by Abbey, S. C.
RESURRECTION
A Harvey Nolan Thriller
By S. C. Abbey
Sign up for the author’s mailing list for New Releases updates, exclusive giveaways and more at:
http://www.scabbey.com/sign-up/
‘Here in the forest dark and deep,
I offer you eternal sleep.’
Eleanor Gates
Prologue
BRUCE GOLAN TUGGED on the left sleeve of his lab coat the fourth time, as the thick white fabric unrolled itself again and slid down past his wrists, interfering with his thumbs. He swore. With his hands full, he could only gently nudge the material with the right base of his palm. He had already decided the words he was going to say when he’d give his wife of 30 years a piece of his mind about ditching his favorite old threadbare lab coat. He loved that tattered piece of garment. It fitted him like a glove, metaphorically. This new one just wasn’t the same. For starters, it was the wrong size – at least 3 sizes too big, he reckoned. Golan carefully placed the 5 glass tubes in the test tube rack and with the micropipette, dripped a single drop of chemical solution into each of them. Satisfied with the experiment he set up, he shook each test tube slightly before placing them into the rotatory of the large grey centrifuge on his left. He replaced the cover of the equipment and switched it on, meddled with a couple of settings before pressing the green start button. The laboratory equipment sprang to life.
Golan heaved a breath of content. He folded his left sleeve, bringing it this time even higher than before. Perhaps he should find himself a safety pin. Where were the dreaded safety pins anyway? Only Leann knew where these trivial things were, if they even had any. Why isn’t she in today again? Oh yes, her first ultrasound appointment. Golan felt a little embarrassed he had momentarily forgotten about it. Leann had been raving about it the past few days, positively beaming from excitement about finally finding out the gender of her baby, not that it mattered to her if it was a boy or girl. The anticipation of seeing her unborn child for the first time had muddled her wits to the point where she had left a tall stack of unwashed beakers in the sink the evening before. Golan smiled as he relived the scene of washing them himself this morning.
His stomach interrupted his flashback with a loud growl. Golan brought his wrist up and peeked at the face of the digital watch from underneath his spectacles. It was still a good one hour away from midday, but he always listened to his body anyway. Besides, he always skipped breakfast and took an early light lunch instead, kept his blood sugar stable – his body never agreed with sugary breakfast foods. To top it off, he was done for the morning, well almost, after this round of tests, he rationalized. It didn’t help that since Leann wasn’t going to be in today, he would be confined to recording the results in the logbook instead of keying them directly into the computer. He was helpless when it came to technology and relied on Leann too heavily for far too long – procrastinating the need to learn the intricate handling of the computer software the University had seen fit to upgrade them with.
The sudden silence in the lab signaled the end of the process the centrifuge was tasked to do. Golan lifted the cover of the equipment and carefully took out the test tubes, placing them back in the rack. He was sure to match the sequence of the labels on them as he had placed them before as he proceeded to extract the sediments which had settled from the spinning process and allocated them to individual micro-tubes. He dripped a single drop of a different solution from before into each before screwing the caps into place. He shook the contents of the individual micro-tubes, they all remained yellow. He gave a sigh of defeat.
Attempt #267, Results: Negative.
Golan had half a mind to abandon the entire process he had been through so far to start all over again. Although it would mean 6 months of work gone down the drain, he knew it was going nowhere if he continued with the current direction. Realistically, he knew giving up wasn’t an option either – he was running out of time and money. He abandoned the 5 micro-tubes on the bench, unwilling to engage in any more cleaning up before he had something to eat. He turned around to locate the experiment logbook to record his findings, jumping at the realization that a person was standing behind him.
“Jesus!” yelled the professor. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
The person did not make an effort to reply.
Golan slowly recovered from his shock, his heart still beating wildly from the surprise.
He recognized the visitor instantaneously. “What are you doing here? I thought–”
The person responded by raising a right arm, a gun pointed squarely at Golan’s chest.
“Wait a minute! What is this about?!” said the professor as his eyes widened at the sight of the gun. He stumbled backward, trying to put some distance between himself and the undesirable weapon. “Don’t do anything stupid! I’ll give you anything you want. Just name it! Just put down the gun and we can talk about it!”
Golan faltered along the bench behind him, his arms swept across the surface as he tried to balance on his weakening knees. The rack of glass test tubes flew across the lab onto the floor, shattering instantly. The assailant did not bother chasing after the professor though the gun barrel did trace his movements. The person finally took a step forward and spoke.
“Good bye.”
Bang!
The gunshot sound echoed throughout the laboratory.
Golan’s bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the assailant as he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He grasped in pain as he pressed on it and felt a warm pool of liquid soaking up his lab coat. He looked down to see his new lab coat ruined with the stain of his own blood.
“Help–” he managed a weak cry before he fell to the ground, unconscious to the world.
Chapter 1
HARVEY NOLAN STROLLED out the side entrance of the Boston Children’s Hospital on Blackfan Street, eager to be back in the warm Boston sun again. April was coming to an end, it was distinctly spring to most cities but for Boston, springs can be quite rainy and some bring snow as late as April. Days typically still start out cold and windy, and such cold temperatures are expected to last till June. Today was a rare treat for Bostonians. The gloriously warm sun shone through the sparsely placed clouds, yearning to hit the concrete pavements of scholarly city. Harvey just completed his task of collecting some legal documents from Dr. Anderegg on behalf of Professor Bertram Moore, his PhD Thesis supervisor. The Executive Director of the Boston’s Children Hospital had called in a personal favor from Moore, to get some advice on a current legal and ethical dilemma which the hospital was currently facing. Bertram was more than happy to agree to help, but then conveniently told Harvey to go forth and decipher the case and to come up with some practical advice on his own. He would assist him if he had the time. Harvey snorted at the memory. As if he was not busy enough, preparing for his thesis defense – he was finally graduating from his PhD, he hoped.
The glaring sun rays reflected off the glass windows of the Brigham and Women's Hospital, shining into Harvey’s face as he turned left into Shattuck Street, heading toward the direction of his destination. The situation he was tasked by Moore, provided him with an interesting case which concerned the prerogatives and responsibilities of medical professionals and the rights of the patient. And since he was in the area, who else better to consult other than Professor Golan. He had taken a medical elective, god knows why, back during his undergrad days and was taught by Professor Golan. Adding to the fact that Golan was a close friend of Bertram’s meant that occasional dinner parties provided them with more than ample circumstance to spar intellectually.
/> A blue and white Fallon ambulance stopped by the road as its driver killed the engine and alighted from the vehicle. He lit up a cigarette and sighed in comfort. The cold breeze swept past the avenue, under the shadow of the adjacent buildings, where the sun could not work its magic. Harvey tucked his fingers into his hoody, cursing himself for not dressing a little warmer. His phone rang, sending vibrations through his cotton trousers.
“Hello, Harvey speaking.” Said Nolan.
“My boy, have you gotten the documents yet? Did Dr. Anderegg ask about me?” asked his foster father.
“Hey Bert, I’m surprised you even remember.” Joked Harvey. “I thought you weren’t interested in this at all.”
“Nonsense, of course I am. Why would I agree to take it on in the first place, if not? Not as if we are getting paid for this. Old Anderegg’s too cheap to hire a legal counsel.” Professor Bertram Moore continued. “Besides, I did it for you. It is good practice, you know?”
Harvey rolled his eyes even though he knew that Bertram could not see it. “I’ll talk to you about it over dinner. Don’t wait for me for lunch!”
“Oh, you’ve got plans? A lunch date? Pretty young thing?”
“I would hardly consider Professor Golan young or pretty, perhaps only the noun thing would be somewhat accurate.”
“Golan! I haven’t seen that old bugger for months, wonder what he is up to. Send him my regards. Tell him we should convene for some rare fine Cubans I’ve recently been quite fortunate to acquire.”
“Bert, Professor Golan came over for dinner 2 weeks ago. Both of you got so drunk you broke 3 brandy glasses and a flower vase that night, remember?”
“Rubbish, I don’t recall such a travesty ever happening on my watch!”
Harvey chuckled. “If you insist. Anyway, I’ll pass on your message when I see him later.”
“You better hurry! It is almost eleven. Golan takes his lunch rather early if my memory serves me right.”
“I knew that. Catch you later Bert, bye!”
Harvey walked by the car park behind building C of the Harvard Medical School as he checked his watch, just in time. The Pantheon-like Roman architecture of the main building rose from behind the huge trees that covered it from sight. Its six marble classic Doric style columns held the stone beam which said ‘Harvard Medical School’. He continued straight toward the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health.
It was one of those moments where he wondered if he chose the right path, to pursue academia, instead of practicing. The phrase ‘Those who can’t do, teach’ had always bothered him in an insignificant but nagging way which he knew he should not care about. He could have become a good lawyer regardless the route he chose, he knew it, but he was just always more comfortable with academia and research. He guess he was just one of those who never really graduated from the mindset of being a college kid, and that was what really annoyed him.
A gunshot shook Harvey clear from his thoughts as he walked down the corridor toward Professor Golan’s laboratory. He jumped from the shock, totally not expecting to hear such a sound in the hallways of Harvard. Ignoring the consequences, he ran toward the research facility and could hear a cry for help when he pulled the door wide open as he stumbled into the room. He was just in time to witness a black figure slipped out of the laboratory via the back door, which he considered chasing after when the sound of moaning reminded him that somebody might be in need of medical attention.
“Help m–”
Harvey rushed toward the source of the voice and found Professor Golan lying on the ground, motionless. He removed his hoodie and used it to apply pressure on the bleeding chest of the old man as he cried out for help.
“Call the ambulance! Quick! Someone got shot! He needs medical attention! Somebody, help– stay with me professor! Don’t you die on me! Stay with me!”
Chapter 2
KATIE MOULIN PAUSED before she opened her mouth slightly, preparing to speak again. The sudden sound of the phone ringing interrupted her train of thought, but she was determined to continue with her speech. However, before she could persist, the man in front of her raised his palm in an outward motion, killing all hopes of her plan. She reclined back into the comfort of her mesh swivel chair and released a sigh of defeat before taking a second to soak up the interior of the office she was in. It was an austere and Spartan office with plenty of day light let in from its huge ceiling to floor glass windows. A white waist-level cabinet was placed against the windows with two flags flanking its sides – a United States of America flag and a dark blue Federal Bureau of Investigations’ one. On the cabinet was a bronze sculpture of a George Washington head, just about the right size of a real human’s head, and a wood plaque of some kind of achievement – Katie could not make out the words from where she was sitting, she could only see the Coat of arms of the Department of Justice on it. The rest of the surface was littered messily with folders and documents of predictable nature. The wall to the left hung an oil painting in a heavy looking frame, its edges worn and faded with flecks of gold paint missing. The painting depicted an American civil war battle scene with Union soldiers propping up an American flag on a heap of dead bodies. Katie cringed a little at the explicit detail. A glass top desk laid nearer to the opposite end of the door, in front of the cabinet where she was sitting on one side with the man who just answered the phone sitting on the other.
“Shaw speaking.” Answered the man. “Yes sir that is correct, in fact she is sitting right in front of me.”
Katie frowned at the comment, wondering who it was on the other side of the phone.
“Yes. Understood. Yes.” The man said, with pauses in between each affirmation. “I will see to that myself.”
The man kept his eye contact on Katie throughout the phone conversation. Katie tried not to return the gaze, taking interest in the rest of the room instead.
“Sure. Let me know next time you’re in Boston. Have a nice day yourself, sir.” Special Agent-in-charge Shaw said before he replaced the handset of the cord phone on its base.
“You sure have some connections, Agent Moulin.” Shaw said, folding his arms as he leaned into his chair. “That was the Head of Counterterrorism Division, Assistant Director Steinbach by the way. He asked me to see to it that you are returned in one piece to D.C.”
Katie had not expected that, she have never even heard of Steinbach before. Needless to say, he must be one of her father’s acquaintances. Not that she anticipated her father to call in a favor, considering the current relationship they were in. Not knowing what to reply Shaw, she settled for a pathetic interjection. “Oh.”
“And yesterday before you arrived, your superior called. Told me the exact same thing.” Shaw continued. “What are you? Royalty?”
“He was just being too kind, sir. As he always is.” Replied Katie, as she squeezed the words out of her mouth, increasingly peeved with the situation. She never liked it when the fact that her relation to her father affected her life or job in any other way. She hated it when people felt the need to tiptoe around her or envelope her in layers of protection like she was some fragile China porcelain doll.
“Listen. I don’t care who you are related to or what family you come from. You step into my office, you play by my rules like every single agent I have running out there, keeping the streets free from criminals. You will get no privileges from me. Do you understand, Agent Moulin?”
Katie was starting to like Shaw. “Excellent. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Good. Besides, you will only be here for a couple of months. Consider this a walk in the park, you will be out of here and back to Washington or wherever you are going next at a blink of an eye.” Said Shaw, as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. “All these seem so pointless to me. Attachments. Is that what they call them? To gain experience? 3 years sitting on this chair and I still don’t know what I don’t know about Boston.”
“Just fol
lowing orders, sir.” Replied Katie.
“Of course you are.” Shaw said before he pressed on the red intercom button on the phone. “Get Womack for me.”
The two federal police officers sat in silence for the next 2 minutes, waiting for the man Shaw had called in to arrive. The sound of knuckles on the door announced the new guest outside the entrance of the room.
“Come in.”
A huge African American man opened the door and stepped into the office, glancing at Katie for a second before shifting his gaze to Shaw almost immediately. Katie tilted her head and swirled her chair a little backward to take a look at the new comer.
“Moulin, this is Special Agent Womack.” Shaw said. “Despite your fancy Law degree, Womack probably has more field experience in his pinky than the whole of you. He’s been with the force before you even graduated from High School. Stick with him, you might learn something.”
Katie stood up and put out a hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Katie Moulin.”
Womack grunted in response, ignoring Katie’s outstretched hand.
“Alright, enough time wasted. Now get out of my office.”
“Yes sir.” Said Katie as Womack turned to leave the office. She trailed after him, closing the door behind her.
“So. What do we do now?” asked Katie. “Do we have a case to deal with?”
“Don’t be so eager for something to happen, crime isn’t some game.” Womack replied in a deep authoritative voice.
Katie opened her mouth, preparing to answer when she was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing for the second time today. Agent Womack pulled out his cell phone and placed it to his ear.
“Speak. What do you have for me?” he said. “I got it. Text me the details. We’ll be there.”