Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions

by Rosemarie A D'Amico

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. The one where we were working with them on the artificial kidney. I think the project was cancelled a couple of months ago. Nat Scott was leading the team.”

  Carrie stood up from her desk. “I’ll go right now and ask for the files.”

  “Let’s not make a big deal about this. I really don’t want everyone and their dog knowing I’ve asked for the files. Okay?”

  “No one will be the wiser,” she told me. “If the project is done, the files will be in the central storage area under lock and key, and I have access.” She opened a door to a closet behind her desk and pulled out a large, four wheeled cart, with a wire tray on the top and one underneath. “Be back in a little bit,” she said and headed down the hall.

  Yikes! I was naive enough to think that “the file” would be a couple of folders. Carrie obviously knew better and I readied myself for some tough slogging through technical jargon and medical research data. Neither of which were my strong suit.

  My stomach sank when Carrie arrived back with the cart full of file folders. The top and bottom trays of her cart were jammed with files, and several more were perched precariously on the top.

  “Where do you want these?” she cheerily asked me.

  “Why don’t you just leave the cart over there beside the meeting table, and I can spread out.”

  “Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Monahan?” she offered.

  “There is,” I told her. She eagerly stood in front of the desk and waited for my instructions. “You need to call me Kate. That’s a start.”

  She nodded her head in agreement. “But, I won’t call you Kate in front of other people. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed with her. I knew that Carrie was trained as an executive secretary and stood on formalities. “Secondly, sit down for a minute.” I motioned to one of the chairs in front of my desk.

  Carrie sat and smoothed her skirt. She was wearing another beautiful outfit and I was jealous as all get out that she looked so good. “Tell me about Mr. Connaught and Natalie Scott.”

  “Tell you what?” she asked tentatively.

  “Tell me what you knew about the two of them, their relationship. What they did together.” I was halfway convinced that Tommy and Natalie’s relationship was no more than a figment of someone’s imagination.

  “Well, I never actually saw them together. And like I told you before, Mr. Connaught never came out and talked to me about the relationship. I only heard about it through the rumour mill. One of the secretaries who works with the project teams told me that Miss Scott actually told one of the team members that she was going out with Mr. Connaught. And then when the project ended, and she had her famous hissy fit, they broke up. Everyone knew that.”

  I still wasn’t convinced but didn’t let on to Carrie.

  “Great, thanks for the info. So, what’s on the plate for today?”

  “You have no meetings booked, so far,” Carrie said.

  “Well, let’s leave it like that, okay? Unless it’s urgent, I want to keep the day clear.” I looked over at the mass of files piled in the cart and felt more than a little sick at the thought of plowing through them.

  The files were organized by subject matter and each subject matter had several files. The subject matters included RFP (request for proposal), Correspondence - General, Project Schedule, Client Sign-off, LED Research, FDA Approvals, PISTON Trials, etc., etc. Each of these file categories had several file folders of material and they were stuffed into what we in the legal field called bellows files. Heavy cardboard, expandable file containers. In all, there were probably close to one hundred file folders. I took a deep breath and plunged in, starting with the original request for proposal.

  Global Devices had put out the RFP several years prior, and they had been looking for a technical partner to assist them in developing the interface between the implantable artificial kidney and the external energy source. The RFP had some details in the information section about how many artificial organs had failed because of high infection rates. Apparently, earlier artificial organs had to be physically connected to external energy sources and this was done through tubes connected to the device, through the patient’s skin and hooked up to the energy source. There was an incredibly high rate of infection for those patients, many of whom died because of this. Other manufacturers started covering these tubes with a type of polyester fiber which the patient’s skin would intertwine with, reducing the rate of infection and the germs that could get into the body.

  Global Devices had come up with the bright idea of finding a company to help them develop an artificial kidney that could work with radio waves, specifically electro-magnetic waves. The external device would give power and computer commands to the internal device, without any physical hook up to the patient’s body. The RFP was being sent to companies that Global Devices thought could develop this external device. The artificial kidney was being built in-house at Global Devices.

  About seventeen months after the original RFP was sent out, Phoenix Technologies was awarded the contract to partner with Global Devices. The total value of the contract was over $20 million and if the device was successful, Phoenix would be required to sign over all intellectual property rights and the source code to Global Devices. Phoenix would have no further rights to the device. Period. End of sentence.

  So far, so good. I was understanding the basics of what I was reading. I spent the next four hours going through technical files, the contents of which were pretty much Greek to me. The only thing I understood was that it was four hours out of my life I would never get back.

  My back was aching from sitting for so long and I was so hungry I swore I could eat the back end of a Buick. I grabbed my purse and headed out to find some food. The streets were teeming with tourists and I had no idea where to go to get some lunch. Every day I had spent at the office, Carrie had made sure my lunch was delivered. Today I felt like a kid out of school, so I wandered down East 46th towards U.N. Headquarters.

  You could easily differentiate the tourists from the natives, because the New Yorkers were dressed for success, and all were carrying take out bags with their lunch. The men were wearing open necked dress shirts with no jackets, and the women looked summery in their sun dresses and lightweight suits. And apparently native New Yorkers did not sweat. Both women and men looked cool and collected whereas the tourists (yours truly included), were dripping from the humidity. I had thought Toronto summer days were brutal with humidity, but Toronto had nothing on Manhattan. The heat generated by thousands of taxis and buses, the asphalt on the roadways, the smelly, hot air coming out of the subway grates, the exhaust from the buildings and wall to wall people made it feel like a little bit of hell. Sweat was running freely down my back and chest.

  I stopped to get some lunch at a sandwich shop that had a line up out the door. I marched out of the shop with my take-out lunch bag swinging, just like all the other business people in front of me.

  Surprisingly there were several empty benches outside the U.N. Headquarters building so I claimed a spot and sat back to do some people watching. I smiled at the very large sculpture of a revolver with its barrel tied in a knot. Very clever. Nine busloads of tourists unloaded in front of the plaza in the time it took me to eat half my sandwich.

  In spite of the throngs of people, I found it very peaceful and quiet, and my thoughts turned to Tommy and Phoenix Technologies. Was my life ever going to be as simple as it was last month? I knew that no matter what I turned up, if I kept digging to find out what happened to Tommy, it wouldn’t be pleasant. If the path I was going down didn’t give me any answers, I was stubborn enough that I’d find another path. Somehow, I would find the answers. At this point though, I was so confused with all the different details, I didn’t even know what questions needed asking. Except of course, the big one: who killed Tom Connaught?

  chapter twenty-nine

  I spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing the files and
dealing with mundane issues that didn’t require any thinking on my part. My brain was in overload, and although I have never been nominated for membership in Mensa, I proud that I was keeping up with some pretty technical stuff.

  For the first year the development staff at Phoenix had worked on the “guts” of the device, and early on in the development work, the team had baptized it the PISTON system. PISTON stood for Percutaneous Intelligence System Transfer Nephrology. Needless to say, I had to look up the definitions of percutaneous and nephrology. Percutaneous is a medical term for “through the skin” or “through unbroken skin” and nephrology is the branch of internal medicine dealing with kidneys. Which makes sense (of course) because this was a device to be used outside the body, not hooked up to anything inside the body, namely, the artificial kidney. I was not just another pretty face.

  At 5:00 p.m. Carrie knocked on the door and came in to ask me if I needed anything else before she headed out. I had lost complete track of time and was surprised that it was the end of the business day.

  “Wow.” I got up from my chair and stretched. “I can’t believe it’s the end of the day already. I still have to call Sara Williston at the bank to see if I can drop over and I haven’t called Dr. Francis.” While I was rummaging around my desk looking for their numbers, Carrie quietly picked up my phone, dialed, spoke a few words, hit the red hold button and held the receiver out to me.

  “It’s Sara Williston. You talk to her and I’ll go get Dr. Francis on the line.”

  I smiled my thanks at her, took the phone and hit the button on the phone taking the line off hold. “Sara, it’s Kate Monahan. I want to return some things to the safety deposit box and wanted to drop by. Is that convenient for you?”

  Sara told me that I could drop by any time before 7:00 p.m. After that, she was leaving for a rock climbing class. Apparently, they have rock climbing walls inside old warehouses where people can practice the sport. I did not ask for further details. Rock climbing, indoors or outdoors, would rate right up there with watching golf on television. Yawn, bore.

  As soon as I hung up, Carrie was back in my office looking a little disturbed.

  “What’s up?” I asked her.

  “Dr. Francis,” she said. “He’s no longer working at Global Devices and they didn’t have a forwarding address. I find that strange.”

  “Who did you talk to over there?” I asked.

  “I called his old number and got someone else’s voice mail. I tried the number a second time, thinking I might have dialed wrong, which I didn’t. So then I called the main switchboard, which was closed for the night. Then I remembered that one of my friends who I went to secretarial school with worked there. I tracked her down through the automated directory.”

  “Oh. My. God. How long were you out there on the phone?”

  “Just a few minutes,” Carrie continued. “Lucky for me Naomi works for the head of the human resources group. Which means she has access to their internal systems. She logged on to their HR system and found out that Dr. Francis left the company about four weeks ago, and they have no forwarding address.”

  “You’re amazing,” I told her. “Go home now. We’ll worry about Dr. Francis tomorrow.”

  “I’m off then,” she said. “Just remember to page Lou when you’re ready to leave.”

  Lou had a heck of a time navigating the streets in SoHo after my bank appointment. Cars were double-parked and two lane streets narrowed to one lane. When he finally pulled up in front of Frank Sanchez’s place, I was about ten minutes late for my appointment. Jay was pacing on the sidewalk, running his hand through his hair. He almost made a move towards the car to open my door, but knew better. Lou was very possessive about his duties.

  I told Lou that I didn’t need him for the rest of the evening and he took the news stoically. The man had such pride in his job, and he was so over-protective of me.

  “You shure, ma’am?” he asked in his thick New York accent. “Nuttin’ I can do for you tonight?”

  “No, Lou. Really. I have an appointment here, and then Jay and I’ll go for something to eat, and then we’ll catch a cab back.”

  When I said “cab”, I swear Lou almost gasped. Like I had insulted his mother or something. “It’s okay Lou,” I told him as I placed a hand on his arm. “You deserve some time off. Really. Come and get me tomorrow morning at our usual time. Enjoy your evening.”

  “Ma’am,” he said and tipped his hat at me. “Sir,” he said directly to Jay. “Night.” With that he got back behind the wheel of his Lincoln Town Car and left us.

  “Wow,” Jay piped up. “Who would have thought it would be so hard keeping the hired help happy?”

  My lesson with Frank that night was all about being personally aware of my surroundings, and the effects on the body of violent or aggressive surprise. But we only got to that part of the class after Frank had put Jay and I through our paces. We spent time on our footwork drills and our punches, practicing our jab, cross and hook, and then Frank introduced us to the qua choi or ‘back fist’. This was a punch where you used your forearm like a piston and met your target with the back of your hand. I loved this punch and got great satisfaction from the sound of my hand hitting the practice glove with a satisfying thwap. After thirty minutes I was dripping with sweat, and although Frank’s dojo was air conditioned I could hardly feel the effects of it.

  While I sat on the bench sipping from a bottle of water, Frank talked to me about some of the basics of self-defense.

  “I don’t really like to call it self-defense,” he explained. “It’s more self-protection. It’s about being aware, sometimes hyper-aware, of your surroundings. Kate, you’re responsible for your own personal security and safety.” When our peripheral vision is active, he explained, our ability to detect danger increases. He talked about how to approach your car at night, why you should lock the doors as soon as you get in your car, and other different types of situations to avoid.

  Frank then asked me to describe how I felt physically the first time I was attacked.

  “Other than scared out of my mind?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. Tell me about other things you remember.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on that night, just a few months ago. Just remembering the weight of him sitting on my stomach, one of his large hands covering my mouth and the other trapping both my hands over my head, caused a metallic taste in my mouth. My stomach and bowels tightened.

  I looked up at Frank standing in front me. “I remember feeling helpless,” I started. “I wanted to scream but nothing would come out of my mouth. It felt like I was falling down a tunnel. It sounded like thunder in my ears.” My breathing started to get short so I concentrated on taking some deep breaths. I suddenly felt like shit.

  “See, even after several months, the incident still has the ability to cause physiological effects on you. You’re breathing is hard.” Frank sat down beside me on the bench. “Kate, look at me,” he directed. “Your face is flushed and it’s not from our workout. This is what I want to talk to you about.”

  I took a couple of deep breaths and looked at Frank. He seemed like a nice guy and even though it was only the second time I had met him, I decided I had to trust him. Jay was standing on the other side of the room, leaning on the wall, sipping from his water bottle. He was the smart one, he knew to give me my space.

  “Frank, I want to forget about those incidents. I hate the way remembering them makes me feel.” I stood up and starting pacing, getting myself worked up. “I can’t stand not feeling in control. That son-of-a-bitch attacked me three times and then he shot me. He’s fucking lucky he’s in the Kingston Penitentiary because I don’t know what I’d do to that sorry bastard if I ran into him. Just thinking about what he put me through makes me so angry I could spit.”

  “Kate. All of these feelings are totally natural. I think you’re handling it well. Some women who aren’t as strong as you don’t cope well at all after they’ve been att
acked. Some of them become suicidal. Let’s consider your anger as some positive energy. You can picture him in your mind when you’re working on your punches. Right now I want to talk to you about the effects on your body when you’re under attack. Everything you described to me before is caused by a whole bunch of chemicals in your body that go haywire when you’re attacked or surprised. Your muscles tense up. Right?”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “You suddenly can’t hear certain noises and others are magnified. Right?”

  I nodded again.

  “You feel like you’re in a tunnel. Sometimes you feel like you’re falling. You have no sense of time. Everything seems totally out of your control. Right?”

  Again, I nodded.

  “That’s the effect of the chemical cocktail. Your body goes into self-preservation mode. Your attacker counts on you being surprised and unable to help yourself. Let’s learn how to keep our awareness levels high and how to defend ourselves if we’re the subject of a surprise attack. Okay?”

  Jay and I spent the next hour learning how to deal with unexpected surprises. Frank taught me how to take a knife away from someone who was attacking me and even though I was highly doubtful that I could do something like that, within ten minutes I was able to take the knife away from Frank and lay him out, flat on his back on the floor. Frank told me to be submissive and passive with my attacker and to never look them in the eye. That way, the attacker could feel superior and in control. I didn’t need to be stronger than my attacker and I didn’t need to be bigger than my attacker.

  Suddenly I felt totally empowered and realized that I had found the magic I had been looking for. I had vowed to learn how to defend myself and even though I was a short little person, I was learning that size didn’t mean anything in these situations, if you knew what you were doing. We practiced on Jay, the poor guy. While he pretended to attack me with a knife, I practiced taking it away from him, and dropping him to the mats that Frank had supplied. Frank ended the lesson by showing me what to do and how to escape if someone grabbed me from behind. By the end of the two hours, I was exhausted but feeling more and more in control. My thanks to Frank were heartfelt.