Robin Cook 1990 - Vital Signs

by Vital Signs(lit)

  The sliding glass door opened automatically as Marissa strode into the lobby level of the Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary.

  Despite the cool late-afternoon temperature she had on only her thin doctor's white jacket. After a quick inquiry at the information booth, she veered right into the emergency area. She asked for Dr. Wilson at the emergency desk.

  "She's in the back," the secretary said. She pointed through a pair of swinging doors that were propped open.

  Marissa continued her search. Beyond the propped-open swinging doors were several ophthalmologic examining rooms, each with its barber like chair and attached slit lamp. A lone patient sat in the first room Marissa went by. In the second, the room light was out and two figures were bent over a reclining patient. Allowing her eyes to adjust, Marissa recognized one of them as Wendy.

  "Now press down gently and look where you are pressing," Wendy said, guiding a junior resident through a specialized exam.

  "You should see the tear at the periphery of the retina."

  "I see it!" the resident cried.

  "Good," Wendy said. She caught sight of Marissa and waved.

  Turning back to the resident, she said, "Write it up and call the senior resident."

  Wendy came out of the darkened room, blinking in the raw fluorescent light of the main part of the emergency room.

  "This is a surprise," she said.

  "What's up?"

  "I got a very interesting call from the CDC," Marissa said.

  Then she lowered her voice.

  "Where can we talk?"

  Wendy thought for a minute, then took Marissa around the back of the emergency area into an empty laser room. She shut the heavy door behind them.

  "You look positively mischievous.

  What's going on?"

  "You're not going to believe this," Marissa began. She then told Wendy the gist of Dubchek's call indicating that they were dealing with a problem that had national scope.

  "My word! We're on the brink of some major discovery," Wendy said, catching Marissa's enthusiasm.

  "I don't think there is any doubt," Marissa said.

  "And there is only one minor barrier to the whole denouement."

  "Wingate," Wendy said.

  "Exactly!" Marissa said.

  "We have to see if there are more cases. I'm sure there are. There have to be. Once we have them all, we can begin to look for areas of commonality in all the subjects in terms of lifestyle, work, health history, all that. I'm sure if we do that with enough cases we'll come up with a theory as to the source of the TB and how it is being transmitted.

  Usually TB is airborne. But if no one has any lung lesions, maybe it's traveling by some other means."

  "So what do you propose?" Wendy asked.

  "It's Friday night. I think we should go over to the Women's Clinic and act as if we own the place. I wore my white coat over here just to try it. No one questioned me. I walked right in as if I were on the staff."

  "How soon do you want to do this?" Wendy asked.

  "When are you oV." Marissa asked.

  "I can leave anytime now," Wendy answered.

  "Get a white coat and pens and a stethoscope," Marissa said.

  "The more medical paraphernalia, the better."

  Half an hour later, Marissa and Wendy slowly drove beneath the overhead walkway and past the opening into the courtyard of the Women's Clinic. They had started out the drive with excited chatter, but now, within sight of the clinic, they had fallen silent.

  Both felt nervous, tense, and a little fearful. Although Marissa tried not to think about it, Robert's comments concerning the felonious nature of what they were about to attempt were preying on her mind.

  "The place is still hopping," Wendy said.

  "You're right," Marissa agreed. People were entering and exiting.

  The windows were ablaze with lights.

  "I suggest we go someplace and cool our heels for a couple of hours," Wendy said.

  "How about a bar?"

  "I wish we could drink," Marissa said.

  "A glass of wine might calm me down. That reminds me, when do you have your blood test?"

  "Tomorrow," Wendy said.

  You must be nervous about that too," Marissa said.

  "I'm a wreck," Wendy agreed.

  Paul Abrums; rummaged in his right front pocket for a dime.

  It was still one of the bargains of Boston that if you could find an ATT phone, a local call was still only ten cents.

  He let the coin drop into the slot and dialed Robert's office. It was before eight, and he was confident Robert would be there.

  Robert had told him earlier in the day that he'd be in his office until nine. Then he'd be at home after that. He'd given Paul both numbers.

  As the phone rang, Paul turned to keep his eye on the Viceroy Indian Restaurant in Central Square. Marissa had entered with her companion over an hour ago. If she happened to come out, Paul wanted to know.

  "Hello," Robert answered. He was the only one in the office.

  "Paul Abrums here," Paul said.

  "Is there a problem?" Robert asked, somewhat alarmed.

  "Not a big problem," Paul said. He spoke slowly and deliberately.

  "Your wife is with a short blonde woman who must also be a doctor."

  "That's Wendy Wilson," Robert said.

  "They're eating at an Indian restaurant as we speak," Paul said.

  "They drove past the Women's Clinic. I thought they were about to stop but they didn't."

  "That's odd," Robert said.

  "But there is something else," Paul added.

  "Can -you think of any reason why an Asian guy in a gray suit would be following your wife?"

  "Heavens no!" Robert said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "About ninety percent sure," Paul said.

  "He's been on her tail too long for it to be coincidence. I noticed him when your wife left her pediatric clinic. He's a young guy, I think. Sometimes I can't tell with Asians. He's dressed in a good suit."

  "That's very odd," Robert said, already glad he'd taken Donna's suggestion about hiring Abrums.

  "I won't take any more of your time," Paul said.

  "But it was curious enough for me to ask."

  "Find out who that guy is," Robert said.

  "And why he's following my wife. God, I'm glad you are there."

  "I don't mean to upset you," Paul said.

  "Everything is under control. You relax, I'll find out... Uh oh! Your wife is just coming out of the restaurant. I gotta go."

  Paul hung up the phone and hurried across the street to get into his car. He had positioned it so that he could see the car that the women were in as well as the one the Asian man was driving.

  As soon as Marissa and Wendy pulled away from the curb, so did the Asian.

  "That confirms it!" Paul muttered, pulling out. As he drove he jotted down the Asian's license number. Monday he'd call his friend at the motor vehicles bureau and find out who owned the car.

  "You'd think we were about to rob a bank," Wendy said.

  "My pulse is racing." She and Marissa got out of the car. It was a dark, windy night.

  So is mine," Marissa admitted as they slammed the car doors.

  "It's Robert's fault with all his talk about felonies."

  They had parked in the deserted clinic employee lot at the end of the street. Clutching their collars closed and leaning into the wind, they walked back to the clinic's courtyard. There they paused. The place was significantly quieter. Except for the lobby lights, most of the windows were dark. No one was entering or exiting. There wasn't a soul in sight.

  "Are you ready?" Marissa asked.

  "I'm not sure," Wendy said.

  "What's our plan?" Besides feeling nervous, Wendy was now shivering with cold. The temperature had dropped into the forties with a biting March wind. The thin white doctor jackets they were wearing afforded no warmth whatsoever.

  "We have to find
a computer terminal," Marissa said, shouting over the wind.

  "Doesn't matter where, just as long as we are left alone for a while. Come on, Wendy. We're going to freeze if we stay here."

  "All right," Wendy said, taking a deep breath.

  "Let's go."

  Without further delay, they crossed the courtyard and mounted the steps. On their way, both women nervously glanced at the rhododendron planter with its flattened bushes, an all-too vivid reminder of Rebecca Ziegler's awful fate.

  Marissa tried the door only to discover it was locked. She cupped her hands and peered through the glass. Inside, a cleaning crew was busy polishing the marble floor with electric polishers.

  She rapped on the glass several times, but the janitorial people didn't respond.

  "Damn," Marissa said. She scanned the courtyard for another door, but there wasn't one.

  "Who would have guessed they would have locked up already"

  Marissa said.

  "I'm freezing," said Wendy.

  "Let's get back to the car and regroup."

  They turned and hurried back down the steps. Crossing the

  A courtyard, bent over against the swirling debris, they approached a man coming into the clinic.

  "The door's locked," Wendy told him as they passed. But the man just kept walking. Then, at the mouth of the courtyard another man appeared, also heading for the clinic entrance.

  "Door's locked," Wendy said again.

  The women turned right and hurried toward the parking lot.

  Suddenly Marissa stopped and faced back toward the courtyard opening.

  "Come on," Wendy urged.

  One man, then the other, appeared. Catching sight of the women watching them, they quickly walked off in separate directions.

  "What's the matter?" Wendy demanded.

  "Did you see that first man?" Marissa asked.

  "Sort of," Wendy said.

  Marissa shivered, but this time not from the cold.

  "He gave me the creeps," she offered, starting to walk again.

  "He reminded me of a bad trip I once had with ketamine, Weird!"

  In the parking lot, Wendy fumbled with her keys. Her fingers were numb; she had trouble manipulating them. Once in the car, she reached over and opened the passenger side for Marissa. She then started the car, turning on the heater full blast.

  "That was the strangest sensation I got from seeing that man," Marissa said.

  "It was almost like deji vu. How can you have deji vu from a hallucination?"

  "I had a bad experience with pot once," Wendy admitted.

  "It was in California. Anytime I tried it after, it was the same. That was the end of pot for me."

  "I had a sort of flashback recently. Robert and I were at a Chinese restaurant. It was the oddest thing."

  "Well, maybe that was it," Wendy said.

  "I think the first guy was Chinese. At least he was Asian."

  "Now you are going to make me sound like some kind of subconscious bigot," Marissa said with a nervous laugh. Any mental phenomena outside of her control made her feel uneasy.

  "What should we do now?" Wendy asked.

  "I suppose we don't have a lot of choice if the doors are locked," Marissa said.

  "What about going in the overnight ward on the other side of the street and crossing in the connecting walkway?" Wendy suggested.

  "Great idea!" Marissa said.

  "I guess it takes a genius to see the obvious. Let's do it!"

  Wendy smiled, proud she had come up with a possible solution.

  Marissa and Wendy again alighted from the car and ran to the overnight and emergency entrance opposite the main clinic building.

  Above them loomed the darkened walkway spanning the street.

  The door was not locked; Marissa and Wendy entered with ease. Once inside they made their way down a short corridor which opened to a waiting area. A few men were looking at magazines. On the right wall was a glass-fronted security office.

  Directly ahead was a receptionist's desk where a nurse sat reading a paperback book.

  "Uh oh!" Wendy whispered.

  "Don't panic," Marissa whispered back.

  "Just keep walking as if we belong here."

  The two women approached the desk and started to turn right into the main corridor when the woman lowered her book.

  "Can I help..." she began, but then she stopped herself, saying only, "Sorry, doctors."

  Marissa and Wendy didn't answer. They merely smiled at the woman and continued down the corridor to the stairwell. After the door to the stairwell closed behind them, they nervously giggled.

  "Maybe this is going to be easy after all," Wendy said.

  "Let's not get cocky," Marissa warned.

  "This ruse won't work if we run into anybody who recognizes us, like our own doctors."

  "Thanks," Wendy said.

  "As if I didn't have enough to worry about."

  They started up the stairs.

  "Hell!" Paul Abrums muttered as he watched the Asian enter the overnight ward of the Women's Clinic. What had started out as a simple job was rapidly becoming complicated. His first orders had been merely to tail Marissa, find out what she was up to, and, if she happened to go into the Women's Clinic, keep her from doing anything illegal. But that was before the mysterious Asian appeared. Now Robert had told him to find out who this guy was. What was more important? Paul didn't know. And now his indecision had forced his hand. Having let the women go into the clinic by themselves, he was forced to follow the Chinese fellow." Stubbing out his cigarette, Paul jogged across the street and yanked open the clinic door just in time to see the Asian make a right down a corridor.

  Paul hurried ahead, taking in his surroundings. First he saw the receptionist's desk with a night nurse reading a novel. Next he spotted the waiting area with a few men sitting reading magazines.

  Catching sight of some movement through a glass panel to his right, Paul slowed his steps. He found himself looking into a security office. Inside, he saw the Asian man he'd been following talking to a uniformed guard.

  "Can I help you?" the woman at the desk asked. She'd lowered her book and was looking at Paul over the top of her glasses.

  Paul walked over to the desk. He absently fingered a small metal tin of paper clips, trying to think of the best ruse to a opt.

  "Has Mrs. Abrums come in yet?" he asked.

  "I don't believe so," the woman said. She scanned the sheet on the clipboard before her.

  "No, she hasn't."

  "Guess I'll have to wait then," Paul said, He glanced back toward the glass-fronted security office. The Asian and the uniformed guard were facing forward and seemed to be conferring over something below the window.

  Trying not to be too obvious, Paul took a stroll around the waiting area, feigning impatience by alternately looking out the front window and then at his watch.

  After the woman had gone back to reading her book, Paul wandered into the same corridor the Asian had entered. About ten feet down was the entrance to the security office. The door was ajar. Spotting a drinking fountain at the end of the corridor, Paul walked briskly to it. After a drink, he sauntered back toward the waiting area, pausing at the security office's open door on his way.

  The two men had not moved from the window. Paul could see that they were watching a bank of TV monitors mounted below the sill. Paul tried to overhear what they were saying, but it was impossible; they were speaking another language. He assumed it was Chinese, but he was no expert. The other detail that caught his eye was that the guard was armed with a.357 Magnum, an unusual piece for hospital security. As a retired police officer, it all seemed odd to Paul, very odd indeed.

  "Cripes! They're locked!" Wendy said after trying the fire doors barring the way to the clinic's main building. They had crossed over the street in the glass-enclosed walkway, thinking they were home free until they encountered this final barrier.

  "This place is shut up like Fort Knox," Mari
ssa said.

  "Damn!"

  "I don't have any other ideas," Wendy said.