As she hesitantly approached, they stared her down. Getting closer, she noticed that they were armed with semi-automatic rifles. She had never seen this before and the feeling something was wrong hit her hard. The closer she got, the more it felt like this was going to get bad very fast. She wanted to turn and quickly walk in the other direction but a sense of duty prevailed. It was her turn in the medical room. That damn oath she took forced her closer and pushed her up to them.
As much as she wanted to ignore them, simply reach out and swipe her security card she could not. Like statues, they stood in her way. Without so much as an acknowledgment or how do you do, a hand shot forward and snapped the card from her fingers. Her temper flared.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing? That’s my card!”
There was no reply. There was also no other choice but to stand and wait for them to scan it.
The one on the left never took his eyes off her. The other swiped her card into a hand held scanner that looked more like the type used at cash registers. With a voice bellowing with authority and while not taking his eyes off the scanner screen, he demanded,
“And you are?”
She snapped her reply.
“I’m the person who owns that card you goof. Now give it back so I can get to work.”
Her demanding outstretched hand remained empty.
After a momentary standoff, she was forced to comply with their demand. She let out an exasperated gasp, slouched her shoulders and in typical army fashion recited her name, rank and serial number. She then curtly added,
“Besides, that’s my picture there on the screen isn’t it? Who the hell did you think I was anyway?”
Although not amused, both stepped aside. After swiping her card in the slot, the elevator door opened.
It took a minute for the elevator to carry her down and when the door opened, she stepped out into the sterilized cavernous underground foyer. As natural and tranquil as the authorities wanted the above compound to look, they dropped the ball down here. It was as cold and unwelcome as any dentist’s office. From here, all staff at Deep Lab 6 must report to the reception desk in the middle of the great hall.
The pleasant woman sitting at the desk looked harmless enough but there was no doubt she was the central figure controlling security of this underground fortress. As Lynda assumed when first seeing her, even though wearing civvies, there was no doubt that she was military. No civilian receptionist sits so straight and responds with a snappy ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir.’
In accordance with policy, there was no rank down here and that meant no saluting. The idea was to remind people that this was a science research facility, not military fortress. It was also encouraged to use first names, which explained the single name on each of the nametags. The receptionist’s name was Nancy. She was about thirty-five, very good looking and like so many other military women, wore her dark hair up in a bun.
As Lynda approached, Nancy looked up at her but the cordial smile was missing. A depressing face greeted Lynda and serious eyes bore into her. Nancy’s voice was crisp and there was no doubt in Lynda’s mind that judging from her tone, something was seriously wrong.
“You should be more aware of the contract you signed when taking on this assignment. It clearly states that upon request, proper identification must be presented. This is not only for the protection of the Project but for you as well. In the future please be more aware of that when asked to produce your security clearance.”
Fine! She will begrudgingly accept the reprimand. In fact, it meant nothing to her. A frivolous game was all it really meant to her anyway. Besides, who cared about a low-level security Doctor? She smiled and nodded such a meaningless acknowledgment that Nancy, who was looking at her, noticed it.
After swiping her card under the scrutiny of sentry eyes, she turned and walked toward her medical office. Only a few paces away, she stopped, turned and asked,
“So what’s all the hubbub? Did a dingo get into the sheep pen again?”
There was no reaction, no acknowledgment of the attempted humor. Keeping to her stern profile, Nancy’s stringent military training burst forth.
“There are highly ranked security people in your office. Please attempt to show them more respect for their position than you showed the officers topside.”
That stopped her in her tracks. Security people in her office? All this time here and not one thing had ever happened that could in the remotest sense be categorized as exciting and now this. Something most certainly was afoot. Filled with a touch of excitement, she turned and opened the door. Upon doing so, the bell suspended above announced her arrival. She always wondered why he needed a warning when somebody came into the infirmary. She hated that infernal thing.
When the door closed behind her, the first person to greet her was Doctor Nelson. Right away Lynda noticed that he was not smiling. Instead of a flash of teeth, she was greeted with the most pitiful eyes and furled forehead. It was so out of character for him that she was almost compelled to ask, ‘who died?’ but something inside her would not let it come out. As it turned out, somebody had died.
As the disquieting chiming of the bell faded, she noticed two security officers standing by the examination table. They projected the same stone glare as the men topside. She wondered if it was not a rehearsed thing. She also noticed the ruffled white sheet on the examination table. Somebody had been examined during Doctor Nelson’s shift.
One of the officers was holding a file she recognized as hers or at least belonging in the medical filing cabinet. She had the intuitiveness to realize that whatever was wrong, it had something to do with whomever Doctor Nelson had examined after she had gone home for the day.
They looked strict enough to scare any normal person into playing by the rules. Doctor Nelson certainly thought so. The only thing preventing him from standing at attention was his trembling. However, she was composed enough to know that it was a purposeful facade, one well trained to posture authority. To her they looked as dumb as fence posts.
The one on the left, the one holding her file was young, comically too young to be trying to project an air of authority toward two people almost twice his age. He could not possibly be more than twenty. Yet, there was still that side arm strapped to his side. He was not in uniform, rather dressed smartly in a dark suit. The only thing that might have given him away as military was those large ears accented by a very typical army brush-cut.
The other one was older, perhaps fifty-five and was hiding his stiff upper lip with a bushy moustache. He too was wearing a suit but did not look or carry it as well as the younger one. The suit looked rented. She assumed that he was the authority and the younger was the trainee. The only thing that gave the older one away as military was his shoes. They were so buffed that one could use them for mirrors. He was not fat but rather burly. If he was indeed the boss, then he allowed the young one to take over.
As the young one stepped toward her, he slapped the file against the side of his leg. He wondered why she smirked at his best attempt at authority. Before he could blurt out his rehearsed questions, Lynda cast an eye on the file and demanded,
“Who gave you the authority to go through the medical reports? They are confidential between Doctor and patient.”
So not to be caught in the middle, Doctor Nelson took a hesitant backward step. In a gesture Lynda took as defensive, the officer slid the file behind his back. From deep within his scrawny chest, trying his best to project authority, he said,
“Doctor Gray, my name is Joseph Mann and this is my partner Whelan Christianson.”
In well-trained harmony, they flashed their ID into her startled face.
It was then that she recognized Whelan Christianson. Rather she recognized his mustache. He was the one speeding through the compound yesterday and almost ran her over. To confirm her suspicion, she looked hard at him to the point he felt uncomfortable about it. To his great surprise, she blurted out,
“You own
me one tomato, buster.”
Because he had no understanding of the accusation, he expressed a very quizzical expression. Finally, he weakly asked, “I beg your pardon?”
She vented her anger.
“That was me you damn near ran over yesterday.”
Although he had no recollection of the incident, her stern look demanded an apology and in self-defence he mumbled,
“I’m sorry.”
As it had nothing to do with his attempted power play over Lynda, Joseph continued,
“According to the Agreement of this Complex these files do not belong to you. They belong to the Deep Lab 6 Research Lab. I should also remind you that there is no Doctor patient confidentiality from our security authority. All information regarding medical reports, files of illness and treatment are entered onto a central database. Despite your objection, all medical files belong to us.”
She had forgotten about that. Maybe she should have taken the time to read all 153 pages of her condition of employment. It all seemed so dry and monotonous. More games. She was starting to wish she had not jumped to the back page and so dismissively signed all three copies. She suddenly found herself unarmed and therefore reluctantly stepped down from her posturing.
The impetuous youth continued to lecture her on other procedures that she obviously knew nothing about.
“And, as per condition of your agreement, referring to pages 73 through to 81, no paper copies are to remain in files. Daily, all reports must be entered onto the data base and papers pertaining to those reports are to be shredded.”
As he continued, she was subjected to a squinty stare.
“Doctor Gray, you are in violation of your contract.”
It was very difficult for her not to utter, ‘shove the contract up a kangaroo’s ass city boy’. Suddenly a thought came to her and she blurted out,
“Is this what it’s all about, that I was not filing my reports properly? Man, you guys sure are strict.”
Security Officer Christianson stepped forward. His tone was less strict and by that very nature, seemed friendlier. Understandably Lynda turned from the insensitive lecturer to somebody she could better relate to. He seemed more sympathetic to her feelings as well as her status.
“Perhaps when you have some time on your hands Doctor Gray I would ask you to please re-read the conditions of your employment. Although they may seem tedious to you, we here at Deep Lab 6 take them rather seriously.”
He was so opposite of the young one, so charming and maybe just a tad bit on the handsome side. As if by magic, the tensions in the room seem to lift. Doctor Nelson also warmed to the older more experienced security officer. Although she was starting to feel like a little girl disciplined by her grade five teacher, she submissively nodded at his suggestion to be more knowledgeable regarding her contract. She turned to see Doctor Nelson also nodding. Perhaps he too saw the officer as handsome.
Looking at Whelan Christianson, she felt the weakness returning. She was pleased to see that he was still smiling at her. The nostalgia of a lost youth set afire by his smile seemed to be playing games with weakened knees. Exercising composure and strength, she quickly recovered. After a flash of fantasy and a few deep gasps, her usual cynical composure returned. As dryly as composure allowed, she said,
“Sure, when I have time.”
Taking the file from his partner, Whelan held it up and voiced a name.
“Jimmy Hatcher. According to your hardcopy, he came to you yesterday at fourteen-fifteen with an ailment. Could you please, in your own words relate to us the extent and cause of that injury?”
She pointed to the file and said,
“Why? It’s all right there, I’m sure you have read it by now.”
He dropped his smile and demanded,
“In your own words please Doctor.”
Once again, her bad attitude toward authority burst forth. Before replying, she brushed past the flustered younger Joseph. Surprised, he was forced to step aside. All eyes observed in silence as she plugged in the kettle. She so loved to start her shift with a steaming brew. Then, turning back to face the men, she smiled at Christianson.
Sounding as if the report was coming from a tape recorder, she rattled off the circumstances of Hatcher’s visit to her the day before. When she was finished, she dunked her teabag, turned to Whelan and asked,
“Tea?”
Trying to retain his composure, one she was quickly dismantling, he grinned and replied,
“I’m a coffee man myself.”
With a coy tilt of her head she said,
“Pity.”
He then began his cross-examination.
“Did Jimmy Hatcher ever at any time relate to you the cause of his injury?”
“No, never and not at any time either.”
“This is a serious investigation. Please do not make fun of me.”
“Then may I suggest you stop acting funny and get to the purpose of your vague questioning?”
He nodded his agreement. Perhaps clarification was the call of the day. In a pointblank manner designed to shock Lynda, he said,
“Jimmy Hatcher died from his injures last night.”
Stunned, she dropped her cup. Tea and shards splattered onto the floor. After a gasp, Doctor Nelson sprang into action. Grabbing a cloth, he dutifully started to clean the mess up. It took her almost a full minute before realizing she had dropped the cup. Still shocked she said,
“But he couldn’t have. There was no infection, coagulate or anything even remotely suggesting a poison. All he had was a small prick in his hand.”
While on his knees wiping up the spill and despite the seriousness of the situation, Doctor Nelson suddenly found himself giggling like an adolescent teen at what Lynda had said. All three turned and quizzically looked down at him. Realizing that he was being scrutinized he got up and sheepishly faced them. Judging from their puzzlement, he was aware that he might have said or done something wrong.
The first to question his chirpiness was Lynda.
“What’s the matter with you? Is there something funny about dying from a little prick in your hand?”
Trying to compose himself, for indeed it was a grave matter, he gulped and said,
“Well no. And if I was caught with somebody’s little prick in my hand it might be bad too.”
Judging from Lynda’s expression, she was confused. This prompted Whelan Christianson to take pity on her naiveté. Trying his best to suppress his grin, he said,
“I guess it’s a gay thing.”
Flustered, she answered,
“What? I know what a gay thing is. What’s that got to do with what I said?”
“Well you see, in this country a prick can also be construed to be the dangling part of a man’s member.”
It was not until she equated Nelson’s red face, Whelan’s smirk and Joseph’s blank look that she caught on. She rebuked,
“Well in my country that is called a wanker and that’s what you three are. You’re telling me one of my patients died from an apparent insignificant wound and all you can do is make fun of me, not to mention the memory of this poor man.”
Her annoyance was so obvious that all three quickly retreated to looks of seriousness.
Joseph’s stone face eventually returned and Doctor Nelson walked over to the sink to wring out the cloth. Whelan too composed himself and continued with his investigation.
“Did he tell you what might have caused this puncture?”
Puncture just seemed like a better choice of words.
“No,” she said. “He told me he was rather unacquainted with the cause. I suspect he might have known though but those stupid secrecy rules you make us abide by not only kept his mouth shut but probably caused his death.”
Joseph took this as a personal affront to the rules and regulations. In a snit he seemed proud to blurt out,
“This whole foundation operates on those so-called stupid conditions you are so dismissively referring to. You have
a job here because of them.”
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