by Leslie Wolfe
“Huh,” Alex said, “so there’s a discrepancy, right there.”
“Spot on, partner. There’s more. The patient is marked in their system as a VIP, with instructions to provide special care, whatever that means, and to keep isolated. Restricted access, even from the center’s personnel.”
“Very interesting. What else?”
“There are obviously no insurance claims filed for this and no insurance information on file, yet the account shows paid in full. Probably a cash transaction.”
“OK, I was expecting that.”
“Probably you weren’t expecting that most of the initials marked on the case file in the system don’t match any of their current surgical employees.”
“What? So where were they coming from?”
“No idea,” Lou said. “Her discharge date matches what Robert gave us, but there’s no surgery date and time like there should be. The drug regimen is documented in detail, but again, no insurance claims attached to that one either.”
“Text me the initials found on her record, and tell me which ones match with any of the existing staff.”
“Will do. There’s one very positive match: initials GWH matching a Dr. Gary William Hager, cardiothoracic surgeon and transplant specialist. I don’t think this is a coincidence; I think this is him, the surgeon who operated on Melanie. I’ll text you his mug.”
“OK, thanks much, Lou. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Speaking of which...watch your back! These guys are pros, and I’m not there.”
“Speaking of which...were you careful snooping around?”
“What do you think?”
Alex hung up, immersed in scenarios playing wildly in her head. One thought bothered her. If these guys are such pros, why is this patient record still available in the Transplant Center’s computer system? It should have been deleted long ago, erasing all evidence that anything had ever happened. What am I missing?
...46
...Wednesday, February 10, 9:01PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...News of the Hour Special Edition Report
...Nationally Syndicated
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Stephanie Wainwright’s smile filled the screen. “We’re revisiting today the controversial issue of vote secrecy in the light of the e-vote overhaul. This issue has been increasingly visible, with strong opponents rallying support and lobbying Congress for an injunction. With us in studio to help us understand what’s at stake is California Senator Sidney Mulligan, pioneer of the e-vote reform, the man who started it all. Welcome, senator.”
The senator appeared on the screen. The camera zoomed out, showing two armchairs in a studio setting, very common when Stephanie had a high-profile guest.
“Thank you for inviting me,” the senator answered. The relaxed demeanor and friendly attitude were a constant with Senator Mulligan, no matter how heated the debates became.
“Senator, what do you think this concern for vote secrecy could do to your initiative? Is it a serious concern?”
“Any concern with the integrity of a constitutional right is a serious concern. We are taking the concern very seriously. We have launched a campaign of educational videos to demonstrate how the voters’ identities will never be correlated with the actual vote inputs into the system at any given point in the voting process. This will simply not happen. I am hoping that the people will learn to understand how e-vote really works, and when doing so, also learn to trust us.”
“I have seen the videos you’re referencing; they are quite informative, engaging, and well done.”
“Thank you, Stephanie, you are very kind.”
“Senator, the voices in the streets are getting louder by the minute, despite these educational efforts. Let’s watch together some snapshots our crew took yesterday in the heart of New York City, at the corner of Bowery and Canal.”
The screen switched to show the hustle of a busy New York City street corner, countless people hurrying through a cold, slushy, windy winter morning. The reporter, almost unrecognizable under his heavy parka hood, was asking the same question over and over again.
“How concerned are you with your constitutional right to voter secrecy and why?”
“Ha! That’s a good one. No one has any secrecy anymore, no privacy, nothing. Rights? Pfft...This is the land of Big Brother. Where do you think you are? Ha!” jeered a man in his late thirties, battling the street slush in light shoes.
“I’m very concerned. I’m not even sure I want to vote anymore, if that’s the case. I am scared,” remarked a middle-aged woman who avoided making eye contact with the camera and didn’t stop to deliver her response. She just kept going, making the reporter chase her with the microphone.
“Are you for real? No comment!” yelled a man wearing high-end business attire and holding an expensive leather briefcase.
“You seen them videos, my man? What do they want us to do, trust the government? I ain’t stupid, dawg,” said an African American man in his twenties, bundled up and wearing a colorful knitted scarf.
“I...I...no vote,” an elderly Chinese woman managed to articulate.
“It’s all a big conspiracy. I know it is. I am sure of it. You see, they already know everything about us. They have these big databases buried under mountains. I know they do. I read about it. Seen it on TV. They listen to our calls and read our emails. They know everything. What we eat. What we buy. What we say. What we see on the Internet. But so far, they don’t know what we think. So this is the last step, I am telling you, to figure out what we think. And then, what do you think is gonna happen, huh? Whoever doesn’t think the way they want, suddenly loses their jobs, or has accidents, or gets Ebola, or something. That’s the only thing they’re missing: how we think. Then the conspiracy wins. We never win.” The cabbie’s diatribe was interrupted by brutal honking and swearing from the cars behind his battered cab. The stoplight had turned green about halfway through his speech.
The screen returned to Stephanie and the senator in studio.
“So, what do you think, senator?”
“It’s obvious and disheartening that the majority of our citizens do not trust us with safeguarding their constitutional right to vote secrecy. This is a fact that cannot be denied. I also strongly believe,” the senator continued, wearing the same kind, reassuring smile, “that our government has lost the confidence of our people. We need to own that. We have made many mistakes, and our government’s reputation, although in shambles, is of our own doing. I also believe that sometimes you have to push for progress despite resistance to change. Change is hard, change is scary, especially when you have a strong underlying issue of trust. What have we done, as a government, to gain the confidence of our citizens? We have burst into people’s homes in the dead of the night with SWAT teams, to execute simple search warrants, or for no reason at all. Even better, one time SWAT had the wrong address to begin with but ended up charging the man of the house for pulling a gun in self-defense.
Police officers are discharging weapons at minivans full of children for speeding. The same police force steers clear of high-crime zones and prefers to waste time setting up speed traps on deserted highways, where the officers can be safe and do as little as possible to curb real crime, such as drug trafficking, home invasions, assaults, or homicides. How do you think our citizens feel when we distribute military-grade weapons and vehicles to the same police force? How about illegal wire-tapping, surveillance, and all sorts of invasions of privacy that we have subjected our constituents to over and over again? And now we expect them to trust us, and we’re surprised and disappointed when they don’t? I’m sorry, but this is hardly a surprise. Yes, it is disheartening, but it’s not a surprise. We need to own that before we can start fixing it.”
“Then how do you see the future of e-vote in the face of the growing anxiety about voter secrecy?”
“We can only hope that our education campaign bears fruit and reduces the anxiety levels over time. We definitel
y don’t want these concerns to impact voter participation. I strongly encourage all citizens to exercise their right to vote. To me, this is more than a right; it’s a duty. I am also hoping that what we’re seeing now is the initial response, when people react emotionally. With time, education, dialogue, and increased visibility about the e-vote process, I’m hoping this anxiety level will be dulled, enough for citizens to exercise their right to vote with sufficient confidence that their constitutional right to voter secrecy will be safeguarded at all times and at all costs. This is my personal promise. If I had any concern about how voter data is stored and manipulated, I would be the first one to pull the plug on e-vote reform.”
“Senator, in conclusion, you’re hoping that this widespread fear will blow over, and you’re essentially asking the citizens of America to trust you?”
“I am confident that we will be able to gain some level of confidence over time, with continued communication, dialogue, and understanding on both sides. We are still a few months away from November. And I promise you, Stephanie, and everyone else that the way the system is designed and built doesn’t permit the type of privacy issues that the citizens fear. You have my word.”
“Thank you, senator, we wish you all the best in achieving this ambitious goal.”
“Thank you, Stephanie, always a pleasure.”
The camera zoomed in, showcasing Stephanie’s portrait.
“That was Senator Sidney Mulligan, the pioneer of electronic voting, responding to the growing concerns about voter secrecy. Live from our studio, this is Stephanie Wainwright, with News of the Hour.”
...47
...Thursday, February 11, 11:07AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Fort Lauderdale Marina, Harbormaster’s Office
...Fort Lauderdale, Florida
Muhammad Sadiq moved with difficulty along the building, holding the cane tightly and limping visibly. His right leg, still unable to support his body weight after the recent hip replacement, was causing him to cringe at every step. A native of Pakistan, Sadiq had lived in the United States for many years, enjoying the benefits of his wealth, while increasing it at the same time. His wealth had been built in textiles and commerce, driven by the ambitious, relentless vision of a shepherd’s son. Now almost seventy years old, Sadiq still couldn’t deal with the consequences of his age. In the depths of his mind, even if irrational, the thought that wealth should help one bypass the miseries of old age was a well-rooted concept. In all fairness, it was half-true. He had bought himself the hip replacement, done by the best surgeons that money could buy, and had enjoyed post-surgery recovery in a top-notch private clinic. What his money couldn’t do, no matter how much of it he was willing to spend, was to cut his recovery time from weeks to days.
Yet he couldn’t postpone this visit any longer. He was on a tight schedule. Entering the harbormaster’s office, he gestured between labored breaths to the chair in front of the man’s desk and sat heavily, stretching his right leg.
“What can I do for you?” the harbormaster asked. Middle-aged and chubby, he looked supportive, almost friendly. His perceptive eyes scanned Sadiq from head to toe from behind thick-rimmed glasses.
“I’d like to lease or buy a slip for my boat. They will be delivering it shortly, and I need a place to park it on the water.” Sadiq spoke with little accent, his English well-articulated.
“Absolutely,” the man said, displaying a helpful, professional smile. “That’s what we’re here for. What kind of boat are we talking about?”
“Forty-seven,” Sadiq said without skipping a beat.
“Oh, wow, nice,” the man commented. “New? What are you getting?”
“Brand new, a Sea Ray 470 Sundancer.”
“Wow, that’s a million-dollar boat. Congratulations! It’s not every day we get one of those; although we do have quite a few vessels here. We’d be happy to accommodate your new boat. For a yacht that size, we offer fueling by truck.”
“Can I ask, please, if you could give me a spot closer to the parking lot and easy to maneuver on the water? As you can see,” Sadiq gestured to his right leg, “I am not exactly able to move around as I used to. Not anymore.”
“Sure, let’s see.” He pulled out a map of the marina and showed it to Sadiq. “We can accommodate forty-seven footers here, here, and here,” he said, pointing at the available slots with the tip of his pen. “How often are you planning to take this beauty out?”
“Umm...maybe a couple of times per month, maybe more often once my leg gets better.”
“Are you planning to live on board?”
“What? No, I am not.” Sadiq smiled. “I have a house here in Lauderdale.”
“You could, you know, it’s beautiful. In any case, I would recommend this spot for you. Only seventy-five feet or so from the parking lot and just a couple of maneuvers to get it aligned with the pier. Leaving is even easier, see?”
“Perfect,” Sadiq confirmed. “Is it possible for me to reserve a parking spot for my car?”
“No, I’m afraid that is not something we offer.”
“What if I signed a lease for the slip for a year, would that change things maybe?”
The harbormaster thought for a few seconds. The man seemed harmless enough, despite his Arabic name. He was old and in obvious pain and getting him a reserved spot would almost be an act of kindness. Definitely it wouldn’t be a security risk for the marina, and it could be an additional income stream. The only question was how much he could charge for it. By the looks of it, however much he wanted.
“It could,” he said. “It requires me to generate a lot of paperwork in support of your request and to order a custom sign and permit number.”
“I understand,” Sadiq said, “and I appreciate you bending the rules for me. Money is not an object.”
“Let’s see...The boat slip for a year comes to $1.55 per foot per day, or $2,185 per month. Let’s say...$2,900, parking included? And you get to pick your spot,” he offered.
Sadiq nodded his approval, placing his right hand on his heart. “Thank you.”
He allowed a discreet sigh of relief to slip between his parched lips. He was ready.
...48
...Thursday, February 11, 6:14PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Randy Turner’s Residence
...New York, New York
“Oh, no, no, no, no! Fuck! I am so fucked!” Randy stared at his computer screen in disbelief. “He is so gonna kill me. Fuck!”
When he had taken the quick job from the wrinkled stranger with scary-cold blue eyes, he had thought he had just hit the jackpot. Five thousand dollars for what appeared to be a whim, five large ones to just keep an eye on some clinic’s system and see if someone hacks into it. Then five grand more when he’d report the hack, as soon as it happened. The man had been adamant, almost threatening. He had to report the hack the moment it happened.
Of course he’d taken the five grand, never really expecting he’d get the rest of the dough. He was smart enough to know this was not legit. Legit people concerned with systems security buy firewalls, not the services from nineteen year olds with expunged records for computer hacking. Nope, dead sure not legit.
So he’d taken the money, hadn’t thought twice about it, and had written a piece of code, a small intrusion detection application that watched for any unauthorized entry into the transplant clinic’s systems. Easy-peasy. He’d dusted off an old laptop he wasn’t using anymore and had it monitor the application. For weeks, nothing. He stopped believing anyone would ever hack in there, and why would they? He also stopped believing he’d ever see the other five large ones; although his client had called every now and then to check the status.
Then one day, the only time he’d taken off with his new girl and spent a cool afternoon and a hot night at her place, in the absence of her parents, it had to happen. Of course, he hadn’t been there to see it happen, and now more than twenty-four hours had passed since the attack. Fucking shitty luck...! He is so gon
na kill me!
He stood there, staring at the screen displaying information about the intrusion and weighing his options. Of course, he could just pretend nothing happened and never see his other five grand. Such a waste of some really decent payday, and those were hard to find. Then he could, of course, run the risk that his client would still find out about it, a case in which his life wouldn’t be worth much. The man, who’d said his name was Helms, had made that very clear. The other option was to call him and give him as little information as possible, covering his screw-up. Maybe, just maybe he’d get his other five grand.
With trembling hands, he picked up the cell phone the stranger had left with him and recalled the only number stored in the phone’s memory, chanting in his mind no TMI, no TMI, fuck, help me, no TMI. He had this character flaw, always giving people too much information and talking too much. Way too much. Well, on this call, he’d better stick to his no TMI strategy.
“Helms here,” the stranger answered.
“Y–yeah, hi, it’s Randy,” he stuttered almost.
“Randy, what do you have for me?”
“You were right, someone did hack into the clinic system. So my job is done,” he blurted, awaiting his prize.
“When?”
Fuck! He decided to lie a little, probably it would hurt way less than the truth.
“Just a few hours ago,” he said hesitantly.
“Precisely when?” Helms insisted in a deathly cold voice.
“Umm...at precisely 1:17PM Eastern,” he said, conveniently omitting to add the date to this information. He was hoping the man would assume it had been today, not yesterday, and not probe any further. At least the 1:17PM Eastern was accurate.
“Why did you take so long to let me know?”
Tell the truth? Lie? Randy envisioned what the man would do if he heard the real reason for this delay. Lie, definitely lie.