by Robin Cook
Michael thought Lynn would get off on two to change out of the scrubs and give him a chance to talk to her. But she didn’t. It wasn’t until everybody got off on the main floor that he had the chance.
“I think we should go back to the dorm and chill,” Michael said as soon as the elevator doors closed and they were alone. “You got to cut the system a little slack here before you do something that gets us in real trouble. We’ve already got the medical school dean and the chief of anesthesia bent out of shape. Listen! We can always come back and visit IT later if you insist. I really think you should calm down first.”
“You can go back to the dorm,” Lynn snapped. The elevator bottomed out and the doors opened. Lynn got out with Michael on her heels.
“I’m not going back to the dorm until you do,” Michael said defiantly.
“Suit yourself,” Lynn said as they passed the Pathology Department and the morgue. Suddenly she stopped. “Why are you so intent on helping me now? You’ve told me that, growing up, you were always risk avoidant. We both know what I am planning on doing down here is a risk. It’s another serious violation of HIPAA, made even worse by fraudulently using someone else’s access. This is much worse than looking at Carl’s chart, which you reminded us is a class-five felony. This is way more serious. Why are you doing this?”
“I’m helping you because we’ve been helping each other for almost four years.”
“That doesn’t cut it, dude,” Lynn said. “Neither one of us has ever broken the law for the other. That’s never been asked. Legally, a class-five felony has mandatory jail time.”
“Okay, my friend. I’m doing it because I really feel for you. I feel your pain losing Carl. I’m doing it because I believe that if the roles were reversed and Kianna was involved, you’d do it for me.”
For a few minutes the two students looked at each other, their minds churning.
“I don’t know whether I’d do it or not for you,” Lynn said, trying to be honest.
“As my mamma used to say, ‘That don’t make no never mind for me.’ I wouldn’t have known I’d do it, either, but I’m doing it. And I’m convinced, no matter what you say, you’d do it for me. It’s called trust. We have that kind of a relationship.”
There was another short period of silence as the two continued to stare at each other.
“Okay,” Lynn said finally. “Maybe you are right. Maybe I would do it. Who’s to know? In the meantime, let’s get on with it!”
Just then a security guard appeared from behind them. Lynn and Michael held their collective breath, but the man ignored them and disappeared into the security office fifty feet ahead. Only then did they recommence walking.
Just beyond the security office they came to the Informational Technology door. They knew that the department was staffed 24/7, although it was common knowledge that there was only a skeleton crew after hours. Lynn tried the door. As she expected, it was unlocked.
Even though no one was in the large office, all the lights were on, just like in the OR. The room had a half dozen workstations with terminals, presumably for programmers. At one terminal was a coffee mug and some open manuals. In contrast to all the other monitors, which sported the usual hospital screen saver, this monitor had what looked like a spreadsheet. From where they were standing a bit of vapor could be seen rising out of the mug.
“Someone’s working here,” Lynn said.
“Very observant, Sherlock,” Michael said with a touch of sarcasm.
Along one wall were fixed windows looking into the room beyond, filled with large upright computer servers. Against the back wall was a row of private offices. Lynn made a beeline for the last office. A small plaque at eye level on the door said ALEXANDER TUPOLEV, DEPARTMENT HEAD. Without hesitation, Lynn opened the door and stepped in, holding it ajar for Michael. Then she closed the door and locked it.
“Hell, girl, what the fuck are you doing?” Michael said nervously. Shell-shocked, as if he had been duped into robbing a bank, he gazed around the modern office, with its minimalist decor. There was a large, freestanding desk totally devoid of clutter. There was also a desk-height countertop along one wall. On it were several computer terminals, each with a printer, and each fronted with Herman Miller Aeron chairs. “We can’t be caught in here.”
“This is the safest place for us to be for what we are doing,” Lynn said as she went directly to one of the computers and quickly made herself at home. She took out her cell phone and brought up Vladimir’s ID and password that Michael had given her. She placed the phone on the counter so that she could see the screen. “Considering it is eight o’clock at night, I was ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine percent sure Mr. Tupolev would not be in here. I sincerely doubt anyone will come knocking, provided we are quiet as mice. But if you want to bag it, I imagine the coast is still clear. I’ll meet you back at the dorm.”
“I’ll stick,” Michael said. He grabbed a chair and pulled it over as Lynn typed the user name, [email protected]. And the password, 74952632237malaklov.
“The moment of truth,” Lynn said just before hitting ENTER. To her satisfaction, the log-in went flawlessly. She was in the hospital system with admin status.
“Slam dunk,” Michael said. “Okay, whatever you’re going to search for, do it fast! It would be sweet to get out of here before whoever is working in the outer office comes back.”
Lynn nodded. She knew what she wanted in general but in her rush hadn’t thought of specifics. “Let’s see: for starters, we should find out how many patients in the Shapiro have a gammopathy like Morrison.”
“We should also find out more about Ashanti Davis,” Michael suggested. “Like, why she is being given the drozitumab antibody. That should tell us if they are using her as a human guinea pig.”
“Right!” Lynn said. As per usual Michael’s insight was to the point.
“We should also get Shapiro death stats,” Michael said.
“For sure,” Lynn said. “It will be very interesting if we can learn the cause of death for each patient who passed away over the eight years they have been in operation. It’s also going to be interesting to find out how many patients have been discharged. No one thought to ask that when we had our tour.”
“Start with Ashanti,” Michael said. “It will give us an idea of what we are up against. Maybe we won’t even have to go into the Shapiro if we can somehow prove they are doing unethical drug testing.”
Lynn nodded and quickly typed in Ashanti Davis in the search window and hit ENTER. Both students were optimistic and both were disappointed when a message popped up saying there was no file for Ashanti Davis.
Undeterred, Lynn retyped the name and added Shapiro Institute. Immediately a window appeared but not the file they’d hoped for. Within the window it said: ACCESS DENIED! SEE IT ADMINISTRATION.
“Shit!” Lynn said. “I guess Shapiro records can only be accessed on Shapiro terminals.”
“Mothafuckas!” Michael said.
“I was so psyched,” Lynn said, making fists with both hands.
“Well, that’s that,” Michael said. He rolled his chair back and went to the door. Carefully he cracked it, peered out, then opened it farther to get a better view. “The coast is still clear,” he called back to Lynn. “Let’s jet our asses out of here while we still can.”
“Okay,” Lynn said. “But just a second.” She was busy typing. A moment later the printer next to her sprang to life and kicked out several pages. Lynn logged out, grabbed the papers, and joined Michael at the door.
“Let’s run,” Michael said.
A few minutes later, as they were abreast of the Pathology Department, they passed a rather large man who’d come out of the elevator, carrying a take-out bag from the cafeteria. When they got onto the elevator Michael said: “That guy looked like Vladimir’s twin. Must be the guy holding down the IT fort. Damn Russians are taking ove
r.”
“That reminds me,” Lynn said, checking her watch. “You have company coming.”
“No problem,” Michael said. “I’ve been watching the time. What did you print out?”
“I didn’t want our visit to be a complete wash. I looked up the percentage of patients being discharged from the Mason-Dixon Medical Center with a diagnosis of a gammopathy that was discovered while they were in the hospital.”
“That’s all?”
“No! I also queried about the incidence of multiple myeloma.”
“What did you learn?”
“One percent of people being discharged have a paraprotein abnormality that was discovered during their stay.”
“That seems way high,” Michael said.
“Seems high to me, too, but I’m going to have to find out what the incidence is in the United States in general. I think it’s in that article we read about gammopathy, but I don’t remember what it was.”
“What about multiple myeloma? What percentage of patients being discharged have multiple myeloma?”
“That’s point one percent.”
“Point one percent of people being discharged have multiple myeloma?” Michael asked with surprise. “That seems way high, too.”
“I know. It can’t be right,” Lynn said. “Like with gammopathy, I’m going to have to look up the incidence in this country. It’s not a common cancer; at least I don’t think it is.”
They took the stairs to get up to the first floor, then crossed over the pedestrian bridge to the deserted clinic building.
“I found out something interesting while you were in the neuro ICU,” Lynn said. She told Michael about the call to Tim Cooper and that she could probably get detailed plans for the institute from the Charleston Building Commission.
“Cool,” Michael said. He was impressed with her resourcefulness but didn’t want to encourage her. He was still hoping she’d change her mind.
“I’m going to stop in tomorrow morning on my way here to the hospital,” Lynn said as they exited into the courtyard gardens. It was a balmy spring night.
“You’re going back to Carl’s tonight?” Michael asked. He was a bit surprised, as it was now going on nine. He could imagine how tired she was.
“I don’t have a choice,” Lynn said. “I promised to feed Carl’s cat. I had told Frank Giordano I’d take care of the poor thing.”
“As late as it is, why not call Frank and renege? He lives down there, South of Broad. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. This is no time for you to be out riding your bike.”
“I’m not riding my bike. It’s not even here. I left it at Carl’s and drove his Cherokee this morning.”
“So I have to party with our Russian buddy by myself?”
“I could stay if you want,” Lynn said. “And then go.”
“No need,” Michael said. “If you are going to Carl’s, you should do it sooner rather than later. Are you sure you want to stay again in that big house by yourself?”
“It will make me feel closer to him,” Lynn said. She stopped walking and looked over at the Shapiro Institute. “God! It pains me no end to think of Carl in there.” Once again her voice caught.
Michael put his arm around her and pulled her toward him to give her a reassuring hug. “Try not to think about it now. We’ll figure it out. We’ll make sure that he is being cared for appropriately and not being used as a test object. I promise!”
“Thank you, bro,” Lynn managed.
33.
Tuesday, April 7, 9:52 P.M.
Darko and Leonid tossed the shovels into the back of the van. Leonid added the pickax they had shared. Both pulled off their gloves and coveralls and tossed them in, on top of the tools. They were in a deeply wooded area with Spanish moss hanging like festoons from all the trees. Both the men were fatigued and perspiring profusely from the rapid, nonstop work. There had been no conversation between them to slow them down. Nearby was a dismal swamp, and the creatures of the night were making a racket. Mosquitoes had made their job all the more difficult.
They had scouted the location six months earlier for just this kind of job. They wanted an unpopulated place so as not to attract any attention and with earth firm yet soft enough to dig a grave. It also had to be accessible by a passable dirt road. They had found it about twenty-five miles due west from the Charleston International Airport, on the grounds of an abandoned farm, partially surrounded by extensive wetlands. Although it was only an hour out of Charleston, it could have been on the dark side of the moon.
They had worked with planned dispatch, using the headlights of the vehicle to do it all properly. When they had finished, the plot appeared untouched. They even added some local plant seed. Considering the way things grew at that time of year, they were confident that all traces of their activity would quickly disappear. Satisfied, they had gotten into the van and headed back toward Misha’s, where Wykoff’s car was waiting in the garage to embark on its westward journey.
After a quarter hour, with the van’s air conditioner on at full blast and with several Marlboros smoked, the men started to feel normal enough to begin a conversation. As usual, they spoke in Russian.
“The grave digging went well,” Darko said. He was at the wheel.
“Hardly a challenge,” Leonid said in agreement. “Except for the humidity and the mosquitoes.”
“You remember I have another job tonight,” Darko said.
“I remember, but you didn’t elaborate.”
“I have to threaten a female medical student to get her to mind her own business. She and a friend have been asking too many questions about anesthesia. It’s going to be a pleasure. From the photo Misha got for me from hospital security, she’s a piece of ass.”
Leonid chuckled. “Sounds like a choice assignment. Why not share the wealth?”
“You need to finish up with this Wykoff job. When we get back to Misha’s, you have to drive her car back to her town house and pack a bag and make it look like it was done in haste.”
“I know the routine,” Leonid said.
“When you return to Misha’s with the luggage, the driver will be there to take the car to Denver.”
“Where will you be?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Darko said with a shrug, “but I presume at the medical student’s dorm. Or I might be finished. If so, we could meet at the Rooftop for a vodka. Check and see if your phone has a mobile signal yet!”
Leonid got out his cell phone and turned it on. “There’s a signal. It’s not great—one bar. Wait! Now there’s two bars. Who do you want me to call?”
“Timur Kortnev. Put him on speakerphone.”
As the call went through, neither man talked. The sound of the distant ringing could be heard. Four rings, then five. Leonid was about to disconnect when Timur answered. He sounded mildly out of breath. He, too, spoke in Russian.
“Sorry,” Timur said. “I needed to change location before I answered.”
“Did you make visual contact with the girl?”
“Yes. I’ve been following her and her friend all evening. It hasn’t been easy.”
“Why? Where has she gone?”
“First the two of them went over to the hospital cafeteria. But then they went up to the OR. I have no idea what they did there. Following that, they went to the neuro ICU. She didn’t go in. but her friend did.”
“And then she went back to the dorm?”
“No. They stopped at the computer center.”
Darko had the distinct feeling that the warning he was to deliver to Lynn Peirce was becoming more critical.
“Do you know what they did in the office?”
“I don’t. There was no one there. The person on duty was up in the cafeteria at the time.”
“Did they then go back to the dorm?”
“Yes,
but only briefly.”
“So she’s not there now?”
“No. About eight-thirty she left again. She went into the garage and then drove off in a Jeep. I had to scramble to commandeer a security vehicle so I could follow.”
“Was she with her friend at this point?”
“No, she was alone.”
“Where did she go?” Darko glanced over at Leonid. Darko didn’t like surprises, and all this was a surprise.
“She went into a single-family house on 591 Church Street down here in the very south of Charleston. I was trying to look in the front windows when you called.”
“Is she is alone?”
“I think so. The house was dark when she arrived and no one has come to visit. She turned on many lights initially, but now they are mostly off.”
“Okay,” Darko said with a smile. When he heard Lynn Peirce was, strangely, moving around the medical center, he’d become concerned. Now, alone in a private house, it seemed as if she wanted to make his job easier. “Any idea of whose house it is?”
“Yes. It belongs to Carl Vandermeer, one of the program’s test cases.”
Darko recoiled. Like a few people close to Sergei Polushin, he knew a bit about the program. He also stood to profit immensely from the Sidereal stock he’d been given over the years. He knew why he had been tasked to kill Sandra Wykoff. She was asking too many questions about her patient, Carl Vandermeer. And now this Lynn Peirce was staying in the man’s house!
Without realizing he was doing it, Darko pressed down on the van’s accelerator. Intuitively, he sensed his second job of the evening might be as important as the first. He was also counting on its being significantly more fun than being eaten by mosquitoes at the edge of a swamp.