by Robin Cook
George was surprised, knowing that Amalgamated was still not well represented on the East Coast.
“That one is not part of Amalgamated,” Zee said, as if reading George’s mind.
“How do you know?” George asked.
“Because I know it is . . . the federal government.”
George sank down to sit on the edge of Zee’s bed, shocked. This made absolutely no sense to him. “What?”
“As best I could determine, it’s an agency that I couldn’t even find a reference to on the Internet. It’s called URI, Universal Resource Initiative.”
“If you can’t find a reference to it, how do you know it’s the federal government?”
“I got in their system, dude! Stay with me here.” Zee’s nerves were completely fried, which obviously contributed to his outburst. He paused and tried to calm himself. “Sorry. URI is tied in with another agency called the Independent Payment Advisory Board. Now, that one does have references. A lot of them. It’s well-known, and it’s fairly new. It was set up by the Affordable Care Act—Obamacare—supposedly to advise on ways for cost control of Medicare and Medicaid. ‘To bring spending back to target levels’ is how I think they word their mission.”
Zee moved into his kitchen, loading groceries and dry goods into more garbage bags. George followed. “I stumbled into a hornets’ nest! And one thing I am absolutely sure of is that they are mighty pissed that I hacked into their setup. That, my friend, is why I am heading for the woods. Because they are going to be coming here. To this apartment—actually to your apartment, now that I think about it. And I intend to be as far away as possible. I advise you to do the same. You do not want to be here when they arrive. It’s you and your computer that they’ll be coming after at first. But there’s no doubt that they’ll trace it to me, with my history of hacking. It won’t take them long to put it all together and realize that you don’t know jack shit about hacking into computer systems. Even if you don’t tell them about me, it won’t take long. And that’s not going to happen: you will talk. They’ll do things to you to make you talk. Believe me.”
“This sounds extreme, Zee,” George protested. He tried to speak slowly in contrast to Zee’s rapid pressure of speech.
“Hell it is!” Zee shot back. “Do you remember the case of Aaron Swartz last year? The Reddit dude? He was hacking into MIT, and that was just to get academic journal articles free of charge to give to students. Look at what happened to him.”
“What happened to him?” George had never heard of the man.
“He’s dead! They claim he hanged himself. They were going to throw the book at him and what he did was child’s play in relation to what we just did. Think about it. They can’t let you walk around knowing what you know.”
Zee collected his duffel and garbage bags and started for the door.
“I just can’t believe you’re actually running.”
“That’s the only option. Run! And don’t look back!”
“I can’t leave. I have a residency position . . .” George trailed off, wondering just what his options were.
“You can’t treat patients from jail. Or from a grave.”
“You’re overreacting, Zee! Look, you’re all hyped up on caffeine and nicotine and—”
“What I’m hyped up on is survival! On breathing! Yes, call me crazy, but I’d like to be able to continue doing that!”
George followed Zee out of the apartment and down the stairs, trying to get him to give the situation more thought. But Zee was convinced he had given the situation all the thought it deserved.
In the carport Zee slung his bags into the trunk of his old Toyota and went around to climb into the driver’s seat. He rolled down the window.
“Listen, George, grab some clothes and come with me. This is serious. Let it play out from far away. Get word out from where they can’t find you. Then come back.”
“No.” George shook his head. “No way. I’ll handle it from here.”
“It’s your life,” Zee said. He shrugged. “All I can do is warn you.”
George leaned down to the open window. “Listen, Zee. I’m sorry for getting you involved.”
Zee shook his head. “You didn’t force me to do anything. A hacker should always be prepared to take off. It’s part of the gig.”
“Thanks, Zee. I’m going to get this handled. Check in with me somehow, you’ll see. But the thing is, all I have proof of is that iDoc apparently sent out a dump command to Sal’s reservoir.”
“The proof of that is on your dining room table. And it’s pretty clear to me that the others got the same message.”
“But who did it?” George demanded. “Who initiated the command? I don’t have a bad guy! I need a bad guy, don’t you understand? You can’t leave me until you give me some more information!”
“I’m out of here while I can go. I did what I could.”
“But I don’t have the proof I need to go to the media!” George yelled in frustration. Considering the past ballyhoo about “death panels” when it was merely suggested by the government that it might be prudent to include talking with seniors about end-of-life treatment alternatives in the Affordable Care Act, he was sure that an exposé of the iDoc killings would ignite a firestorm.
Zee fired up his Toyota, its engine noisy in the stillness of the early morning.
“Do you have any ideas about what I could do to try to find the origin of the dump commands?” George pleaded.
Zee jammed his aged transmission into gear with a grinding noise. “I don’t think much more can be learned from hacking. Probably the only chance you would have is if you can get someone on the inside who has broad computer access at Amalgamated.” Zee held up his closed fist for George to bump. “Good luck, man.”
George stared at the closed fist a moment, then tapped it with his own. “Same to you.”
Zee pulled out, hitting a dip in the pavement at the entrance to the street, igniting a cascade of sparks from his loose tailpipe.
George watched the dilapidated car until it reached the corner and disappeared out of sight. He realized that Zee was probably right about the limited options. George immediately zeroed in on Paula. She had to have extensive computer access at Amalgamated. The only problem was whether he could convince her to help him.
George turned and headed back to his apartment. He didn’t notice the black SUV as it pulled away from the curb and followed Zee.
42
SUV SURVEILLANCE VEHICLE
WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
SATURDAY, JULY 5, 2014, 6:29 A.M.
There he is,” Michael Donnelly said, pointing to Zee’s car making its way up the entrance to the northbound 405 Freeway. Michael was riding shotgun.
“I see it,” Andor said. He backed off to put more room between the Cadillac Escalade and Zee’s car so that Zee wouldn’t suspect he was being followed. Then they, too, headed up the entrance ramp and accelerated onto the highway. Both men relaxed to a degree. Despite the early hour there was considerable traffic on the road to use as cover.
When they had first started out on the relatively empty city streets, it had been more difficult. Andor had to stay way back to avoid giving himself away. Whenever Zee’s Toyota disappeared from view, Andor was forced to race ahead until Zee’s vehicle was back in sight. Andor was experienced. He was careful to keep at least one car in between so as not to be too obvious.
Zee’s earlier panic was mirrored by the occupants of the SUV. When things started happening in Wilson’s apartment after a long, quiet night, they were caught off guard by the explosive activity. Overnight the home office had done a lot of research and they discovered that Zee Beauregard was a savvy computer programmer who had once been prosecuted for hacking. If Zee was helping George, he would probably need to be watched as well.
The technicians had listen
ed to what conversation there had been that morning and assumed that something specific had ignited Zee’s panic. The problem was that they could not figure out what it was, since conversation in George’s apartment had been limited. When they told Andor and Michael, they had also been at a loss as to what to make of it. Andor and Michael had originally been tasked to follow George Wilson and handle him if need be, depending on developments, but now there was the issue of the neighbor who they assumed also needed to be watched.
While Andor and Michael had been hopefully waiting for more information from the technicians to understand what was going on, Andor had called Butch Gauthier, who was not excited about being awakened so early on a Saturday. His temper cooled as the reasons for the call unfolded. When he heard about Zee Beauregard’s involvement, he told Andor that his instincts were entirely correct and to keep Zee under surveillance as well as George.
Andor had hung up with a twinge of relief, but the relief had been short-lived when Zee had come out and thrown his bags into his car. When Andor had called Butch again, the chief of security told him to follow Zee and that he would have another team sent to cover George Wilson in the interim.
Suddenly Zee’s car shot ahead, zooming up a line of semi rigs, catching Andor by surprise.
“What the hell!” Andor griped. He sped up as Zee’s car disappeared in front of the line of large trucks. When Andor passed them there was no sign of Zee. “Shit!” Andor said. “Where the hell is he?”
Michael twisted in his seat, looking back the way they had come. He was as confused as Andor. “He just vanished. I don’t get it.”
The road straightened out but there was still no sign of Zee. They sped up and passed another line of trucks. Still no Zee.
Suddenly Michael twisted around again and looked back. “Holy shit! How the fuck did he get behind us?”
“The bastard must have dropped back on the other side of that line of trucks we passed.”
The next minute Zee was riding alongside them, obviously trying to peer in through the tinted windows.
“I think he’s on to us,” Michael said, stating the obvious.
Zee’s Toyota sprung ahead, defying its age. Andor and Michael looked at each other.
“We don’t have any choice,” Andor said.
“I agree,” Michael said. “I’ll call Butch just to be sure.”
Andor sped up, intending to keep the Toyota in sight while Michael hit speed-dial on his phone.
43
GEORGE’S APARTMENT
WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
SATURDAY, JULY 5, 2014, 8:00 A.M.
George decided to call Paula. He knew that there was a three-hour time difference between Los Angeles and Hawaii and had actually made himself wait for a time before calling. But the wait had been excruciating, and he couldn’t hold off any longer. From the moment Zee had left, he’d thought about his course of action, and his conclusion was that Zee was correct. He had to call her. There simply was no other alternative, especially since he would probably become the focus of a criminal investigation due to the hacking that Zee had carried out.
He dialed Paula’s mobile phone. As he waited for the call to go through he wondered how long it might take the authorities to come knocking at his door. With what he knew about government bureaucracy he sincerely doubted that Zee’s panic was justified, at least not for a few weeks, at a minimum. By then George fully intended to have some verifiable answers about iDoc or at least an explanation of why the hacking had to be done. His knowledge of five deaths made George wonder how many deaths there had been in total out of the twenty thousand people in the iDoc beta test. There had to be more. Maybe a lot more.
As George listened to Paula’s phone ring, his thoughts strayed. He had wanted to talk with Paula about his suspicions from day one, certainly not for “sour grapes,” as she had intimated, but because he cared about her hard work being distorted by some unethical person or persons.
There still was no answer on the fourth ring. George progressively became convinced that he would have to be content to deal with voice mail and began to wonder if he should leave a message or just call back later or maybe text. After all, five A.M. Hawaii time is pretty damn early, especially for someone on vacation. He wondered if she was alone or sleeping with some guy. Then he wondered why such a thought even occurred to him.
Then to his shock the phone was answered.
“Hey, George! Good morning!” Paula said. Her voice didn’t sound sleepy or gravelly. In fact, she sounded a bit out of breath.
“I’m sorry for calling so early and waking you up. I realize that it’s only five o’clock in Hawaii.”
“It’s all right. No problem. I wasn’t asleep. I was on the exercise bike getting in a little workout before breakfast. And I’m not in Hawaii. I’m home in Santa Monica. I changed my mind about the trip.”
“You’re here! That’s great!”
“What’s up? I’m surprised to hear from you this early.”
“We need to meet ASAP! I’m afraid I’ve discovered something rather momentous. You’ll want to hear this.”
“Then tell me now.” Her voice had become wary.
“I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. Someone’s having iDoc do something you didn’t ever intend. I’ll come to your house. I’d just as soon get out of my apartment anyway. I may be in trouble for some illegal computer hacking.”
“What computers did you hack, George?” Suddenly she was dead serious.
“None. I’m not capable of it. It was someone I hired.”
“And what did you learn?”
“In person,” George said.
There was silence for a moment. “I would prefer to meet someplace public.”
“Wherever you want.”
“There’s a place called Caffe Luxxe on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica.”
“I’ll find it. What time? Sooner the better.”
“Ten.”
“I’ll be there.”
44
GEORGE’S APARTMENT
WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
SATURDAY, JULY 5, 2014, 8:20 A.M.
George took a quick shower. After sleeping in his clothes, getting clean felt particularly good. He dressed rapidly. With more than enough time before he had to leave to make it to the Santa Monica coffee shop well before ten, there was something he wanted to do. He took down the cardboard box that contained Kasey’s personal effects.
After smoothing out his bedspread, he spent a few minutes carefully taking Kasey’s items out of the box and arranging them on the bed. It was his way of communicating with her, wondering what life would have been like dealing with her illness—the one that neither of them knew she had. How would they have coped? Would the illness and treatment have drawn them closer? Would she have wanted to go through with the marriage? Many questions popped into his head. But few answers. There was one thing for sure. He felt a deep, abiding anger. With what he knew now, there was a chance that someone had denied him the chance to say good-bye to her, to tell her how special she was, and how she had changed his life for the better.
The sudden crash of his front door splintering made George’s heart leap in his chest. In a second he was on his feet, aware of a commotion in his living room. A second later George was confronted by a horde of people in ski masks charging into his bedroom, most in black uniforms but others in brown, all carrying weapons, serious weapons. And all the guns were pointed directly at him.
There were shouts: “Hands in the air! Now down on the floor! Now! Now! Down! Spread your arms! Spread those legs!”
Dazed and terrified, George did as he was ordered. More uniformed people swarmed in. He could feel bodies on top of him, pressing him to the floor. He was roughly searched by a dozen strong hands. Then his arms were yanked back painfully and his wrists snapped into hand
cuffs. It was like what had happened in Sal’s apartment, only worse, much worse. In the next instant he was hauled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his shoulders.
Then the shouts from the various personnel that had swarmed him went completely quiet, like the sudden calm after a summer storm.
George warily looked at the faces of the people surrounding him. Some had removed their black balaclavas but not all. Their affiliations were emblazoned on their bulletproof vests: FBI, Secret Service, and LAPD SWAT. The guns had been lowered, but not put away.
Then a man in a black suit walked into George’s bedroom. Members of the combined task force silently gave way as he entered. The man’s expression was neutral and calm. He held out a badge for George to read.
“I’m FBI Special Agent Carl Saunders,” he said. “You’re under arrest for fifteen counts of computer and wire fraud.” He held an official document close to George’s nose. “This is a warrant for your arrest.” He then quickly changed documents, bringing one out from behind the other. “And this is a warrant to search your apartment.” He glanced at a subordinate, saying: “Read him his Miranda rights.”
When George was led out of his bedroom, he saw several CSI people packing up his computer and the disassembled mobile phone from the dining room table.
At first George was tempted to blurt out what he had discovered. But, having been read his Miranda rights, he decided that it might be best to just say nothing. None of these people were friendly and they treated him as if he were a dangerous, hardened criminal. He remained silent as he was frog-marched out of his apartment.
A number of his fellow tenants had gathered outside, having been roused by the law-enforcement invasion that had arrived in a fleet of vehicles, including an armored personnel carrier. No one spoke as George was forced into a paddy wagon.
Special Agent Saunders got in with him and they sped off.
• • •
George rode in silence, staring out the vehicle’s tiny window as it sliced through L.A. traffic with its siren going. He looked over and studied his captor’s profile. “You people don’t waste a lot of time.”