by Robin Cook
There was no logical way to choose who to visit after Krause. The closest would be easiest, but also probably the most obvious to her pursuers, and therefore the most dangerous. For safety’s sake, she decided to visit the man farthest away, Doctor Sinclair Tieman in San Francisco.
Leaning forward, Marissa told the driver she wanted Kennedy rather than LaGuardia airport. When he asked what terminal, she chose at random: United. If they didn’t have space on a night flight, she could always go to another terminal.
At that time in the evening there were few people at the terminal, and Marissa got rapid service. She was pleased to find a convenient flight to San Francisco with just one stop, in Chicago. She bought her ticket with cash, using yet another false name, bought some reading material from a newsstand and went to the gate. She decided to use the few moments before takeoff to call Ralph. As she anticipated, he was upset she hadn’t called him back sooner, but was pleased at first to learn she was at the airport.
“I’ll forgive you this one last time,” he said, “but only because you are on your way home.”
Marissa chose her words carefully: “I wish I could see you tonight, but . . .”
“Don’t tell me you are not coming,” said Ralph, feigning anger to conceal his disappointment. “I made arrangements for you to meet with Mr. McQuinllin tomorrow at noon. You said you wanted to see him as soon as possible.”
“It will have to be postponed,” said Marissa. “Something has come up. I must go to San Francisco for a day or two. I just can’t explain right now.”
“Marissa, what on earth are you up to?” said Ralph in a tone of desperation. “Just from the little you’ve told me, I’m absolutely certain you should come home, see the lawyer; then, if Mr. McQuinllin agrees, you can still go to California.”
“Ralph, I know you’re worried. The fact you care makes me feel so much better, but everything is under control. What I’m doing will just make my dealings with Mr. McQuinllin that much easier. Trust me.”
“I can’t,” pleaded Ralph. “You’re not being rational.”
“They’re boarding my plane,” said Marissa. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”
Marissa replaced the receiver with a sigh. He might not be the world’s most romantic man, but he certainly was sensitive and caring.
Al told Jake to shut up. He couldn’t stand the man’s incessant gab. If it wasn’t about baseball, it was about the horses. It never stopped. It was worse than George’s eternal silence.
Al was sitting with Jake in the taxi while George still waited in the Essex House lobby. Something told Al that things were screwed up. He’d followed the limo all the way to a restaurant in Soho, but then the girl he’d seen get in didn’t get out. Coming back to the hotel, he’d had Jake check to see if Miss Kendrick was still registered. She was, but when Al went up and walked past the room, he’d seen it being cleaned. Worse, he’d been spotted by the house detectives, who claimed he was the broad’s boyfriend and that he’d better leave her alone. You didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know something was wrong. His professional intuition told him that the girl had fled and that they were wasting their time staking out the Essex House.
“You sure you don’t want to put a small bet on the fourth at Belmont today?” said Jake.
Al was about to bounce a couple of knuckles off the top of Jake’s head when his beeper went off. Reaching under his jacket, he turned the thing off, cursing. He knew who it was.
“Wait here,” he said gruffly. He got out of the car and ran across the street to the Plaza where he used one of the downstairs pay phones to call Heberling.
Heberling did not even try to hide his contempt. “For Chrissake, the woman’s only a hundred pounds or so. It’s not like I’m asking you to take out Rambo. Why the hell is PAC paying you fellows a thousand dollars a day?”
“The woman’s been lucky,” said Al. He’d be patient, but only to a point.
“I don’t buy that,” said Heberling. “Now tell me, do you have any idea where she is at this moment?”
“I’m not positive,” admitted Al.
“Meaning you’ve lost her,” snapped Heberling. “Well, I can tell you where she’s been. She’s seen Dr. Krause and scared him shitless. Now we’re afraid she’s planning to visit the other PAC officers. Dr. Tieman’s the most vulnerable. I’ll worry about the other physicians. I want you and your orangutans to get your asses to San Francisco. See if she’s there, and whatever you do, don’t let her get to Tieman.”
16
May 24
IT WAS JUST BEGINNING to get light as Al followed Jake and George down the jetway to San Francisco’s central terminal. They’d taken an American flight that first stopped for an hour and a half at Dallas, then was delayed in Las Vegas on what should have been a brief touchdown.
Jake was carrying the suitcase with the vaccination gun they’d used on Mehta. Al wondered if he looked as bad as his colleagues. They needed to shave and shower, and their previously sharply pressed suits were badly wrinkled.
The more Al thought about the current situation, the more frustrated he became. The girl could be in any one of at least four cities. And it wasn’t even a simple hit. If they did find her, they first had to get her to tell them where she’d hidden the vaccination gun.
Leaving Jake and George to get the luggage, he rented a car, using one of the several fake IDs he always carried. He decided the only thing they could do was stake out Tieman’s house. That way, even if they didn’t find the girl, she wouldn’t get to the doctor. After making sure he could get a car with a cellular phone, he spread out the map the girl at Budget had given him. Tieman lived in some out-of-the-way place called Sausalito. At least there wouldn’t be much traffic; it wasn’t even 7:00 A.M. yet.
The operator at the Fairmont placed Marissa’s wake-up call at 7:30 as she’d requested. Marissa had been lucky the night before. A small convention group had canceled out at the last minute, and she’d had no trouble getting a room.
Lying in bed waiting for her breakfast she wondered what Dr. Tieman would be like. Probably not much different from Krause: a selfish, greedy man whose attempt to protect his own wallet had gotten out of control.
Getting up, she opened the drapes to a breathtaking scene that included the Bay Bridge, the hills of Marin County, with Alcatraz Island looking like a medieval fortress in the foreground. Marissa only wished that she was visiting under more pleasant circumstances.
By the time she’d showered and wrapped herself in the thick white terry cloth robe supplied by the hotel, her breakfast had arrived, an enormous selection of fresh fruit and coffee.
Peeling a peach, she noticed they had given her an old-fashioned paring knife—wood handled and very sharp. As she ate, she looked at Tieman’s address and wondered if it wouldn’t be better to visit him at his office rather than at home. She was sure someone had contacted him after her visit to Dr. Krause, so she couldn’t count on really surprising the man. Under such conditions, it seemed safer to go to his office.
The Yellow Pages was in one of the desk drawers. Marissa opened it to Physicians and Surgeons, found Tieman’s name and noted that his practice was limited to OB-GYN.
Just to be certain the man was in town, Marissa dialed his office. The service operator said that the office didn’t open until eight-thirty. That was about ten minutes away.
Marissa finished dressing and dialed again. This time she got the receptionist, who told her the doctor wasn’t expected until three. This was his day for surgery at San Francisco General.
Hanging up, Marissa stared out at the Bay Bridge while she considered this new information. In some ways confronting Tieman in the hospital might even be better than at his office. It would certainly be safer if the doctor had any idea of trying to stop her himself.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Except for her underwear, she had been wearing the same clothes for two days, and she realized she’d have to stop somewhere and get some fresh things.
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She put up the Do Not Disturb sign as she left the room, less nervous here than in New York since she was certain she was several jumps ahead of her pursuers.
The site of San Francisco General was gorgeous, but once inside, the hospital was like any other large city hospital, with the same random mixture of old and modern. There was also that overwhelming sense of bustle and disorganization characteristic of such institutions. It was easy for Marissa to walk unnoticed into the doctor’s locker room.
As she was selecting a scrub suit, an attendant came over and asked, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Dr. Blumenthal,” said Marissa. “I’m here to observe Dr. Tieman operate.”
“Let me give you a locker,” said the attendant without hesitation, and gave her a key.
After Marissa changed, her locker key pinned to the front of her scrub dress, she walked to the surgical lounge. There were about twenty people there, drinking coffee, chatting and reading newspapers.
Passing through the lounge, Marissa went directly into the operating area. In the vestibule, she put on a hood and booties, then stopped in front of the big scheduling board. Tieman’s name was listed for room eleven. The man was already on his second hysterectomy.
“Yes?” inquired the nurse behind the OR desk. Her voice had that no-nonsense tone of a woman in charge.
“I’m here to watch Dr. Tieman,” said Marissa.
“Go on in. Room eleven,” said the nurse, already devoting her attention to another matter.
“Thank you,” said Marissa, starting down the wide central corridor. The operating rooms were on either side, sharing scrub and anesthesia space. Through the oval windows in the doors, Marissa caught glimpses of gowned figures bent over their patients.
Entering the scrub area between rooms eleven and twelve, Marissa put on a mask and pushed into Tieman’s operating room.
There were five people besides the patient. The anesthesiologist was sitting at the patient’s head, two surgeons were standing on either side of the table, a scrub nurse perched on a footstool and there was one circulating nurse. As Marissa entered, the circulating nurse was sitting in the corner, waiting for orders. She got up and asked Marissa what she needed.
“How much longer for the case?”
“Three-quarters of an hour,” shrugged the nurse. “Dr. Tieman is fast.”
“Which one is Dr. Tieman?” asked Marissa. The nurse gave her a strange look.
“The one on the right,” she said. “Who are you?”
“A doctor friend from Atlanta,” said Marissa. She didn’t elaborate. Moving around to the head of the table and looking at Dr. Tieman, she understood why the nurse had been surprised by her question: the man was black.
How odd, thought Marissa. She would have suspected that all the PAC officers were old-guard, white and probably racially prejudiced.
For a while she stood above the ether screen and watched the course of the operation. The uterus was already out, and they were starting repair. Tieman was good. His hands moved with that special economy of motion that could not be taught. It was a talent, a gift from God, not something to be learned even with practice.
“Start the damn car,” said Al hanging up the cellular phone. They were parked across from a sprawling redwood house that clung to the hillside above the town of Sausalito. Between the eucalyptus trees they could see blue patches of the Bay.
Jake turned the key in the ignition. “Where to?” He knew Al was pissed, and when he was in that kind of mood, it was better to say as little as possible.
“Back to the city.”
“What did Tieman’s office say?” asked George from the backseat.
Jake wanted to tell George to shut up, but he was afraid to speak.
“That the doctor was in surgery at San Francisco General,” said Al, almost white with anger. “His first operation was scheduled for seven-thirty, and he’s not expected at the office until three.”
“No wonder we missed him,” said George disgustedly. “The guy must have left his house an hour before we got here. What a waste of time. We should have gone to a hotel like I said.”
With blinding speed Al twisted around in the front seat and grabbed George’s pink Dior tie. George’s eyes bulged and his face turned red. “If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Understand?”
Al released the tie and shoved George back down in his seat. Jake hunkered down like a turtle into his sports jacket. He hazarded a glance in Al’s direction.
“And what are you gawking at?” demanded Al.
Jake didn’t say a word, and after what had just happened, he hoped George had learned the wisdom of silence.
They were almost at the bridge before anyone spoke.
“I think we should get another car,” Al said, his voice as calm as if the outburst had never happened. “Just in case we run into a problem and have to split up. Then we’ll go to San Francisco General. The sooner we spot Tieman the better.”
With plenty of time to spare and feeling confident that she’d have no problem recognizing Dr. Tieman now that she’d seen him, Marissa left the operating room as the assistant was closing. She changed back to her street clothes. She wanted to be able to leave right after she spoke to the man. Going into the surgical lounge, she found a seat by the window. A few people smiled at her but no one spoke.
A half hour went by before Dr. Tieman appeared, coming into the room with the same effortless grace that had characterized his surgical technique.
Marissa walked over to where he was pouring a cup of coffee. In his short-sleeved scrub top, Marissa could see his beautifully muscled arms. His color was a rich brown, like polished walnut.
“I’m Dr. Marissa Blumenthal,” she said, watching the man for a reaction.
He had a broad, masculine face with a well-trimmed mustache and sad eyes, as if he’d seen more of life than he cared to know. He looked down at Marissa with a smile. It was obvious from his expression that he had no idea who she was.
“May I speak to you in private?” asked Marissa.
Tieman glanced at his assistant, who was just approaching. “I’ll see you in the OR,” Tieman said, leading Marissa away.
He took her to one of the dictation cubicles separated from the lounge by two swinging doors. There was one chair, and Dr. Tieman turned it around, gesturing for Marissa to sit. He leaned against a counter, holding his coffee in his right hand.
Acutely conscious of her short stature and its psychological handicap, Marissa pushed the chair back to him, insisting that he sit since he’d been standing in surgery since early that morning.
“Okay, okay,” he said with a short laugh. “I’m sitting. Now what can I do for you?”
“I’m surprised you don’t recognize my name,” said Marissa, watching the man’s eyes. They were still questioning, still friendly.
“I’m sorry,” said Dr. Tieman. He laughed again, but with a tinge of embarrassment. He was studying Marissa’s face. “I do meet a lot of people . . .”
“Hasn’t Dr. Jack Krause called you about me?” asked Marissa.
“I’m not even sure I know a Dr. Krause,” said Dr. Tieman, directing his attention to his coffee.
The first lie, thought Marissa. Taking a deep breath, she told the doctor exactly what she’d told Krause. From the moment she mentioned the L.A. Ebola outbreak, he never lifted his eyes. She could tell that he was nervous. The surface of the coffee shook slightly in the cup in his hand, and Marissa was suddenly glad she was not the man’s next patient.
“I haven’t the slightest idea why you are telling me this,” said Dr. Tieman, starting to rise. “And unfortunately I have another case.”
With uncharacteristic forwardness, Marissa gently touched his chest, forcing him back in his seat. “I’m not finished,” she said, “and whether you realize it or not, you are intimately involved. I have evidence that Ebola is being deliberately spread by the Physicians’ Action Congress. You are their treasurer, and I’m shocked that a ma
n of your reputation could be connected to such a sordid affair.”
“You’re shocked,” countered Dr. Tieman, finally rising to his feet and towering over her. “I’m amazed that you have the nerve to make such irresponsible allegations.”
“Save your breath,” said Marissa. “It’s public knowledge that you are an officer of PAC as well as a limited partner in one of the only labs in the country equipped to handle viruses like Ebola.”
“I hope you have plenty of insurance,” warned Dr. Tieman, his voice rising. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
“Good,” said Marissa, ignoring the threat. “Maybe he will persuade you that your best course is to cooperate with the authorities.” She stepped back and looked directly up at his face. “Having met you, I cannot believe you approved the idea of spreading a deadly disease. It will be a double tragedy for you to lose everything you’ve worked for because of someone else’s poor judgment. Think about it, Dr. Tieman. You don’t have a lot of time.”
Pushing through the swinging doors, Marissa left a stunned doctor desperately heading for the phone. She realized she had forgotten to tell Tieman that she was planning to visit the other PAC officers, but she decided it didn’t matter. The man was terrified enough.
“There’s the girl!” yelled Al, slapping Jake on the shoulder. They were parked across the street from the main entrance to the hospital. George waited behind them in the second car. When Al turned to look at him, George gave a thumbs-up sign, meaning that he’d also seen Marissa.
“She won’t get away today,” said Al.
Jake started the car and, as Marissa got into a cab, he pulled out into the street, heading back into town. Al watched as Marissa’s cab pulled out behind them, followed neatly by George. Now things were working as they should.
“She must have seen Tieman if she’s leaving,” said Jake.
“Who cares?” said Al. “We got her now.” Then he added, “It would make things easier if she’d go back to her hotel.”