The Endorphin Conspiracy

by Fredric Stern

“So you came up with the idea on your own?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “The anonymous e-mailer steered me in the general direction.” Geoff felt a bit embarrassed as he said the words aloud. Had he fallen into a trap after all?

  “Got any hard copies of the e-mails you’ve been sent?”

  “No.”

  “What else did you find in the lab?” O’Malley asked.

  Geoff hesitated. “A copy of a PET scan that had been missing.”

  O’Malley made a note on his pad and nodded his head in feigned disbelief. “First CAT scans, now PET scans! Are you guys takin’ care of animals or people in that place?” He leaned forward and slapped his knee. “Just kiddin’ doc, just kiddin’.”

  O’Malley continued to nod his head, amused, then settled back in the chair. “So this PET scan suddenly reappears after a center wide search turns up nothing?”

  “That’s right. I was able to pull it up from the computer’s data bank.”

  “What did it show?” O’Malley held up his hand. “In laymen’s terms doc, if you don’t mind.”

  “It was consistent with the scans on the other patients, as well as the brain chemistry studies. It showed the man’s brain was totally saturated with the endorphin Suzanne had discovered in the lab.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that was probably why he and the other patients acted as if they were crazy.”

  O’Malley shook his head, unwrapped a piece of Juicy Fruit. “Lord knows he was crazy. I’ll never forget that day.” He stuffed the gum in his cheek. “Anyone else see this scan?”

  “The only other place I know it existed, other than in Balassi’s computer, was on Dr. Pederson’s desk. I assume he had reviewed it. I know Dr. Balassi saw similar scans on the other patients. I think Kapinsky may have seen the one on the girl at some time before he was hanged.”

  “Was hanged? Interesting choice of words, doc. We’ll return to that one.” O’Malley made another notation on his pad. “What did this Balassi say about the scans?”

  Geoff sneered. “He said all the scans done that day were like that, that there was a problem in the lab and all the compounds were bad.”

  O’Malley grinned broadly, his teeth clenching the cigar. “And you know that’s not true, don’t you, Detective Davis?”

  “That’s right. I reviewed the day’s log, as well as the entries on the day of Romero’s scan. All the isotope compounds were fine. There was no problem in the lab. Balassi lied. He’s covering up something.”

  “That may be true, doc. But let’s get back on track here for a moment. This pathologist friend of yours, Dr. Gibson, says she discovers a new compound, arousing your interest and pointing you in a very clear direction. All the makings of a set-up, if you ask me. She drew you in, then got you to do her dirty work for her.”

  “You’re forgetting one important thing. She knew I was going to give her the endorphin vials later this morning. Why would she go to all the trouble to send someone to break into my apartment to get something she was going to be handed hours later?”

  “Think about it, doc. You’re a smart fella’.” He paused for a moment staring at Geoff. “This Gibson’s a smart gal. My guess is she didn’t want to take any chances with you or the vials.”

  Geoff sat stiffly in his chair, annoyed at O’Malley’s cockiness. As if the New York cop understood what a goddamned endorphin or a PET scan really was!

  “Hey, Doc, don’t get defensive about your lady friend. I gotta ask certain questions, ya know, chase down every possible connection.”

  “Sorry.”

  “How well do you think you know her?” O’Malley asked.

  Geoff thought of their night together, Suzanne’s baby picture, her pained expression when he asked about her family. “We work together, and we’ve become friends lately. Fairly well, I guess.”

  O’Malley sat back in his seat and flipped pages back and forth, then rubbed his forehead as if he was trying to make sense of it all. “Let’s move on to the big picture now. I want to be sure I have this right, because the chief’s gonna’ look at me like I’m a loony toon—and maybe I am—but I gotta have my facts in order here. Interrupt me if I say something wrong. Science ain’t exactly my strong point. Fact is, I flunked biology in high school.”

  Geoff nodded, wondering why he had wasted his time trying to explain it all to this fool.

  O’Malley flipped the pages back to the beginning once again. “In a nutshell, you say there’s some kind of secret experiment going on at the New York Trauma Center—the foremost medical center of its kind in these United States of America—where patients, including that little girl and maybe the cop who jumped out the window, are being injected with a new chemical that makes them crazy, then kills them.”

  O’Malley paused for a moment and looked up at Geoff. “Is this statement accurate so far?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Further, you say Dr. Josef Balassi, Director of Research, and unknown others, possibly including Dr. Pederson, Head of Neurosurgery, are involved in the project, as you call it, or in a cover-up of some kind.”

  Geoff nodded in agreement.

  “You also state you believe Dr. Howard Kapinsky did not commit suicide but was murdered.”

  “He was too much of a self-centered asshole to commit suicide,” Geoff responded with conviction.

  O’Malley looked up at Geoff and said in an amused voice, “Doc, even assholes commit suicide. Besides, there was a suicide note that appeared to be written in his own hand, full of talk about some homosexual relationship and rejection. A pretty standard note. So, you have another reason? Because if you do, I’d like to know.”

  “Howard Kapinsky, gay? I don’t believe it. He was about as sexual as a eunuch.”

  “Believe it, doc.”

  “Has the note been analyzed by a graphologist?”

  “It’s in the process.” O’Malley voice hardened. “Do you realize if it turns out to be a homicide, you’re at the top of the list of suspects? I’m aware of the nature of your relationship with Kapinsky, the fact you two couldn’t stand each other and that the day before he was found dangling from the rafters like a side of beef you came close to punching him out in front of several witnesses.”

  “My feelings toward Howard Kapinsky were no secret, but I think he was onto something. He had developed a theory of a mercy killer at the medical center. I thought he was crazy at the time. He was acting anxious, and his medical decisions had become erratic. I think he was murdered by the people behind the experiments, to send me a signal to stay away, or to make me a suspect and keep me from getting any closer. Either way, they’d achieve their goal.”

  “That they might have, doc.” O’Malley eyed him up and down, as if committing Geoff’s body language to memory. “You would certainly be high on the list of suspects, though my instincts tell me you probably couldn’t do it. Well, let’s move on here.” O’Malley made a few corrections on his pad. “You suspect one Jesus Romero, the crazy Puerto Rican who held that little girl hostage at the zoo, was given the same drug when he was a patient at the Trauma Center, months before the incident, and that’s what made a previously normal Joe flip out and do such a terrible thing.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And an anonymous pen-pal named Proteus has been dropping hints only to you about everything that’s been going on?”

  “I don’t know if anyone else has received any messages. I can speak only for myself,” Geoff said.

  “Finally, the fanatic Hasidic Rabbi on the subway train—the same train you were on—who blew away poor, innocent people on their way home from work, got the same drug, probably given to him when he was a patient at the Trauma Center.”<
br />
  Geoff nodded. It all seemed so clear. It made perfect sense. “That’s right.”

  “Do you have a motive, doc? I mean if this is truly goin’ on—and I’m not saying it is or it isn’t at this point—what’s the reason? And you better have a good one you can back up, because there are some pretty powerful people involved here with a lot more to lose than yourself.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you know what common thread seems to connect all of these incidents? What one thing is always right there at the center of the action each time, right there in the eye of this hurricane, so to speak?” O’Malley asked, raising his brow.

  Geoff felt O’Malley’s sea-green stare burn through him like a laser beam from across the table. He returned the stare without hesitation. “Yes, captain, I do.”

  O’Malley removed the cigar from his mouth and pointed it across the table. “You.”

  Chapter 30

  Geoff had been so caught up in the events of the last few days, he’d barely had time to go to the bathroom, let alone attempt to decipher the encrypted message he’d printed in Balassi’s office. Now that he had returned from the Trauma Center after dropping off the vials for Suzanne, cleaned out his office and checked for any more e-mail messages—there were none—he had some time on his hands.

  O’Malley had given him food for thought, and he began questioning Suzanne’s motives. Perhaps she had used him—why, he wasn’t sure—to get those vials for her, but he had used her in a sense, as well. She had risked her fellowship position by running the autopsy assays, retrieving the PET scan data from the computer, pulling the rabbi’s chart, all at his request. Geoff had to wonder what stake she had in all this. Was it simply intellectual curiosity, their mutual attraction, or something more?

  Geoff assumed one of the security guards tipped off Balassi, who noticed the missing vials and simply put two and two together. Geoff felt the intruder was connected to other events, through Balassi not through Suzanne, as O’Malley had suggested.

  Geoff dismissed the police guard O’Malley had posted in the apartment and locked the door securely behind him. He entered the living room, checked his voice mail on his cell phone. There were two new messages. He sat down on the couch, listened to the first message.

  “Hi Geoff, Suzanne here. Just wanted to let you know I found those theatre tickets I told you about. I think they’re a matched set, just like we said they would be. I should know for sure by seven-thirty or eight tonight. I’ll be working late in the autopsy room, so stop by. Eight o’clock,okay? I’ll be waiting for you. See you tonight.”

  At first Geoff wondered what the hell she was talking about, then realized she was trying to be discreet about the endorphin vials. She must have gotten some heat about them from her department head and was trying to keep a low profile. He shook his head, checked the next message.

  “Hi, big bro, Stefan here. I’ve got good news and bad news regarding the, uh, project I’ve been working on. How about the good news first? Proteus sent those messages from within the NYTC. No surprise, huh? But he’s a real pro man, I mean, he has to be someone with big, big time resources and government connections. But even professionals screw up from time to time, and I think I caught one. Interesting routing pattern. Seemed random at first, but there’s always a pattern, even to randomness.

  “The bad news I have to tell you in person. I don’t want to say more over the phone. You never know who might be listening. Meet me at the same place as last time. Tonight. Ten o’clock. Later. Hey, be careful, okay?”

  Geoff replayed Stefan’s message to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. Stefan hesitated and cleared his throat between words, something he did only when he was nervous. Geoff felt concern for his brother, knew he felt like he was sitting on a time-bomb, knew he might in fact be doing just that. He hit speed-dial, tried to call Stefan. No answer, just voice mail.

  It was only five o’clock. Geoff had a couple of hours to try and crack the coded message. He moved to the kitchen table and removed the sheet from his fanny pack. He placed the message on the table in front of him, pad, pencil and day timer alongside it, sat down. He studied the message.

  Geoff had read coded messages before. It was a standard part of Navy Seal training, how mission directives were sent. Though the battalion commander read most of the messages, it was essential for every member on a mission to be able to decipher coded messages in case of injury, death, or separation from the commander or communications officer.

  Geoff studied the pattern carefully, made notes on his legal pad. The smallest number was a 01, the largest a 52. The vast majority of the numbers were between 01 and 28. He concluded these must each represent letters of the alphabet, 52 probably the number that oriented the reader to the layout and pattern of the coded message in some way.

  Geoff scanned the lines with his pencil, looking for any repeating patterns. He noted the frequent use of the number 12, and deduced this number probably represented a space between words. Some senders chose to use these, others did not. Looked like this one did. The trick to decoding was knowing the pattern and which number started the sequence of assignment with which letter of the alphabet.

  Intelligence officers—at least in Naval Intelligence—had developed a number of ways to throw off anyone trying to break a code. Since there was no way, even with the use of a computer to know which of these tricks were being used in this case, Geoff fell back on what he knew and began trying familiar ciphers, those related to the monthly calendar. A recent day timer or calendar was essential. This process could take hours or days. Hours he had. Days he did not.

  Geoff thought back to the code most commonly used in the Navy, the January Cipher. The sequence of number assignment was set by the January calendar of a certain year. Geoff glanced back at the first few numbers in the message. 09-08-02-02-12. He ignored the 12 and assumed that the first four numbers set the sequencing, 09 probably indicating the year and the orientation, horizontal or vertical. Since the message was printed horizontally, he made the assumption “9” in the right column of the digit indicated vertical, “0” horizontal. The number 09, then, must indicate the calendar year 2010.

  Usually codes were assigned from current year back, not forward, since not everyone had a calendar that included dates two years ahead. Geoff flipped to the front page of his day timer. It contained a 2010 calendar. He then examined the month of January and tried to apply the other principals of ciphering he knew.

  The second number, 08, was the day of the message. The month was assumed to be the current month. The third number, 02, how many days to subtract from the second number to find the true date of the message. The fourth number, 02 again, was usually the critical one, indicating with which Friday of the month—that was the convention used—to begin the sequencing, assigning the letter of the alphabet corresponding to that date as the number 01.

  Geoff penciled in his first attempt to crack the code. July 6, 2010. X-U-J-H-N-W. He came up with nonsense, knew he was wrong. Geoff paused, considered an alternative. Maybe he had the “09” backwards, the “0” representing the 2010 calendar year and the “9” demonstrating horizontal orientation of the message. R-T-P-E-W-F. Gibberish once again.

  Geoff considered different months to orient the sequencing. First he tried December, using both 2010 and 2009 calendars, then he tried June. Both were months he knew were used in ciphers. Each drew a blank. Geoff stared at the message, bit his lip in frustration. He had to break this code. He knew it contained valuable information.

  Then he tried the month of February. The February cipher was the code he’d learned encryption on, but he’d assumed it had long since been discarded. First 2010. Nothing. Then 2009. Geoff jotted down his results. T-Q-F-D-M-S. Shit. He’d thought he was onto something.

  Geoff closed his eyes and tried to visualize the last time he had decoded a message. H
e had been having a problem and had gone to the communications officer, who gave him a few helpful hints. What were they? One had to do with ordering of the letters to assign the code, the other with spaces.

  Z. That was it. The ordering began with the letter Z at the front of the alphabet, not A! He tried it again, this time starting with the letter P as number 1, since it was the seventeenth letter of the alphabet, corresponding to the date of the second Friday in February, 2010, when Z was before A.

  Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U 11 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 01 02 03 04 05 06

  V W X Y

  07 08 09 10

  URHFOT TRBOSNJSSJ__O

  Geoff recognized a pattern. The message was beginning to take shape. He was close, but the sequence was off by a letter or two. Somehow, it had to relate to the other hint his old navy buddy had told him about. Something to do with spaces.

  Geoff looked over the entire message once again, and noted the number 28 was used several times, though not as often as the number 12, which he was still sure corresponded to a space between words. Two numbers, not just the number 12, had to have specific purposes. What could it be?

  Numbers. Of course. The February cipher indicated a number would be coming instead of a letter after the number 11 was seen in the message. 12 indicated a space, 11 a number. Geoff reordered the sequence, this time skipping 11 and 12.

  Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 01 02 03 04 05 06

  V W X Y 11= number to follow 12= space

  07 08 09 10

  Then he deciphered the encrypted message:

  URGENT TRANSMISSION CODE RED SIGMA PROJECT INFILTRATED BY AGENT FROM THE IGS OFFICE MONITORING SITUATION CLOSELY NEUTRALIZATION ORDERED DO NOT ATTEMPT TO INTERFERE BLUEBIRD