The taxi pulled into terminal A and headed for the passenger drop-off area. The Ford was right behind but pulled into the limo line. George quickly got out after it was definitively ascertained it was Noah who had alighted from the cab. “Let’s use the radio to keep in touch,” he said before slamming the door behind him.
“Roger,” Keyon called after him. “Good luck.”
George gave Keyon the finger over his shoulder without looking back.
38
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 16, 7:25 P.M.
Noah climbed into a rental Ford Fusion and started the engine. He then keyed “Brazos University Medical Center” into the GPS. Although he intended to start his investigative work by driving out to Brownfield in the morning, he thought he’d take a quick look around the Brazos hospital complex just to get the lay of the land, since it was still light and relatively early.
It had taken far longer to get to Lubbock, Texas, than Noah had anticipated, mainly because there had been no nonstop flight or even a direct flight. He’d initially gone to the Delta counter to inquire, thinking a flight through Atlanta might work, but he’d learned that the shortest flight time was on American through their principal hub, Dallas.
Since he’d had almost an hour layover in Dallas, Noah had used the time to eat and investigate hotel accommodations in Lubbock. He’d settled on the Embassy Suites, because it had a business facility with available computers. Noah had always known he depended heavily on electronic media, but he wasn’t aware to what extent. What he needed was access to the Internet to help with his investigations.
He’d had plenty of time to think about his impetuous decision to take the trip. The more he thought about it, the more appropriate it seemed for so many reasons, although the principal one remained his being the best person for the job. A local PI might have been able to uncover information about Ava’s training but not the specifics that Noah was interested in.
Noah’s first impressions of the Lubbock area were close to what he imagined. It was hot yet dry and in that sense, less oppressive than Boston at that time of year. As he looked out at the flat desertlike terrain, he wondered if he could live in such an environment, accustomed as he was to hills and lush vegetation.
Driving was easy compared to his limited experience in Boston. Not only was there less traffic, but the other drivers seemed gracious, which was a huge difference. Following the easy GPS directions, Noah soon found himself at the medical center’s campus. In contrast with the BMH, all the buildings were modern, appeared to have been designed by the same architects, and looked relatively new. There was lots of bronze-tinted glass and red brick. In contrast with the Stanhope Pavilion, the main hospital building was only five stories tall.
On an impulse, Noah followed the signs directing him to the emergency area. There were a few empty ambulances backed up against a loading dock, but no people visible. Pulling his rental car to a stop in the ER visitor’s parking area, Noah debated if he should go in or wait until he’d returned when the hospital was in full swing as he had originally planned. Following the same impulse that had directed him to drive into the ER parking, Noah got out of the car. His thought was that if things were quiet, which they appeared to be, it might be a good time to have a preliminary conversation with the surgical resident assigned to the ER. Having the name of someone might make his job significantly easier tomorrow when the hospital was busy.
The emergency room was as quiet as it was outside. There were only five people in the sitting area looking at cell phones, flipping through magazines, or reading newspapers. Most of the activity was behind the check-in desk, where a number of nurses, orderlies, and a few residents were relaxing and socializing. As Noah approached, he wondered when the last time the BMH emergency room looked equally calm.
“Excuse me,” Noah said to the admitting clerk who’d greeted him. “I’m a surgical resident from Boston, and I am interested in talking to someone about fellowships at this hospital. Is there a surgical resident who might be willing to talk with me?”
“I don’t know,” the woman said. She seemed mildly flustered by the unexpected request. “Let me ask one of the doctors.”
Five minutes later Noah found himself in the hospital coffee shop with a third-year surgical resident from Argentina by the name of Dr. Ricardo Labat, who was very impressed that Noah was training at the BMH. He was a handsome, friendly fellow with a charming accent. Noah commented how quiet the emergency room seemed. Ricardo’s response was to explain that Lubbock had no shortage of hospital beds, naming Texas Tech’s medical center, Methodist, and Convenant as just a few of the hospitals with significant capacity and emergency room services.
“How is the anesthesia department here?” Noah asked casually.
“It gets high marks, as far as I am concerned,” Ricardo said.
“I’d be interested in talking with a couple of their residents,” Noah said.
“I could go up to the OR and see if any of the on-call residents are available,” Ricardo said. “But I doubt it. I happen to know there are several emergency cases under way.”
“No problem,” Noah said. “I plan on coming back tomorrow. Let me ask you something else. We have a staff anesthesiologist who trained here, finishing up about five years ago. Her name is Dr. Ava London. Does that name ring a bell? My thought is that she must have been a local celebrity of sorts, coming directly from here to the BMH.”
“I never heard of her,” Ricardo said. “But I’m not surprised. This entire university, including the medical center, has been expanding so fast with residents coming from all over the world. The training is excellent, in my estimation, which is why I am here. Last year one of the surgical residents went to Johns Hopkins for a fellowship, and the year before one went out to Stanford and one to Columbia-Presbyterian.”
“I’m impressed,” Noah said, and he was.
“I could call upstairs if you want and see if the staff anesthesiologist on call knows of her.”
“No need, but thanks,” Noah said. “I’ll ask about her tomorrow.”
Fifteen minutes later Noah was back in the rental car setting up the GPS to get him to his hotel. He had been encouraged by his short conversation with Dr. Labat. Learning that recent resident graduates had been going to big-name tertiary-care institutions suggested that Ava’s jump from Brazos to BMH wasn’t all that exceptional. His assumptions that her training had been totally satisfactory seemed to be on the mark.
His room was as generic as Noah expected and far more spacious and luxurious than he needed. After taking a quick shower, he went down to the business center to use the computer. He wanted to go on the Brazos University Department of Anesthesiology website to get the names of the principal faculty members who had been there for more than five years. He also wanted to write down the names of the current residents. The more information he had, the more rewarding he thought his visit would be.
Noah was about to leave the website when he thought he’d see if there was a photo of the current residents. There was, and it looked to him like an impressively cosmopolitan group. He then noticed something else of interest. There were archived photos going back to the first year of the residency program. Noah brought up the photo for 2012, the year Ava had finished, and began searching for her. At first he didn’t find her, but then he did. She was in the back row peering directly at the camera between two much larger male colleagues. To Noah, she looked exactly as she did currently, although her hair seemed significantly blonder.
After closing down the computer, Noah exited the business center. His plan was to go back to his room and attempt to sleep. As keyed up as he was, he knew it was going to be a struggle, especially in unfamiliar surroundings. In many ways, Noah was a creature of habit. Even when it came to the on-call room in the hospital, he usually always slept in the same one. Not relishing lying in the bed for hours tossing and turning and giving his paranoia free rein,
Noah decided to go to the hotel’s bar for a beer. It was out of the ordinary for him to do such a thing, but this was not an ordinary time. He thought the diversion and the small amount of alcohol might help calm him.
39
THURSDAY, AUGUST 17, 6:13 A.M.
“A bit more than twenty-four hours ago, I had never even heard of Lubbock, Texas,” Keyon complained. “Now I’ve been here twice.”
“Who would have guessed,” George said.
The same Citation X plane that had taken the two men back and forth the previous day had again been pressed into service by ABC Security and had just touched down at the Preston Smith Airport. The urgency for the second trip was considered just as critical as it had been for the first. Dr. Noah Rothauser had to be sanctioned immediately.
As soon as George had determined Noah had left Boston on a plane bound for Dallas, Texas, the previous morning, he assumed that Noah’s ultimate destination had to be Lubbock. Rushing back to Keyon in the van, they had immediately called their controller at the home office to give him the surprising and disturbing news. At first it gave them a sense of vindication, since they had been complaining about Noah for a week without getting the go-ahead to take care of him. But any pleasure was short-lived because they were ordered to return to Lubbock and do what needed to be done. The only problem was that the pilots who were cleared to work for ABC Security had to take their FAA-required rest. To add to the delay, there was a minor mechanical problem with the aircraft that had to be fixed. The result was that Keyon and George had not left Bedford, Massachusetts, until a little after 2:00 A.M.
They had used the delay to good advantage, getting some needed rest and then using their resources in their Boston office to locate Dr. Noah Rothauser at room 504 at Embassy Suites Hotel. They also used the time and the equipment they had to make up a fake Massachusetts driver’s license using George’s picture.
Again, there was a Chevrolet Suburban waiting for them at the General Aviation terminal, and within twenty minutes of touchdown they were on the Interstate, heading toward Lubbock.
“This place doesn’t look that much different in the daytime,” Keyon commented, looking out at the vast horizon. He was driving.
“It’s as flat as parts of Iraq,” George said.
“Don’t remind me,” Keyon answered.
Arriving at the hotel before 7:00 A.M., there was no activity in the parking lot. George parked as close to the entrance as possible, putting the ignition key behind the visor in case one of them had to leave without the other. Before they got out, both checked their respective weapons, the Smith and Wesson for George and the Berretta for Keyon.
“Ready?” George questioned.
“Let’s do it,” Keyon said.
They walked quickly but not too quickly, to avoid being conspicuous. There were four taxis waiting in queue, with all four drivers sipping coffee in their respective vehicles. Inside the building, the reception area was deserted except for a single person standing at the front desk being helped by a single hotel employee. George and Keyon walked up and stood in line.
Dressed in their normal suits and ties, Keyon and George were confident that they wouldn’t attract any attention. They were just two traveling businessmen like so many others, including the man in front of them.
“Can I help you?” the hotel employee said pleasantly when it was their turn.
“You certainly can,” George said with a smile. “I left my room card in the room. My name is Noah Rothauser, and I’m staying in room five-oh-four.”
“Certainly,” the hotel employee said. “Would you mind showing me some identification?”
“Not at all,” George said. He pulled out his wallet and handed over the fake driver’s license.
The hotel employee briefly glanced at it and handed it back. After placing a blank room card in the appropriate slot, he produced a room key, and with a few clicks on his keyboard, he handed it over.
“Much obliged,” George said, brandishing the key.
George and Keyon went to the elevators, making small talk for the benefit of the employee behind the desk. They boarded the car that was waiting. Keyon pressed five. A moment later the door closed and the car rose.
“It’s looking good so far,” Keyon said. “Nice and quiet.”
George nodded but didn’t speak. He was never as calm as Keyon and always felt tense until the action started. He’d had no trouble engaging in the banter, but now that they were alone, he preferred to concentrate on what was going to happen in the next ten minutes and think about possible contingencies.
Arriving at the fifth floor, they stepped out into the main corridor that ran the length of the building. They could see there were exit stairwells at both ends, which could be important if there were problems. No one was in sight.
They exchanged a silent glance, then moved down to room 504 and took up positions on either side of the door. After checking their weapons in their shoulder holsters, Keyon leaned forward and put his ear against the door’s upper panel. He listened for a moment, then gave a thumbs-up sign.
Following a final glance up and down the hallway, George inserted the card key. There was a quiet click and a small green light materialized above the handle. After a final nod between the two, George opened the door and the two men rushed inside the room with their pistols in their hands.
They expected to find Noah in the bed, but it was empty. Using hand signals, Keyon pointed toward the closed bathroom door. George nodded and they repeated the maneuver they had used on the outer door. A moment later they were shocked and dismayed to find the bathroom dark and empty.
“Shit!” Keyon snapped.
“I thought it was going too well,” George said. “The bastard must be down at breakfast.” Both men reholstered their weapons.
They returned to the main part of the room. Keyon closed the outer door, which they had left open in their haste. George took the club chair by the window. Keyon stretched out on the king-size bed after pulling the bedspread up over the pillows. He put his hands comfortably behind his head. They thought it best to wait for Noah’s return rather than seeking him out in the breakfast room.
“How long do you think we should wait?” George asked after just a few minutes. “I don’t like this. He could be off causing trouble already.”
“Let’s give him thirty minutes,” Keyon said. “If he hasn’t shown up, one of us should go down to the breakfast room and reconnoiter.”
“Maybe we should let the home office know there’s been a hiccup,” George said. “Keeping that plane waiting out there at the airport costs a fortune.”
“Let’s just cool it for a half-hour,” Keyon said. “If he doesn’t show up, then we switch to plan B.”
“What’s plan B?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Keyon said with a laugh. “I suppose we’ll just have to stake out the Brazos University Medical Center, where we know he will turn up, unless he’s already there, which I doubt. Of course, we can always hope he’ll use his cell and give us a location.”
40
THURSDAY, AUGUST 17, 9:05 A.M.
Noah paid his tab and stepped out into the sunshine in Brownfield, Texas. The temperature had risen considerably since he’d gone into the restaurant.
He’d slept poorly the previous night despite the two beers he’d had at the bar. The problem had been that he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering what he was going to learn that day, first at Brownfield and then at the Brazos Medical Center. His intuition was telling him it was going to be significant, and he hoped it would be in a positive way, but he worried it might not be.
By 5:30 he’d given up going back to sleep and had gotten up. Something had awakened him at about 5:00. After a shower, he’d gone out to his rent-a-car and set out for Brownfield around 6:30. Although he’d put the Kendrick Public Library in the GPS, he hadn’t needed to b
ecause the route was a straight shot southeast down Route 62 that branched off the Lubbock Ring Road, close to where his hotel was located.
Noah seldom had driven on such a straight, flat road, passing through an almost iridescent red, arid landscape. There were several small towns on the way, and Brownfield itself was smaller than he had expected. Route 62, which assumed the name of Lubbock Road and then South First Street once he was in the town, brought him right into the center. The Kendrick Library was on a cross-street.
Noah had pulled up to the library and noticed his was the only car, which he should have taken as a hint he might have been a bit early. Instead he was taken by the library’s appearance, which defied classification. It was a unique, single-story, red-brick structure with steeply gabled roofs sporting several purely decorative dormers. Getting out of the car, Noah was so taken with the building’s appearance that it wasn’t until he got all the way to the front door that he had learned the library didn’t open until 9:00 A.M.
Taking the delayed opening in stride, Noah had driven around the town, passing the high school where Ava had gone when she was presumably Gail Shafter. Nearby, he’d come across a pleasant-looking breakfast place. Having an hour and a half to kill, he had gone in for pancakes and coffee and a chance to read the local weekly newspaper, The Brownfield Gazette.
Once inside the library, Noah went directly to the circulation desk. The middle-aged woman manning the desk was the spitting image of the prim-and-proper but mildly scary woman he remembered as a young child in his own town library. Despite the similarities appearance-wise, the Brownfield librarian was inordinately friendly, directing him to the end room, which she called the “reading room,” to locate the Brownfield High School yearbooks and even offered to accompany him.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to find them,” Noah said.