk with either fatigue or alcohol.” Without waiting for Ofer’s reaction, Yoav ordered a bottle of Yellow Chartreuse and two glasses. “Did you know this drink was invented by Christian monks? Someone once said it was worth inventing Christianity just to get this drink. Try it and tell me if he wasn’t right,” said Yoav.

  Ofer didn’t answer. He emptied the contents of the glass in a single gulp. The drink sent fire through his throat and stomach. Perhaps this poison will kill the deadly virus. He didn’t care what religion invented the drink. He was drenched with alcohol to the roots of his hair. What did he have to lose in his shitty situation? Just the realization they were about to research his father’s medical history was enough to make him drunk, even without a single drink.

  In less than half an hour they were in the Tel Hashomer Hospital. Yoav rushed down the corridors and Ofer followed him. Undoubtedly, Yoav knew the place like the back of his hand.

  For a moment, Ofer was filled with dread—what would happen if someone recognized him and sent him back to the isolation ward? Alush would be next to his hospital bed within minutes.

  Yoav read his mind again. He turned and opened the door of a side room in the corridor, let Ofer inside and dressed him with a green gown. Then he placed a mask over his friend’s face. He himself put on a similar outfit and went out of the room. Ofer ran after him.

  They reached the rear area of the hospital after crossing many white corridors, long and deserted. In the final hallway sat a middle-aged, overweight nurse with a bad dye job.

  Yoav showered her with sweet talk, “Hello, Angel, do you remember me? I’m the intern from the pathology ward. Professor Zissou sent me to get some material.”

  Ofer didn’t know if Angel was her real name or if Yoav simply flattered her, but the fawning certainly helped and she allowed them both to enter the room behind her without any unnecessary questioning.

  The room wasn’t very large. “Where can we find medical records for people who passed away more than a decade ago?” asked Ofer.

  The answer was simple. On a small white table sat a computer screen and a keyboard. Yoav simply sat and began to easily navigate the software. “You won’t believe what they’ve done here. They digitalized all the historical stuff and now, instead of going through piles and piles of papers and files, you can find any document by letting your fingers do the walking,” he said.

  His fingers indeed quickly “walked” on the keyboard.

  Half a minute later, Mordechai Angel’s file was up on the screen.

  The original document was handwritten and had been scanned into the computer. The quality of the scan was poor and the script was almost indecipherable, as is to be expected from a doctor’s handwriting.

  They both brought their heads closer to their screen, until they almost t
ouched one another. Then they read the summary together, deciphering word after word on the medical chart. The name, address, Social Security number and age were familiar to Ofer.

  “The deceased was found dead in a hotel room. Hotel Imperial in Tel Aviv,” the event description detailed.

  Ofer felt his blood rushing towards his feet and he became dizzy.

  “When he was found, the deceased was lying naked in bed, wearing only a tie and a pair of socks.

  “There’s no medical history of ailments or chronic diseases.

  “No signs of violence were found.

  “No signs of strangulation.”

  Ofer felt as though a baseball bat had just hit him right in the head. He was unable to fill his lungs with oxygen.

  “Blood pressure medication and a half full bottle of brandy were found in the room.

  “It appears that the deceased had suffered a stroke or a heart failure.

  “There are no bruises on the neck or the body. No petechial hemorrhages in the eyes or the oral mucosa. No damage to the lips or teeth.

  “No signs of struggle or resistance. No other significant pathological findings.

  “The family refused an autopsy and therefore the cause of death cannot be determined.

  “Signed,

  “Doctor…”

  There was no way of recognizing the doctor’s name from his signature.

  Ofer shivered all over. He tried to hide that fact by burying his hands underneath the green gown.

  “What’s going on with you?” asked Yoav.

  Ofer could barely speak. “Yoav… that’s… exactly the way Rodety was found dead… in a hotel room… and not even a single word about suicide…”

  Tears trickled down his cheeks, caused by shock or fear or sadness or all three. He was filled with shame. When he was fifteen and heard about the death of his father, he swore to himself that he would never shed tears and remained true to his word. What was causing him to break his oath now, after so many years?

  Yoav embraced his shoulders. “The journey continues,” he said. “There’s a very simple way to try and understand what happened to him.”

  “What is it?” asked Ofer.

  “To do what your mother wouldn’t allow. An autopsy. After ten years, there’s no need for her permission. You lawmen call it ‘statute of limitations.’ And I don’t think your dad will mind either.”

  Chapter 22

  With no warning, the lights turned off, and a moment later the emergency lights went on.

  Gali tried to open the door again with all her might, but it persisted and remained locked.

  A great fear filled her. She would undoubtedly get caught now. Soon the doors would open and the security people would find her. She feverishly searched her mind for an excuse. What could she say? How would she explain her presence there?

  Thoughts about excuses were pushed back and were replaced by dread. She was a lawyer, a trespassing lawyer who had entered a restricted area. Who had infiltrated a factory that was involved in a legal action she herself had an active part in, as the factory’s rival.

  Perhaps her ambition had caused her to become too rash and uninhibited? So many ethical obstacles and she leaped over all of them, as if she were a mischievous child in a playground.

  Enough self-flagellation. There would be plenty of time for that later. What should she do now?

  Perhaps there was a power outage, and as soon as the electricity returned the doors would open.

  Perhaps the cameras recognized the fact she came down to the restricted area and some sort of automated lockdown procedure was activated.

  Thoughts and concerns passed through her mind. But being an optimist, she continued to search for a solution. She reminded herself of all the good qualities that characterized her and were always mentioned in each job interview.

  She checked her cellular phone. There was no reception. And even if there had been, who could she call and share her current situation and location with?

  Her feet trembled. She massaged them to get warmer, but nothing helped. How stupid of her to dress that way; a short skirt and a revealing blouse may be suitable for fooling horny guards such as Yanai but were definitely not suitable for surviving a frozen cellar.

  She discovered a thermometer above one of the refrigerators. The needle showed it was forty degrees Fahrenheit. She began to run in place and did some jumping jacks. Her breath shortened, but her body temperature remained the same. Forty. Four zero. You yourself are one big zero. She never gave herself any undeserved credit.

  She decided to try and distract herself with other things. She walked about the laboratory. Next to the small refrigerator was a small cabinet with ring binders. She went over to it, took out one binder after another and began to go through the documents.

  They were full of equations and scientific terminology. One of the binders was titled “Development Results 2015,” and there were dozens of pages in the notebook. “Gotta start somewhere,” she muttered and put all the pages into her bag. The computer was on. She went over to it and looked at length at the icons on the screen. They all included scientific terms that were unfamiliar to her.

  She noticed an icon bearing the title “New Developments.”

  She opened it and read about a new vaccine.

  She checked the thermometer again. It hadn’t budged. I’ll freeze to death in here.

  The only way to survive was to ignore it all, let the time pass, continue to read the material. Interest distracted her attention from the freezing temperatures. She read without comprehending anything. The file contained laboratory processes for completing an experiment for a new product. She noticed that the file mentioned the same code that was written on the test tube she had taken—UUVAR1.

  Every ten minutes, she rose and did some exercises. The same ones. She didn’t have any energy to invent new ones. There was nothing to eat or drink in the laboratory. So many refrigerators and nothing in any of them to revive the soul. Her stomach grumbled. She desperately searched her bag. Perhaps she forgot some fruit or a chocolate bar in there. There was nothing. She took the lip balm from her bag and ran it over her lips again and again. Perhaps the balm contained some calories and was worth eating?

  Time passed. Her lips turned blue. Her body was aching from the chill. Tiredness almost paralyzed her, and it became more and more difficult to demonstrate discipline and perform the exercises.

  She looked at the thermometer and the clock again and again. There was nothing to cover herself with. Nowhere to run. For a moment, she thought about taking out the paper from the small printer beside the computer and covering herself with it.

  She returned to playing with the computer. She pressed the “print” icon. The file about the new experiment came out of the printer. She placed it in her bag as well.

  The fact that a few hours had passed convinced her that the laboratory doors had some sort of automatic lockdown mechanism and by some misfortune she got trapped inside. There was some comfort in the thought. The doors hadn’t locked down because of her, and probably no one knew that she was there. Even if there were cameras, they likely did not cover the inside of the laboratories, only the public areas. If anyone was suspicious or looking for her, they would have found her immediately.

  If she wanted to stay alive, her main concern should be to find a way out of there.

  There was no point in messing with the doors. If she could manage to escape now, she would probably activate an alarm system or be seen on one of the television screens on the security desk. But if she had to wait until morning—what would she say to the poor lab rat who opened the door? That’s assuming she hadn’t been reduced to an ice cube in a short skirt by then.

  It got colder and colder. Dark thoughts about the fact that she may not survive the night took over her.

  So this is what the end looks like? she asked herself.

  She tried to fill her head with positive thoughts. To think about her mother and sister; s
he hadn’t seen much of them since she’d gotten drawn into the association’s activities.

  The image of Ofer appeared before her eyes. She had been so happy to see him in court. He had become a man. She recalled the memory of that night in the grove, during the days of his father’s shiva. The memory of pure pleasure. But the circumstances under which they had met did not allow them to conduct a friendly conversation. Perhaps he’d call her? But I didn’t leave him my number, I’m so stupid, she was angry at herself. Besides, he’s with the bad guys now.

  Why were all the good men always claimed or on the other side of the fence?

  She thought about Igor Harsovsky. What will he do if I don’t get out of here? Will he continue to support the association? What will become of the association? What will Giora do? What will become of all the people consuming the poison that’s coming out of this factory?

  And what about the results I’m waiting for from the main laboratory? Who will pick them up?

  The moment I’m out of here, I’ll go there and bring everything into the open. Timed correctly, one press conference will achieve everything that a thousand legal claims and prosecutions never will. The judicial system is too slow to address such an urgent matter.

  She reached a final decision. That was exactly what she will do. But in order for that to happen, one small miracle needed to take place. She needed to survive and get out of the factory. Safely.

  Last time I’m doing something so suicidal, she said to herself.

  She closed her eyes and tried to think of positive things. To create a list of everything she had done. Of things she hadn’t done and wanted to. Of things she never will do. I wonder where my Dad is. Out of nowhere, he popped into her mind. They had not been in touch for many years. Will he come to my funeral?

  She fell asleep for a short while, dreaming of her happy childhood, summer days and sandy beaches and soothing waves. Her body recalled the warm touch of sand. The scent of seawater.

  A sudden noise awoke her. For a moment, she couldn’t recall where she was. As soon as she regained her composure, she realized the noise was the sound of the doors unlocking. She looked at her watch. It was a quarter past six. There was no point in looking at the thermometer.