MAYA HOPE, a medical thriller - The Dr. Nicklaus Hart series 1

by Timothy Browne, MD

  “So, we’re having cake and ice cream in the cafeteria?” Nick asked Buck, even though he already knew the answer. Maggie had whispered in his ear between cases that Buck had bought out the local bakery and market of all the sweets he could find. It was going to be a celebratory feast.

  * * *

  “Well, call me if you have any questions or if there are any complications.”

  Nick heard hesitation in Tod’s voice about leaving the Hope Center. It was the following morning, and everyone stood beside the van that would take Tod and his family back to Guatemala City and the airport.

  The children of the Hope Center had come to say their goodbyes. Tod’s wife, Kim, and their daughters had hugged every one of them twice. “Okay, I’m getting in the van,” Kim reluctantly announced. To Tod she said, “We’re coming back.” It was not a question. Their girls followed her.

  “I guess we’re coming back,” Tod told Nick. He held out his hand one last time. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Nick grabbed it firmly, and they hugged. It was a bond shared by two warriors who had fought a great battle together, back-to-back and shoulder-to-shoulder.

  Then Tod gave Buck a hug, “How much longer do you get to stay?”

  “Looks like one more week. I sure miss my family, but someone needs to keep this guy in line.” He gave Nick a playful shove.

  “So you think you really are going to head to Tikal?” Tod asked both Nick and Buck.

  They nodded and glanced at Maggie. They had not told her anything about it yet.

  “Well, you be careful, you hear?” Tod said, getting into the van.

  CHAPTER 36

  * * *

  Noah Initiative

  “And your visit to Hoeryong?” Pak asked Kwon as they sat in Kwon’s office, brightly lit with flickering fluorescent fixtures.

  Kwon stared at Pak. The spymaster’s cryptic orbs bored into his soul, but Kwon did not flinch. He did not dare to. He had not seen his wife or son; in fact, he had seen few actual prisoners. He instructed the prison’s medical staff on delivery of the viral nasal dose and left the camp. He doubted he would ever see his family again.

  Would I dare ask their fate if I am successful with the Noah Initiative?

  It was Pak who suggested the name. He explained to Kwon, who knew little about the Bible, that the God of the Jews was angry at the condition of mankind and decided to wipe out the population and start all over. He spared Noah, leaving him and his family to repopulate the earth.

  Pak hardly ever laughed with the professor, but Kwon remembered him chuckling about his name for the initiative. “How creatively ironic to use a story from the fascists’ own history to name the destroyer that would befall them.”

  As if he was reading his mind, Pak asked Kwon, “And how do you feel that the Noah Initiative is progressing?”

  “Very well indeed,” Kwon spoke up. “I should have our vaccine within the week, and production of the virus is progressing well. Have you decided how many cities to release it in?”

  “Based on the epidemiology models that you produced and the population demographics, I have chosen eleven. We have offices in each of these cities: Washington D.C., Los Angeles, Seoul, Rio de Janeiro, Beijing, Tokyo, London, Mumbai, Moscow, Johannesburg, and Tehran. My choice is based on widely used travel routes so the virus will spread like wildfire.”

  “Eleven,” Kwon repeated. He stared at the ceiling, considering the numbers. “Based on what our men in Guatemala find on the effectiveness of aerosolization and the adequacy of the dose of the viral load…” Kwon did the math in his head, “we should be ready in three months.”

  “And what do your models show of the spread?” Pak asked.

  “I suspect that sixty percent of the world population will have been exposed within the first month and eighty percent by the second. Of course, the virus will cause sterility within a couple of weeks of exposure, but it will have happened long before there is a drop in birth rate that will alarm the World Health Organization. By the time they pick up on the fact of the declining birth rates, it will be too late. The babies born in the next few months will be the last.”

  “Except for ours,” Pak interrupted with a grin.

  “Yes, except for ours. How do you think the world will respond?”

  “I’ve played this out in my head a number of ways,” Pak replied. “I think once the world finds out there has been a global castration, it will send the world economies into a tailspin very quickly. Fear does that. If you stop to think about the effects of the cessation of any population growth—no more babies being born—think of what that does to the medical systems alone, not to mention the industries surrounding childcare.”

  Pak took a handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiped his forehead, and continued.

  “In twenty years, the youngest people alive will be of military age. You think any nation would want to send their young men and women to war? The world population will begin to severely retract after that. All the super powers will evaporate. Fifty years down the road, the world will be in such chaos that the New Order of Korea will have the upper hand and everything we want.” Pak’s voice raised a decibel as he thrust a fist in the air.

  Kwon watched Pak try to keep his emotions in check. They sat in silence until a fluorescent ceiling light snapped and flickered out.

  “My only sadness, my friend, is that you and I will not be here to enjoy the fruits of our labors. It will be for the glory of our children and children’s children. The people of North Korea will begin their rightful place in history. Pyongyang will begin its destiny as the center of the world. Just as the God of the Jews spared Noah, we will be spared. The God of the Jews caused the greatest ethnic cleansing in history by killing hundreds of thousands.”

  Pak was so excited, he jumped out of his chair. “The Noah Initiative, Professor, will be the greatest ethnic cleansing without killing one single person.”

  CHAPTER 37

  * * *

  Seoul, South Korea

  From the corridor window of the 51st floor of the Seoul International Center, the evening sky was a kaleidoscope of color. From this height, the green dome of the National Assembly Building—illuminated by the setting sun—sparkled like an emerald set in white gold against a rosy abundance of blossoming cherry trees that surrounded the capital building and the Han River.

  Two agents from the South Korean Anti-Terrorist Agency stood silently admiring the view as they awaited the elevator to take them to the lobby.

  A marketing video describing the beautiful new Seoul International Finance Center looped on a large screen TV behind them.

  Introducing the beautiful new…

  The video began again. Even though the complex had been completed over a year ago, marketing couldn’t stop regaling the center’s advantages—its three towering office buildings, its five-star hotel, its underground mall, and its extraordinary sculpture garden and pavilion.

  The IFC Seoul emerges as the heart of up and coming Yeouido, the video continued.

  The agents knew they were at their country’s seat of power and influence. South Korea’s financial markets were housed in the same complex that included the LG Twin Towers, the Korean Broadcasting System, the Hyundai Capital Building, the Trump World Tower, and the National Assembly Building.

  It was here on the 51st floor of the magnificent complex where they’d found The Friends of Children Organization. The opulence of its surroundings magnified the starkness of FOCO’s nonprofit status and raised red flags: How could FOCO afford such accommodations?

  The agents turned as the elevator arrived, and people exited. The agents were dressed alike, the man in an inexpensive black suit and the woman in a comparable dark business skirt and jacket. She deferred courteously for her senior partner to enter the elevator first. She bowed slightly when he did.

  The marketing video continued to roll on the elevator monitor as the doors closed. It showed the Yeouido IFC transected by both the 5 Line and the
9 Line of the Seoul Subway System. It stated that 600,000 people passed through the complex each day.

  The last graphic showed Seoul as the center of northeast Asia and its proximity to the major cities of the world. It stated that there were sixty-one cities with over one million people within a three-hour flight.

  Introducing the beautiful new…

  The agents heard the video begin again as they exited the elevator into the massive lobby.

  The agents were disappointed they would have little to report to their supervisors. They had spent three weeks at FOCO and gone over every detail and document. The CEO of the nonprofit had been very helpful and transparent and almost apologetic for the organization’s success. He had explained that most of FOCO’s support came from China from a wealthy philanthropist who cared about childhood issues.

  The agents would report that FOCO’s list of projects around the world was impressive. But the Chinese funding was concerning and difficult to track. There was one program, however, that particularly concerned the agents. It was a small outreach in Guatemala. The agents were concerned that no financials had ever been produced. They would suggest further review and investigation.

  CHAPTER 38

  * * *

  The Journal

  It had been five days since Tod and his family left the Hope Center and Nick still had not told Maggie that he and Buck planned to go to Tikal.

  Fortunately, the days were filled with a whirlwind of activity and he didn’t have time or energy to spare thinking about it. Besides, he was having second thoughts about going. Two more nights in the past week he had been harassed by the same dream—John begging him to take refuge amongst the boulders.

  Sitting in John’s office, Nick glanced at the calligraphy above the door.

  What are you trying to tell me, John?

  Whatever it was, it seemed like a warning, which made the thought of going to Tikal more and more daunting. If not for Buck’s encouragement, he would blow off the trip. But he also realized that if he did that, he would return home with a chapter of his life unresolved.

  Suddenly, Nick’s soul surged with nostalgia, and his heart ached for Montana and his parents. He longed for simpler days and the long, warm nights under the Big Sky. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called his parents. He was surprised when his father answered.

  “Son.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Everything okay, son?”

  Nick hardly knew where to start in relaying his experiences of the past two weeks. “It’s all really great,” he began, warming to the task. He talked about the Hope Center and the orphanage and some of the patients and the cases he’d done so far. His father listened intently and asked questions about the clubfeet surgery. They talked for over thirty minutes, very unusual as his father was always quick to get off the phone. It was the first time Nick could remember that they spoke like friends and colleagues; he was surprised at his father’s interest in what he was doing.

  “Mom okay?” Nick finally asked, surprised that she was not on the phone.

  “Your mom is at a women’s meeting thing. How is Maggie?”

  “She’s good. Still pretty raw, but she is so amazingly strong.”

  There was a long pause. They ran out of things to say, but neither wanted the call to end. Nick heard his father sniff and wondered if he was crying.

  “You know, Nicklaus, your mom and I are really proud of you.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  Nick hung up and stretched back in John’s chair. He was flooded with emotion. This may have been the first time he heard his father say that. He wiped his tears and felt a stirring and a shifting of his own heart.

  He looked around John’s office and didn’t know what to think. He hated that his time in Guatemala was almost over.

  All the children with clubfeet correction were recovering nicely, and he’d sent all but Isabella home. Re-splinting her feet was easy after Carmen slipped her a little narcotic cocktail. As she slept, Nick straightened her feet another twenty-five degrees or so. He hoped that he could do it again before leaving.

  The surgical team had operated on other patients, mostly neglected traumas, Nick’s surgical specialty. He was glad to have Anna’s help; she had become an excellent assistant.

  She is such a quick learner. I’ve got to remember to write her a letter of recommendation when I get home.

  He was also glad he was able to keep his lustful thoughts at bay and regarded her more like a little sister than a potential conquest.

  Nick glanced at John’s journal that sat open on the desk. Maggie had given him her blessing to read it. It had been a torturous read for Nick, but, strangely, also a source of comfort.

  When he had found the journal in the top drawer of the desk, he had not opened it. After a couple of days, he decided to open it, randomly flip to a page, and read the first thing he came to. Whatever it was would be a sign to continue or not.

  The random page read: Dear John—my beloved son. How much I love you. I hear the cries of your heart and I know the needs you have. Be strong and courageous for I have given you a heart of a warrior.

  It went on for several paragraphs—all in John’s handwriting. Nick had continued to read. It seemed like a love letter from a father to a son. Nick couldn’t imagine Pops writing it. Then it occurred to him: Could the father be God? It would certainly go along with everything Maggie had been telling him and the calligraphy above John’s door. He read more. Sure enough, it was as though John and his Heavenly Father wrote notes back and forth—notes of encouragement, notes of praise, notes of instruction. Nick had asked Maggie about these notes. Without batting an eye, she’d told him that they both wrote down things they felt their Father spoke to them. She told him matter-of-factly, as if hearing from God were the most natural thing in the world.

  I’m not sure I would even know if God spoke to me, never mind write it down.

  At times, John journaled the depths of his heart, confessing things done and left undone. Every struggle and every triumph was there in black and white. Nick had been sure John wouldn’t mind his best friend delving into the depths of his heart. As he perused the volume, he found solace in the fact that John had his struggles. But he was surprised to be envious of the relationship between John and his Creator, His God, His Friend.

  Father, can I know you like this?

  Nick was holding the journal and flipping the pages when he asked himself the question. Suddenly he heard a faint voice in his head. He closed his eyes and strained to hear. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself sitting in the dimly lit corner of the chancel, in the recess near the altar of the church. He wore the red acolyte robe and was trying to stay awake as the Priest labored on and on through another boring sermon.

  There was the voice again.

  He closed his eyes tighter and concentrated on hearing more.

  “Nicklaus.”

  The voice came quickly and vanished. It had been an exhausting week at the Hope Center, physically and emotionally. He thought his mind was probably playing tricks on him.

  Could God really be calling me?

  Nick leafed through the journal again. It was full of these love letters between John and the Father and John’s day-to-day thoughts and notes to himself. When he read a note reminding John to get Maggie an anniversary present, he teared up.

  He turned to the last few pages in the journal where John described his trips to villages in the northern part of Guatemala and listed his concerns—No new pregnancies or births. El Naranjo, 6mos. Cruce Dos Aguadas, 5mos. El Chilar, 6mos. El Zapote, 5mos. No new clues from my last visit. Heavy use of pesticides in agriculture around villages. Have asked the farmers to get me the names of the chemicals they use. Villagers appear to be healthy otherwise. There seems to be less parasite load in children after getting new wells. No recent births. Ran into the Koreans from FOCO again today. NOT very friendly fellows for doing such good works.


  Nick swatted at a buzzing mosquito and looked at the map on the back on John’s office door. “FOCO,” he said out loud and looked at the stick-on dots that John had placed, indicating where FOCO had drilled water wells.

  He turned the page of the journal and saw he was reading John’s final words:

  Labs came back today from El Zapote village. All normal, except evidence of recent viral load. Leave tomorrow to go back to villages.

  CHAPTER 39

  * * *

  Pure Evil

  Suk could no longer stomach the screams of the young woman in the next room. He grabbed the keys to the FOCO SUV, slammed the door and left the house.

  Her screams reminded him of the screams of the doctor when Hwang cut out his heart. Why did I let Hwang talk me into the sacrificial killing? They should have stuck with the plan to shoot him and dump the body. Hwang had convinced them that there was power in the ancient sacrifice, and Suk had relented.

  But all it had seemed to accomplish was to make his two cohorts more violent and unpredictable. For Suk, it had filled his mind with unshakable images that obsessed his thoughts and dreams.

  Sitting in the SUV, Suk shuddered involuntarily when another scream came from the house and thought about a recurring night terror that haunted him—being chased by a dark, disfigured creature.

  They better not kill her! That is all we need—the local police coming to the house for a visit.

  Cho and Hwang were drunk on beer and lust. Stepping into stop the mayhem might get him killed. As their time of completion in Guatemala approached, those two became more and more out of control to the point that Suk considered eliminating them. Poisoning them would be an easy task, but lifting their dead bodies to dispose of them would be difficult.