Cell

by Robin Cook

  Paula and George watched the vehicle pull away.

  “They certainly aren’t going to win any personality contest,” Paula said.

  “My sense is that their seriousness was a message.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Thorn is letting us know that the people who used the strong-arm tactics on us last night are still in their employ.”

  Paula nodded. “I bet you’re right.” She steered George to a door on the side of the house and retrieved a key from a lockbox hidden under a fake rock. They went inside.

  The first thing that Paula wanted to do was inspect the front door. As it had appeared from the street, it was back on its hinges and no worse for wear. They went to the guest room and saw the unmade bed was just as they had left it.

  Paula turned to George. “You can stay here in the guest room or upstairs with me. Your choice.”

  “Maybe we should see how the evening progresses. This has been one hell of a stressful experience.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  They went upstairs to check out the second level and saw that the panel hiding the chute down to the basement was still ajar. Paula went to close it, but George stopped her. “That was one scary ride in the dark,” George said. “Maybe we should try it again.”

  Paula smiled. “Another good idea!”

  Like a couple of kids they slid down the chute and ended up in a tangle on the floor. It made both of them laugh, and it relieved a certain lingering tension.

  Back in the kitchen area, Paula opened the refrigerator, glancing at the contents. “Not a lot in here,” she said. “What do you think we should do for dinner?”

  “We could go out.”

  “I think I’d rather eat in. I feel asocial. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all! In fact, I’d prefer it.”

  “It just means I have to go to the store.”

  “I could come and help.”

  “No need. You stay and relax. You could even take a swim if you’d like.”

  “Actually, I need to pop over to my apartment. Since I’ll be staying here for the rest of the week, I need some clothes and all. While you’re at the store, it would be a good time for me to do it.”

  “Perfect. You get your stuff while I go to the market. What would you like to eat?”

  “Whatever,” George said. “As long as it is with you, I don’t care.”

  Paula smiled at the compliment. “I’m not the world’s best chef. Would you mind a repeat of steaks and salad?”

  “I’d be thrilled.”

  “Great! Why don’t we get it out of the way right now. I’ll head off to the store, and you go back to your apartment.” She took a garage-door remote out of one of the kitchen drawers and handed it to him. “But do me a favor! Don’t be long. The idea of being alone in this house gives me the creeps.”

  “I’ll make it fast.” He gave her a quick, reassuring hug and was out the door.

  • • •

  Before climbing behind the wheel of his Jeep, George checked the car for a GPS device. He even checked under the hood. Nothing. With the same concerns in mind about covert surveillance, he purposely left his cell phone on the edge of the garage sink. Only then did he back his car out into the alley and head toward his apartment. As he navigated L.A.’s notorious rush-hour traffic, he couldn’t help repeatedly checking around him, including the rearview mirror, to see if he was being followed. He suspected that, after this bizarre experience, paranoia was going to be his close companion for a long time coming.

  At his apartment George changed out of the institutional scrubs and immediately felt better. He started organizing what he wanted to bring to Paula’s, but when he went to his closet for an overnight bag, he took down the box of Kasey’s things instead. He found her phone at the bottom. It still had a residual charge, and he turned it on and stared at the iDoc icon. It made him think about the slippery-slope issue in a very personal way. Could he really trust the Universal Resource Initiative or its parent, the Independent Payment Advisory Board, not to take advantage of “the glitch”? George thought not. It was too convenient, too tempting, too financially rewarding, and ironically, on one level, too sensible and objective to be ignored.

  Carefully putting the things back in the box, he returned it to the closet and pulled out his overnight bag. Later, as he hurried out to the Jeep, he glanced at his watch. It was getting late. He had a few stops to make before he drove back to Paula’s, and he wanted to be there way before dark.

  59

  PAULA’S HOUSE

  SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA

  MONDAY, JULY 7, 2014, 7:34 P.M.

  As planned, George arrived back in Santa Monica almost a half hour before sunset. He pulled into Paula’s garage alongside the Porsche, lowering the door behind him, and retrieved his phone from the edge of the sink. Inside the house, he found Paula wearing a white Turkish towel robe. She looked completely revived.

  “Welcome back!” She approached him, happily smiling, pointing out a selection of fresh fruit and still unshelved groceries on the countertop. “I was very efficient while you were away, getting groceries, as you can see, and even taking a short nap before a long and very luxurious bath.” She ran her hand across his back and gave him a hug. “I feel like a different person.”

  “You look wonderful,” he said. He held up his duffel bag. “I was successful as well.”

  She looked him over. “I see you changed your clothes. Did you get a chance to take a shower back at your apartment?”

  “No. I didn’t want to stick around there any longer than I had to.”

  “Well, I think you should, to wash off that vile mental institution. It will feel great. You go up to the master bath or into the guest suite, whatever your druthers, and indulge! I’m going to do a little more work here on dinner. We can eat as soon as you finish.”

  “I think I’ll head into the guest suite,” George said. Handling Kasey’s things had affected him negatively on some level, more deeply than he had expected.

  George did enjoy the shower. He stood motionless under the warm, massaging spray for a good ten minutes. Putting on his robe, he started back toward the kitchen. He certainly felt better than he had in several days.

  Paula had the dinner completely under control. Even the barbecue was ready.

  “Well, how about I open the wine?” he offered, holding up the bottle she had already selected.

  “Yes! Do!”

  Five minutes later they were sitting outside, watching the grill as evening turned into night. George sipped his wine. What a life! For the moment he couldn’t imagine being more relaxed. Over the last forty-eight hours his life had been a roller coaster, but at the moment he was at the pinnacle.

  They ate inside and the conversation was very relaxed. The atmosphere gave them both a chance to think over and address in detail everything that had surfaced during the bizarre meeting with Thorn, Langley, and Clayton. Both agreed it would be to society’s detriment if iDoc’s adoption was held up. And with the help of the wine, they relived the scary abduction episode. To their surprise they were able to laugh about aspects of it now that they were safe and sound, even though they were still indignant and angry over being victimized.

  After dinner they started to talk about medical costs and how it was probably the biggest problem facing health care. Those costs had to come down if there was ever going to be an equitable distribution of service. They knew iDoc would help tremendously. George said the Affordable Care Act was more about improving access than lowering costs, and an unintended consequence, in his opinion, was that it would inflate costs more than anyone expected. That discussion brought them back to the need for rationing in the last months of life.

  “I realize now that rationing will have to be considered,” Paula said. “Do you agree?”

  “I’m no
t so sure,” George replied.

  “The more I think about it, the more I understand Amalgamated’s position as voiced by Thorn,” she admitted.

  “Exactly what do you mean?” George said, eyeing her over a bite of salad.

  “I feel better about the glitch as long as it only collects data that might be helpful in the future.”

  George listened but didn’t respond.

  Paula became aware that he had gone quiet. She studied him. “Is our thinking in sync?”

  George shook his head.

  “What’s changed?”

  “I took out Kasey’s cell phone when I was back in my apartment. It made me wish I could have had a bit more time with her to tell her how much she meant to me. It made me question what she would have chosen.”

  “George, the killing has stopped.”

  “For now,” he replied. “If the glitch had been completely removed, I probably would feel differently. The fact that the application that killed Kasey is still functioning and that government-appointed officials are considering iDoc makes me feel extremely uneasy.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “There has to be an open debate to let people know what iDoc is capable of.”

  Paula nodded slowly.

  “Paula, can you really live with covering up a series of what most people would agree were murders?”

  “I don’t know, George, when you put it in those terms.” She sat still for a moment, staring down at the table. Finally she looked up at him. “If you can’t live with it, I can’t, either.”

  George was impressed and even flattered by her reaction. “I appreciate that.”

  She smiled and picked up his empty wineglass. “Let me refill these and we’ll have a toast!”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  George watched Paula go over to the kitchen counter, where the wine bottle stood. He exhaled forcibly, closing his eyes. He was exhausted after no sleep whatsoever Saturday night and very interrupted sleep Sunday night, but he was glad he had voiced his concerns. Having done so made him even more certain how he felt. The decision had been building all afternoon and had come to a head when he had held Kasey’s cell phone. He didn’t fully realize it at the time, but he did now.

  Paula came back with full glasses and handed one to George. They clinked glasses and Paula said, “To our current decision.”

  “To our decision,” George corrected. “I am not going to change my mind.”

  “Okay, then, to our current final decision.” She smiled.

  George nodded and they drank.

  “When do you think we should tell Thorn?” Paula asked.

  “Not for a while. If he calls, we’ll just say we are still debating the pros and the cons. We can certainly get away with that for the rest of the week.”

  “And then what?”

  “Eventually we’ll have to come clean. But I don’t want to do it until we have our backs covered.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We can’t allow ourselves to be so vulnerable again. Simple as that.”

  “You’re right.” She held her glass up. “By the way, what do you think of this wine?”

  The wine was a deep ruby color. George nodded appreciatively. “I think it’s fine. But I’m not much of an authority.”

  “You don’t have to be an authority to recognize this is rather exceptional. It’s called Cheval Blanc. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

  George smiled appreciatively. “It is delicious.” He took another mouthful, holding it in his mouth. He was hardly a wine connoisseur, but it tasted great. They continued making small talk until Paula asked exactly how they should “cover their backs.”

  “I have some ideas,” George said. He looked at her. “How about you? What do you think we should do?”

  “I imagine that between the two of us we can come up with something.”

  George nodded in agreement as he tried to suppress a yawn.

  “Tired?”

  “Yes. Exhausted.”

  “Do you know where you want to sleep?”

  “I think tonight the guest room would be best. There is no way I’d be very entertaining.”

  “No pressure. Especially since I’m tired, too, despite my nap.”

  George let out another yawn.

  “Why don’t you head into the guest room while I put the kitchen in some sort of order.”

  “I can help.”

  “Fine, but let’s finish our wine first. It would be a crime to waste it.”

  She emptied the bottle into their glasses, and they finished it off. George struggled to his feet as Paula collected their plates. He helped carry some dishes into the kitchen, wobbling in the process. Paula noticed.

  “Perhaps you should sit down while I finish. I’m not going to do much, I just want the place to look decent in the morning when we come in for breakfast.”

  George nodded as he barely made it to the couch. A moment later his head was resting against the sofa’s back, and his mouth was slack and ajar. His legs were splayed out in front of him. He was breathing deeply, snoring slightly.

  Paula finished with the kitchen and approached him, giving George’s shoulder a shake. She said, “Wouldn’t you rather lie down on your bed? It’s more comfortable than being sprawled on the sofa.”

  But George didn’t move. He was out.

  Paula tried again. Same result. She shrugged and walked down the hall to the study.

  She picked up her landline and dialed out. “Bradley? It’s me. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

  Thorn’s voice was thick with sleep. “I didn’t expect to hear from you for a few days.”

  “I didn’t think I would be calling so soon, either, but unfortunately George won’t go along. Your whole complicated ruse didn’t work.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course I’m certain. What a waste, the whole damn charade. The break-in, the smoke machine, the police sirens! Let’s end it now. George is intent on covering his back, as he put it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think he wants to tell the world what happened. Have Gauthier pick him up. Tonight.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Will there be any trouble?”

  “No.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Rohypnol. Double dose in his wine. He’s going to be out of it for a while, but I want Gauthier to pick him up now. I’m feeling guilty.”

  “Guilty? That was not part of the plan.”

  “I know, but he’s actually a terrific guy, maybe too idealistic for me in the long run. Now, don’t get jealous or anything! There’s no way he could come between you and me. But tell Gauthier to be careful and handle him with kid gloves.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. George’s car. Have someone pick it up and drive it back to his apartment.” She moved to hang up, then paused. “Oh, Bradley? Make sure Gauthier knocks this time.”

  Thorn laughed before disconnecting.

  EPILOGUE

  A WEEK LATER

  BOULDER MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

  AURORA, COLORADO

  MONDAY, JULY 14, 2014, 11:37 A.M.

  Dr. Paul Caldwell found a padded USPS envelope in his mail inbox. It stood out among what was mostly junk mail. Caldwell looked for a return address, but there was none. He noticed the postmark: Los Angeles. It was the only piece of mail he didn’t throw into the recycling bin.

  As he headed back to the emergency room, where he was the director, he tore open the envelope. Out dropped a second envelope with just his name hand-printed in large letters. He stooped down to pick it up. There was no return address on it, either. He began walking again, glancing back into the larger envelope. There was a single sheet of paper in it. He pulled out a short not
e in cursive script that looked as if it had been dashed off. Caldwell recognized the distinctive handwriting. It belonged to George Wilson, a radiology resident with whom he’d become acquainted. There had been considerable correspondence between them by snail mail and email over the previous year involving a mutual friend.

  Paul stopped in the busy hospital corridor and read the note with a perplexed frown:

  Hope all is well with you. This might sound weird, but I have a favor to ask. If you don’t hear from me in let’s say a week from the time you are reading this, try to text or call my mobile phone. The number is (917) 844-3289 in case you have misplaced it. If you don’t get me, open the sealed envelope and read the contents, and then do whatever you think is best. As for me, I’ll probably be committed to a private, highly secure mental health facility someplace up in the Hollywood Hills off Laurel Canyon Boulevard and would appreciate being, should we say, sprung! But don’t try to do it alone. Bring the cavalry, meaning the media and law enforcement. And if I’m not there, then I’m probably dead. Let’s hope I’m there! It’s going to be an explosive story.

  George.

  P.S. Your job as you know it might be on the line!

  • • •

  For a complete list of this author’s books click here or visit www.penguin.com/cookchecklist

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  For those readers interested in delving deeper into the changes coming to the profession of medicine due to the convergence of informational technology, nanotechnology, and genomics, I heartily recommend the nonfiction book called: The Creative Destruction of Medicine by Eric Topol, M.D.

  I was in the middle of writing Cell when I came across this fascinating work. The introduction alone impressed me with how closely the author’s vision of the future of medicine and my own coincided. Reading the book enabled me to add some richness to Cell that it wouldn’t have had otherwise.