Favors and Lies

by Mark Gilleo

  “Is the car safe here?” Sue asked.

  “They don’t require a parking permit. You need a badge to get the through the gate.”

  “Unless you know the gate is broken.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to share what you have in mind?”

  “Just follow my lead. Hold my arm. Put those flowers in your other hand. Smile and nod at the security guard as we go in.”

  A taxi cab with an expectant mother and panicked husband pulled into the semi-circle drive in front of the red brick building as Dan and Sue walked through the large automatic doors. The security guard at the podium on the right nodded to Sue who smiled and nodded back. Dan never looked over.

  “Tight security.”

  “They don’t really check IDs once the sun is up.”

  “Something to do with vampires?”

  “Probably labor union rules.”

  They veered left through the waiting room, sofas stuffed with families. Pacing husbands wearing tracks in the floor.

  Dan walked directly across the room and picked-up the courtesy phone on the far wall. “We’re here,” he said into the phone, followed by “thanks.”

  Minutes later, a blonde woman in light green scrubs approached Dan and Sue loitering near the coffee stand in the corner of the lobby. Her shoulder length blonde hair framed her high cheekbones. Stethoscopes hung around her neck. Her white doctor’s coat fell to her knees. The toes of her clogs were stained with some unidentifiable liquid in the process of drying.

  The doctor never broke pace as she approached, opening her arms as Dan stepped forward to meet her. Sue noted the duration of the hug, the intimacy of the bodies, and women’s intuition told her everything she needed to know. “What have you gotten yourself into?” the doctor asked, stepping back to eye Dan and then Sue.

  “It has to do with Conner,” Dan said, shamelessly tugging heart strings.

  Dan stared into the doctor’s face as she provided her initial medical assessment of the man she once loved. “Cut over the eye. Bruises. Multiple smaller lacerations.”

  “Got in a fight and survived a bombing,” Dan replied.

  “Some things never change.”

  “Indeed. You still look beautiful.”

  The doctor turned and extended her hand in the direction of Sue. “April Cathright.”

  “Nice to meet you. I think these flowers are for you,” Sue said, transferring ownership.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You look young to be a doctor.”

  “And you look young to be dating a forty-year-old man.”

  Dr. Cathright glanced over at Dan to see him wince.

  “Ouch,” he replied.

  “We’re not dating. I work for him. Sort of an internship,” Sue said.

  “It all starts somewhere. But that’s a conversation for later. Let’s go. Follow me.”

  Sue and Dan followed Dr. Cathright as her heels stepped on the pink path in the gray tile floor. At the door of a secure elevator, the doctor swiped her badge, waved at the closed circuit camera in the corner of the ceiling, and pressed the button for the fourth floor. A minute later, the party of three stepped onto the labor and delivery floor of Fairfax Hospital. Two pregnant women in matching flowered gowns waddled by, grunting through a conversation about contractions and breathing methods.

  Dr. Cathright walked her guests past the first nurses’ station and turned down a short hall. Her ID badge ushered them through another set of security doors and past a dual set of cameras, one on each wall. Down another hall, her magical pass provided access to yet a longer hallway where unoccupied gurneys and wheelchairs lined the right side.

  “Should I be leaving breadcrumbs?” Sue asked.

  “Wouldn’t help. Even if you knew how to get out, you can’t without a badge,” Dan replied.

  At the end of the hall, Dr. Cathright stopped at a pair of locked swinging doors. She stepped to the wall, punched a five-digit code into a panel, and the large doors swung inward. Another hall, an additional door, and a final swipe of the badge left the three standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a small foyer. Three identical doors lined each side of the wall. An open bathroom was in the corner, providing a glimpse of a shower and toilet in the reflection of a dimly lit mirror. Dr. Cathright went to the door on the far left, pushed a combination of numbers on the lock, and pushed the door open.

  “Here we are. Welcome.”

  Sue approached the open door cautiously, not sure what to expect. She popped her head in first, determined it was safe, and then entered. There was a full-size bed, a metal desk with two chairs, and a reclining lounge chair. On the far side of the room, a wall-mounted TV with a DVD player clung to faded yellow paint. The computer on the metal desk was on, the screen illuminated with graphs and charts, moving and flashing in different colors.

  “There isn’t much space in here, but we can share what we have.”

  “Come again?” Sue asked.

  Before Dr. Cathright could answer, the screen on her computer began flashing red. The small black pager clipped to her waist simultaneously erupted in a mind-melting array of notes.

  “That’s my patient. I gotta go. Emergency C-section. I will be back in an hour or so, provided there are no complications.”

  “We’ll be here,” Dan said, finding a seat in the recliner. “Before you leave can you log me into the computer network? I need medical records and Internet access.”

  “My user name is my first initial and last name. My password is my date of birth, followed by my zip code. If you can remember them, the computer is all yours.”

  Dan winked. “Thanks.”

  Dr. April Cathright flashed her own magnificent pearly whites, flipped a strand of hair behind her ear, and then left.

  Sue sat on the edge of the bed. “What the hell are we doing here?”

  “It’s safe. In fact, outside of a safe house with armed guards, a security system, and maybe a few dogs on the perimeter, this is one of the safest locations on the East Coast. Multiple security doors, multiple cameras, multiple guards and numerous safeguards.”

  “I noticed. Where are we exactly?”

  “You are in one of the call rooms for the OB/GYN doctors on duty at Fairfax Hospital. This labor and delivery ward is the fifth busiest in the country. But most people don’t even know these physician call rooms exist. And if you do know they exist, you wouldn’t know how to find them. There are no signs pointing you in this direction. You can’t exit the floor without a badge. Not without setting off alarms and generating a very serious response.”

  “What’s up with the security?”

  “Prevents kidnapping.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. A newborn was taken from this building a few years ago. After that, the hospital wisely decided they would do whatever was necessary to ensure there would not be a repeat incident. Now all babies have RFID chips attached to their umbilical cord. Scanners monitor their locations at all times. On top of that, all the locks and doors limit the movement of adults. Eyes on the infants. Eyes on those who could take them. Pretty brilliant, really.”

  “There are no windows in these rooms.”

  “Even safer. Good for sleeping. Emergency rooms and labor and delivery wards are always open. They are staffed twenty-four hours a day including Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanza. These medical professionals don’t sleep regular hours. They drop, sleep for two hours, then wake up and perform surgery.”

  “Never thought about it. So we are locked in a room in the middle of the hospital?”

  “I wouldn’t say we are locked in. We are here voluntarily.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “It’s safe. That is my main concern. For you.”

  Sue smirked. “So, who is Doctor April Cathright?”

  “She is a friend.”

  “More than a friend, I imagine.”

  “In a previ
ous life.”

  “It is only a previous life if you leave it behind. We are here. For her, maybe it’s not a previous life.”

  Dan grunted and moved to the chair in front of the computer. He patted the empty seat next to him and Sue moved from the bed.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Checking on a few things.”

  Dan minimized the flashing lights associated with heartbeats and contractions and then clicked on the icon for the Fairfax Inova network. He nailed Dr. Cathright’s birthday on his third attempt. “Here we are.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “An airplane.”

  “What kind?”

  “Jet. Landed at Manassas Regional Airport on May the fifth of this year. Cinco de Mayo.

  “What is the tail number?”

  “I don’t have one. I didn’t have the money to buy that information. The asking price was ten grand. I was hoping I could find the information myself. After all, finding information is an intricate part of my job description.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I am not sure which you are burning through faster—money or friends.”

  “I am running out of both.”

  Sue nodded, her eyebrows furled.

  Dan continued. “OK. Pay attention. Maybe you’ll learn something about public information channels. Who knows, I may be able to write down a truthful tidbit on your internship evaluation form for once.”

  “Funny.”

  “The thing about looking for planes is that they are all registered. Like automobiles and boats. Systematically, the government does a good job of keeping track of these.”

  “Probably because people have to pay taxes on them.”

  “Exactly. For planes, they also need to have registration information for things like filing flight plans, as well as for less glamorous undertakings such as sifting through the wreckage of downed aircraft. All planes are registered. All parts are registered to that plane. All parts are tracked back to the manufacturer, the day they were created, and who was working the assembly line that day. Zero defect tolerance.”

  “Imagine the possibilities if they made everything so carefully.”

  “The FAA website maintains information on every airport in the country. All flight plans. So all we have to do is go to the FAA page for Manassas Regional Airport and search for jets that landed at the airport on May the fifth.”

  “Why are we interested in jets that landed?”

  “Because that’s what the barber said.”

  “But of course,” Sue responded, watching Dan type.

  Dan pointed to the screen. “Here are the flight plans for all the airplanes that landed that day. Forty-two in total. Most of them small personal aircraft. A lot of Cessna. None of them were jets.”

  “It would be easier with a tail number.”

  “Don’t get distracted by what we don’t have.”

  “OK, we have nothing, if you like the sound of that better.”

  “I am undeterred. In fact, if this plane really had CIA personnel on board, as the barber indicated, I would imagine they don’t have to file a flight plan.”

  “Probably not.”

  “But they do need gas. And they do house the plane somewhere. So there is a chance the plan resides on site at the airport. All planes must be registered with an airstrip and all the planes maintained on airport premises have paperwork filed with the FAA.”

  “People can find out anything these days.”

  “If you are willing to get dirty,” Dan added.

  “Most people already are dirty.”

  “Now you’re coming around to my side.” Dan put his finger on the screen. “There are 120 aircraft registered at Manassas Regional Airport.”

  “A big number.”

  “But manageable. For the airplanes registered at Manassas Regional Airport, I can now access their information and get granular information on all of the registered airplanes for that location. The type of aircraft. The seating configuration. The number of toilets. Who owns each plane.”

  “Wow.”

  “So if we only look at jets, we have a total of eleven that are registered with Manassas Airport, listing the airport as their home location. Eleven out of 120. Of those eleven jets, we are now going to look at who owns them.”

  “I’m getting nervous.”

  “That is the adrenaline of the hunt. It is one of the perks of the job.”

  “I was beginning to wonder if there were perks. I see mostly downside.”

  “Sometimes, I agree . . . If we go back to the eleven jets, we see that one of the planes is owned by Amgen. One is owned by Alcatel. Capital One has a plane. Northrup Grumman and Orbital Sciences each have a plane. Oscar winning actress Mary Streaker has a private jet. The AOL founders each have one. Then you have planes owned by companies you have never heard of: Spearhead Tech. Joost. Silver Star.”

  Dan paused.

  “We know that name,” Sue said.

  “Yes we do. That is the same name as the company that shows up on the sales transaction for the property on Wisconsin Avenue. The owner of the mystery property.”

  “A multi-faceted company.”

  “A front company could be anything. And it could have multiple uses. There was a big story last year about front companies being used for tax evasion. Did you know there is a single building in the Cayman Islands serving as the official registered address for over five thousand companies? It doesn’t take much to be a front company. A name and some documentation. You can open an LLC online in about ten minutes. Try it sometime.”

  “So you think this plane is the one you are looking for?”

  “This is the plane the barber saw on his birthday. I think this plane does not have to file flight plans. I think the tail number you see there is the one the barber wanted $10,000 for.”

  “Can you check the flight history again, now that you have the tail number?”

  “I can.” Dan typed on the computer and the results flashed on the screen.

  “Nothing. As you would expect. The airplane has no flight history. It doesn’t show up in the flight records for the airport for the day in question and it doesn’t have any flight information for any other day.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, ostensibly, there is a plane parked at the airport that has never flown. It also means the barber was telling the truth about the airplane he saw. But I am no closer to finding my attorney friend Clyde Parkson.”

  “Why don’t you stop looking for him? Seems to me if you stand still long enough, he is going to find you.”

  “The winner of a battle is, in part, pre-determined by preparation. A planned offensive position is always better than an impromptu defensive one.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  “Sometimes you have to take a step back to move forward.”

  —

  Dr. April Cathright returned to the room ninety minutes later. “How are we getting along?”

  “Good,” Sue answered from the recliner. Dan was on the bed, eyes closed.

  “Move over. Nap time,” April said. Dan scooted over on the bed, pushing his shoulder against the wall.

  “How long are you on duty?” Dan asked, eyes staring at the ceiling.

  “Seventy-two hours. I am covering the residents through tomorrow night and then I am on call with my own practice the following thirty-six hours. You are safe until then. No one will even know you are here. I’ll bring food and water from the doctor’s lounge. Toilet is in the foyer. Just pop your head out the door and see if anyone is there. There are six doors in the foyer. Six doctors all sleeping different rotations. No one will ask you questions because you just plain can’t be here by accident. And if someone does ask, just say you are my cousin.”

  April Cathright peeled off her jacket and slid on top of the covers next to Dan.

  “I accessed the computer network.”
>
  “You remembered my birthday?”

  “Took three tries.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Half of it. I have a question for you.”

  “I am not going to like this, am I?” Dr. Cathright responded.

  “Can you change the information on medical files?”

  “Not for closed files. Anything open, I can make changes to. But I cannot go back and change a patient’s file from last year, for example. I can only add addendums. Everything is electronic now.”

  “So you can only addend, but you cannot change the original diagnosis.”

  “Exactly, if we could change the original information, every doctor would have a one hundred percent successful diagnosis rate. Just go back in, change the medical record, and the file would show you are always correct.”

  “What about making a record disappear? Who could do that?”

  “No one. A completely corrupted database, maybe. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I just checked my own medical history.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t have one. Nothing. Zippo. I have been to this hospital at least three times in the last ten years. And they don’t have anything on me.”

  “Jesus, Dan. What have you gotten yourself into?”

  “I’m not sure exactly, which makes extraction a little more problematic.”

  Dan pondered his missing medical files before his mind wandered to darker thoughts—the bomb, the mafia showing up in his hospital room, his nephew, his neighbor Lucia, his four-legged friend Levi. He reigned in the focus on his losses and turned his attention to problem-solving.

  Dr. Cathright’s pager started blaring a barely recognizable version of “Country Roads” and she threw her feet onto the floor and muttered, “I’ll be back.”

  Sue waited for the door to shut. “You ask a lot from the people you know.”

  “Not all of them. She knows I’m in trouble. I have never brought my work anywhere near April. Ever. She understands. Without me saying anything, she understands. You only get a handful of people like that in your life.”