Noah responded by email:
Ms. Hinkle: Despite this surprising twist to the story, I would like you to continue investigating Dr. Ava London’s professional training record at Brazos University. In keeping with what you have learned, I would like you also to check to see if there are any court records in and around Lubbock of someone assuming the name of Ava London around the year 2000. As a final request, would you send me photos from the 2000 Brownfield Yearbook of Ava London and Gail Shafter?
Much obliged, Dr. Rothauser
Sending off the email, Noah stared at his computer, wondering what he could find out about Ava using his BMH super chief log-in information. Since he was technically still a member of the surgical staff despite his current suspension, his position allowed him access to a very wide range of BMH data banks, possibly even employee information. Suddenly, he thought it would be ironic after considering hacking into Brazos University if he could get access perfectly legally to Ava’s BMH records and possibly see who from the Brazos University Department of Anesthesia had written recommendations for her and possibly read them.
After typing in a bit of information and a few clicks, he was in the BMH computer. A few moments later he was poised to try to go into employee records, but he hesitated. With his computer savvy, he knew that the BMH computer would be recording everything he did while he was logged in. It was standard procedure. His concern was that someone, knowing he had been suspended, might have set it up so that his use of the computer would be flagged. If that were the case, it could reflect badly on him during the upcoming Advisory Board meeting that he had been snooping in employee records. It wouldn’t be as bad as hacking into the Brazos University computer, but bad enough.
“Damn!” Noah voiced. It was frustrating to feel thwarted at every turn. Just as he was in the process of logging out from the BMH computer, there was a ping from his phone, indicating that he’d just received an email. Quickly switching to his email inbox on his laptop, he saw it was from Roberta Hinkle. But before he could open it, he noticed that it has been read before he clicked on it. Noah stared in confusion where the little blue dot had been. He looked at the time of the email. As he suspected, it had just arrived, so there was no way he would have read it. Then the blue dot suddenly returned.
Noah froze as a chill descended his spine. He lifted his hands off his keyboard, staring at the blue dot. Slowly he turned his laptop around first one way and then the other, looking at all the expansion slots. He didn’t see anything, but that didn’t relieve his fear. Knowing what he did about computers, he instantly knew he’d been hacked, perhaps with Spyware and a Keylogger. Someone had read his incoming email, meaning they had also been reading his outgoing email. Someone was spying on him, digitally watching him. Could it have something to do with the two men who had taken turns following him? In his mind’s eye, he saw the face of the African American he’d confronted. Then Noah remembered the woman from the MIT library describing the men who had come for Noah’s thesis as attractive. Could they have been the same men following him, and if they were, why would the FBI be following him? If they were FBI?
If someone was monitoring his computer use in real time, Noah was relieved he hadn’t tried to look up Ava’s hospital employee record. His next thought was the realization that the break-in yesterday hadn’t been for spare change and a Percocet prescription, but rather to bug his computer. Quickly, Noah reached forward and pressed the power button, turning the blasted laptop off. He got up and went to the window. He couldn’t help but worry that whoever had broken into his apartment could be close, watching him physically as well as digitally. There were a few vans double parked on Revere Street. As crowded as Beacon Hill was, it was difficult for electricians, plumbers, and other services to ply their trades. There was never any place to park. So there was no specific reason to suspect any of the vans were there for malicious purposes, but they could have been.
A wave of paranoia spread through Noah, making him painfully aware of his absolute vulnerability. The thought again occurred to him that perhaps the hospital was behind all these shenanigans to buttress their case against him. But he dismissed the thought as totally unrealistic. The issue of a possible minor ethical violation a decade ago on a thesis project hardly warranted continuous and possibly illegal surveillance. Noah searched for something bigger, more sinister, but what? Nothing came to mind other than his questioning Ava’s competence, irritating her lobbying boss. But that seemed ridiculously far-fetched. He even mockingly laughed at the idea that the Nutritional Supplement Council might be taking issue with Noah’s questioning Ava’s ability with an advanced laryngoscope. It was an absurd notion.
But there was one thing Noah was certain about: he did not want to remain a sitting duck in his isolated apartment with its door busted. Anyone could walk in at any moment by just giving the door a forceful push. Besides, if his computer was bugged, which was 99 percent certain as far as he was concerned, the apartment itself could be bugged. Someone could be literally watching him at that very moment. With that thought in mind, he glanced around the room, knowing how small a wireless, wide-angle video recorder could be and how easily it could be hidden.
Making a snap decision to vacate, he leaped up and dashed back into his bedroom. Getting a backpack out of his closet, he tossed in some toiletries and some clothes. He then changed into his whites, or the usual outfit he wore as a surgical resident. Although he hadn’t thought of all the potential repercussions, his immediate plan was to go to the hospital and hole up in the on-call suite with its lounge and multiple bedrooms. He didn’t know how long he would be able to get away with staying there, as rampant as hospital gossip was, but he thought he’d feel safer than he did in his apartment.
He grabbed his cell phone. His hospital tablet was already in his jacket pocket. He left the laptop on the folding table but took the time to align it as he normally did. He even opened the lid slightly so that when he returned he could tell if someone had disturbed it.
After a quick glance around, trying to think if there was anything else he should take, he went out into the stairwell. It was then that he thought about rigging something so that he could tell if his door was opened while he was away. But then he accused himself of being overly melodramatic. What he’d done with the computer was enough. It was the computer tampering that upset him. It suggested sophistication.
He closed his apartment door gently to avoid further damage. Unless someone looked carefully, the split wasn’t obvious as the major jamb damage was on the inside. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he rapidly descended the stairs. As he neared the bottom, he slowed as the view out onto Revere Street came into focus through the small decorative panes of glass in the upper section of the front door. His view was limited to the car parked directly in front of his building. He didn’t see any pedestrians, which concerned him. At that time on a summer afternoon there were usually people all over Beacon Hill.
Descending the remaining steps, Noah opened the door. A young woman in cutoff jeans and a halter top popped into view not six feet away, heading down the street. She warily glanced up at Noah, as if she was wondering why he was standing motionless in an open doorway. In the next instant, she was gone.
From Noah’s perspective, seeing the girl was reassuring. Still, he felt decidedly uneasy. Leaving the building door ajar, he descended the three outdoor steps within the building’s exterior alcove. His intention was to look up and down the street. Since it was a one-way street coming up the hill, Noah looked in that direction first. What he saw was not encouraging. Three buildings down was a black late-model Ford van with two men in the front seats. It didn’t look like the usual service truck. It was too new and shiny and had an out-of-state license plate. Worse yet, the moment Noah appeared, it lurched forward with a squeal of its tires and came rapidly in Noah’s direction.
As fearful and keyed up as Noah was, he reacted by pure reflex. A second lat
er he was back inside his building, slamming the door, throwing the deadbolt, and taking the stairs at a run. Outside he heard the Ford van screech to a stop, which only increased his panic. He didn’t bother using his key on his own door but rather just broke through it using his shoulder. He slammed the door behind him and pulled the couch over in front of it. He knew it wouldn’t prevent someone from coming in, but it might at least slow them down.
Without another second’s hesitation, he ran into his bedroom and over to the window, throwing up the sash. A moment later he was out on the rickety fire escape, plunging down the narrow metal steps and leaping into the building’s postage-stamp-size yard. After first tossing his backpack over the ramshackle back fence, Noah scaled it himself, dropping into the neighboring yard. He did the same thing with a series of dilapidated fences that defined an entire warren of tiny backyards behind the four- and five-story buildings that lined Revere Street, the adjacent Grove Street, and the parallel Phillips Street. Although Noah had never been in the courtyard, he had been able to see a good portion of it from his bedroom window over the years. What he was counting on was finding an exit that he hoped would eventually lead out onto Phillips Street.
The going was not easy. Not only were the fences in poor repair, which made climbing them difficult, but some of the backyards were filled with all kinds of trash, including discarded baby carriages, mattresses, and old tires. At one point, he had to climb down a short, rocky precipice, since Phillips Street was at a significantly lower elevation than Revere Street. Eventually, he was able to reach Phillips Street by way of a narrow alley that ran alongside a building that was part of the Black Heritage Tour of Beacon Hill.
A few passersby on Phillips Street gave Noah a strange look, but no one said anything or acted alarmed. Noah assumed his medical uniform helped calm any suspicions that he was a burglar. But by the time he had finished his tortuous backyard journey, his white pants and jacket were a bit worse for wear, and he had lost the collection of pens that normally occupied his jacket’s breast pocket.
With no late-model Ford van in sight, Noah ran down to Cambridge Street. There he turned east, heading for the Boston waterfront and the BMH complex. He slowed his gait and tried to act calm even though he didn’t feel calm. He kept looking ahead and behind for a shiny new Ford van or for his followers.
After several blocks Noah paused long enough to remove his backpack, dust off his clothes, and straighten his tie in an effort to make himself a bit more presentable. Fifteen minutes later he walked up the circular drive at the front entrance to the Stanhope Pavilion, feeling his pulse quicken. Ahead was BMH security. Though Noah knew many of the security personnel by sight, and they surely knew him, he worried he might be stopped if his suspension was common knowledge, especially since he looked moderately bedraggled, which might have raised suspicions.
Holding up his hospital ID as he normally did but without making eye contact, Noah walked at a brisk clip past the security desk, pretending to be in a rush. At any second he half expected to hear someone calling his name, but it didn’t happen. Relieved, he ducked into the first stairwell he passed. He knew better than to use the elevator.
Entering the expansive on-call facility, which was empty at that hour of the day, Noah first went to the laundry room and got clean pants and jacket. Then he put his name down on the master list for one of the dozen bedrooms and took the appropriate key. Before going to the room, he went to his locker. Every resident at the BMH had a locker where they stored their heavy coats during the winter and kept personal items.
The rooms were spartan and windowless but perfectly adequate for a few hours of needed sleep during a busy night. The furniture consisted of a simple single bed, a bureau, and a desk with a hospital monitor. There was a small bathroom with a shower stall en suite. Towels and linen were changed every day.
Noah felt immediately at home. Over the previous five years he had used the on-call facility far more than anyone else, simply because he spent far more time in the hospital than anyone else. Never once in all the times he had been there had all the bedrooms been utilized, which was the reason he thought he could get away with staying there. How long he could get away with it, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t interested in returning to his apartment until everything was sorted out.
He changed into the clean clothes, then checked his phone to see if Roberta Hinkle had emailed him back. She had:
Dr. Rothauser, I got your last email and will be happy to continue investigating Dr. Ava London. I’ll go to Brazos University tomorrow. I don’t see any problem from here on out, and I don’t expect it will take very long as I have contacts in the administration. I will also check court records as you requested. About the photos you requested: is there a rush on them or can I wait until I have more time to drive back to Brownfield? Let me know. Otherwise I will be back to you shortly.
Respectfully, Roberta Hinkle
Noah immediately emailed back:
Dear Ms. Hinkle: Thank you for your efforts. There is no rush on the photos, but we are interested in seeing them whenever it is convenient for you to return to Brownfield. There is also no rush on the court records. We are much more interested in what you are able to learn at Brazos Medical Center. Once again, I would like to remind you that confidentiality is of utmost importance. We look forward to hearing from you. It would be convenient if you give us at least an update on your progress tomorrow afternoon.
With kind regards, Dr. Noah Rothauser
With that out of the way, his mind switched to Ava. He missed her and the relationship that they had, despite his irritation at her behavior. If only he had resisted the temptation to check her computer that evening, he might very well be comfortably staying with her at her fabulous manse instead of at the utilitarian BMH Ritz, as it was jokingly called by the resident staff.
34
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 16, 1:37 A.M.
The sleek Citation X jet taxied up to the area in front of the General Aviation section of the Preston Smith Airport in Lubbock, Texas. The flight had been chartered by ABC Security and had left Bedford, Massachusetts, a little after 9:00 Tuesday night. Passengers Keyon Dexter and George Marlow had used the flight time to do the necessary due diligence on Private Investigator Roberta Hinkle. They had been informed by their handler that she was considered a threat of the highest order, which necessitated the night flight.
Roberta Hinkle lived in a small ranch-style house to the west of town and just inside the city’s ring road. Her main specialty as a private investigator involved domestic disputes and infidelity investigations, which both Keyon and George assumed would have created lots of enemies for her, which would provide a handy cover for what they were about to do. She was also divorced, which increased the chances that she would be alone. The only problem was that she had an eleven-year-old daughter. Both Keyon and George were worried that could be a problem if the child awoke. Although they were both emotionally acclimatized to the nature of their work, they were still squeamish about a few things.
As soon as the copilot opened the plane’s door and lowered the steps, Keyon and George deplaned. A few minutes later they were on their way in a rented Chevy Suburban ABC Security had arranged to be waiting for them. Within fifteen minutes of touchdown, the men were already traveling south toward the city center on Interstate 27.
George was driving, and it soon irritated him that Keyon had almost immediately fallen asleep with his seat cranked back as far as it would go. Out of spite George did a little S-maneuver by yanking on the steering wheel, creating enough force to jostle Keyon awake.
“What the hell?” Keyon blurted. He’d grabbed the armrest to steady himself even though the seat belt would have sufficed.
“Must have been an armadillo,” George said, pretending to be looking in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know if I hit him or not.”
Keyon cast a quick look behind them. The road was clear. He turn
ed back to George. “Are you bullshitting me or what?”
George laughed. “Well, maybe it wasn’t an armadillo. Maybe it was a coyote or whatever else they have running around out here in this godforsaken country.” The land was desertlike and as flat as a pancake, with only a bit of scrub. It reminded him of parts of Iraq, which wasn’t a pleasant memory. “But I would like to point out that this is a two-man job.”
“All right, all right,” Keyon complained, but he’d gotten the message. He straightened up his seat and took a few deep breaths.
“You know,” George said, “I’m really pissed we weren’t given the go-ahead to get rid of Rothauser as soon as he was suspended. I thought that was the plan instead of just keeping him under surveillance. The way he was acting, it would have been easy to make it look like a suicide. I knew he was going to be trouble from the word go.”
“It pisses me off he got away from us,” Keyon said. “I wonder what spooked him.”
“No way to know,” George said.
“I never thought there was a way to get out of that backyard maze, except back onto Revere Street.”
“Obviously, we should have checked it out more than we did,” George said. “At the same time, there was no way to anticipate him bolting. But it could be worse. At least we know where the hell he is, thanks to pinging his mobile phone.”
“But there’s not much we can do with him staying in the hospital other than wait for him to come out into the real world.”
“I’m shocked he’s there at all, considering he was suspended,” George said. “It can’t last more than a night or so. The hospital admin’s not going to tolerate it. I thought he’d go to a hotel or a friend’s house.”
“Me, too,” Keyon said. “But the nerd’s got an attitude. He had the balls to confront me when I ended up having to walk past him the other day. He even grabbed my arm.”