Code of the Assassin: Embedded in the data is the power to corrupt (David Diegert Series Book 3)

by Bill Brewer

  “Good afternoon, how are you feeling?” asked the doctor upon entering the suite where Denise was now residing.

  “I’m OK. Do you know where my son is?”

  “Yes, he’s in another room within this facility.”

  “Is he Ok? Is the room nearby? Can I go see him?” came the rapid-fire questions.

  With a gently raised hand and a soothing smile, the doctor sought to calm the nervous mother. Dr. Zeidler was impressed with Denise’s maternal instincts. “He’s OK, I’ve been taking care of him. He’s a very strong guy who’s on his way to a full recovery.”

  “Is he conscious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh good, when I last saw him, he was helpless and defenseless.”

  Dr. Zeidler raised an eyebrow. “I can tell you he’s awake now and quite able to represent himself.”

  Denise let out a big sigh.

  “I’d like to discuss some of the results from your bloodwork.”

  “OK.”

  “Have you ever seen an oncologist?”

  Quizzically Denise replied, “What kind of a doctor is that?”

  “An oncologist specializes in cancer.”

  “No.”

  Taken aback, Dr. Zeidler said, “Oh… Ok. I have results here that indicate an elevated level of CA-125.”

  Denise remained impassive, but the doctor could see tension in her expression.

  “When we find these elevated levels, they indicate that we should do more investigation. I want to ask you some questions about your family health history.”

  Denise gave a slight nod.

  “Has your mother or other family members ever been diagnosed with cancer?”

  “My mother died before she was thirty years old.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What was the cause of death?”

  “Suicide.”

  Now the doctor felt like she’d intruded. She began to feel like Denise’s family history may reveal more than she was hoping to find.

  “That’s unfortunate. It must have been very hard. How old were you at the time?”

  “Twelve,” said Denise harshly.

  In spite of having rubbed a sore, the doctor persevered, “How about your father?”

  “My mother was raped by a white man. I never knew who he was.”

  The doctor had stepped into a minefield and from where she stood her next question could very well trigger an explosion. She shifted her focus. “We’re going to have to do some additional testing.”

  “Like what? My insurance probably won’t pay for any of this.”

  “Don’t worry about the costs, Herr Panzer will cover the expenses.”

  “What’s it like… working for him?”

  “Working for Herr Panzer?” clarified Dr. Zeidler.

  “Yes,” replied Denise. “How well do you know him? How much do you know about the kind of man he is?”

  A quick look at Denise preceded the doctor’s reply. “I work for him, I really don’t know him personally,” she said with a stiff smile. “Now I’m going to order a CT scan and a sonography study of your abdomen.”

  “He seems to always get whatever he wants,” said Denise wistfully.

  “Herr Panzer is a very powerful man.”

  “Yes. From where does a man get so much power? How can one person live so much better than everyone else? Even though life is not fair, he reminds us every day how unfair it really is.”

  “Mrs. Diegert…” The doctor sat in a chair next to her. “May I call you Denise?”

  A polite smile and nod granted permission.

  “I understand your question. I too am at times both amazed and annoyed at the attitude of Herr Panzer. His wealth affords him privileges that most people will never experience. But right now, you are going to receive the benefit of his generosity by undergoing a thorough medical exam free of charge.”

  The doctor gave Denise a reassuring smile.

  “Thank you, I appreciate your kindness. What if these tests show I have cancer?”

  “LPU has a full medical school. Cancer studies are one of the biggest areas of research. If cancer is detected, you will receive treatment. Herr Panzer has already authorized all expenses.”

  “Do you ask yourself why he would do that for me?”

  “No, I serve the medical needs of all the patients in my care.”

  “Yeah but why me?”

  “For a man who has so much, generosity is easy,” said the doctor reassuringly.

  Denise fell silent. She dropped her head in her hands as tears welled up in her eyes. Sobs escaped from her as gasps. Convulsions rippled through her as the force she struggled to repress burst forth. Her cries drew the doctor closer. Marie Zeidler recalled that counseling was one of her least favorite parts of medical school. She was hesitant to engage even though her patient was obviously going through an emotional upheaval.

  “Are you all right?” asked Dr. Zeidler with the timidity of a dormouse.

  Denise raised her tear-streaked face. “Do you know what he is capable of?”

  Zeidler swallowed hard, grimacing as she leaned back from Denise.

  “As my doctor, you are obligated to keep information private aren’t you?” blurted Denise.

  “Yes.”

  “What I’m about to tell you stays between you and me.”

  The squeamish doctor looked at her patient with both hesitation and anticipation.

  Denise stretched her sleeve as she used it to dry her eyes. “You know that I am David’s mother, and I want you to know that Klaus Panzer is David’s father.”

  The doctor, practiced in keeping emotions in check, dropped her jaw, repeatedly blinked her eyes and couldn’t find her words.

  Denise pounced on the doctor’s shocked surprise. “I will tell you how it happened, but you must keep it secret.”

  Dr. Zeidler nodded. “As your doctor, all our conversations are confidential.”

  Denise’s trepidation retreated as she began, “I was a waitress at the Deerfield Lodge in Kitsak Minnesota over twenty-five years ago. The Lodge was a hunting club that catered to millionaires. Klaus Panzer was there demonstrating his company’s hunting rifles. After we had served dinner, I was working with the kitchen staff cleaning up and getting things ready for breakfast when my manager came and asked me to deliver a tray of fruit, biscuits, and cognac to Klaus Panzer’s room. He looked me right in the eye and told me to make sure Mr. Panzer was completely satisfied… completely.”

  Dr. Zeidler’s look conveyed the dread, which accompanied any woman’s recognition that she was being forced into a compromised situation.

  “When I got to his room, he ushered me in and told me to place the tray on the side table. Once I was in the room, he began talking to me, small talk. Having read my name off my badge, he used it repeatedly. I listened but did not engage. As I moved to the door, I followed my training and asked him if there was anything more I could do for him.”

  The edge of the doctor’s lip rose into a sneer.

  “He said there was something more. He proceeded to tell me that he had made love to almost all of the exotic women in the world. Asians, Africans, Arabic, Nordic and Latinas, but he had never had sex with a Native American. He told me I was beautiful, and he approached me with his hand reaching for mine. I pulled my hand away and told him I wanted to leave. He looked irritated. I moved to the door, and he blocked my way. You know he’s a big man, but twenty-six years ago he was way more muscular. He was imposing and entitled. I will never forget what he said, “You aren’t going anywhere. You will submit, and it will be better for both of us.”

  The doctor closed her eyes and tilted her head away. Re-opening her eyes, she returned her gaze to Denise.

  “He unbuttoned his shirt, undid his pants, and removed his underwear.” Denise started to tremble; moisture filling her eye lids. “Standing there in the nude-“ a gasp escaped her throat. “He pulled me into his arms and began kissing me. He undressed me, laid me on the bed and fuck
ed me. He was hard for so long, it hurt.” Clutching her chest as she dropped her head, Denise sobbed as tears fell into her lap. “He didn’t notice or care. I screamed out in pain, he just covered my mouth and kept at it. It was humiliating and degrading.” Denise fell into guttural gasps as she used a Kleenex to soak up the tears draining from her nose. Crushing the tissue in her fist she said, “I was forced into having sex with this man because of his position of power. As I got dressed, the demeaning fucker told me my manager would include extra compensation in my next paycheck. That never happened.”

  “You were raped.”

  Denise nodded as a frown forced her lips into a curve of sadness. “Within a month, I was pregnant. I was so distraught, I hadn’t had sex with my husband since before that night. He was upset and suspicious, but I was broken and confused.” Another spasm of anguished tears enveloped her as she sobbed with more force than the doctor had ever witnessed. Possessed by her need to cry, she was inconsolable until her voice, stricken with grief, re-emerged. “When the pregnancy was obvious, Tom beat me until I told him what happened.” Running her hand through her hair and pulling her ponytail in front of her she said, “About that same time, the town gossip, generated by my co-workers who saw me enter and leave his room, spread the story all over town. I thought Tom was going to beat the baby out of me, but I refused to let a life within me die. David was born on May twentieth. In spite of being unwillingly conceived, he received all the best of a mother’s love.”

  Wiping tears off her cheeks, Denise looked at Dr. Zeidler with reddened eyes full of despair.

  “That’s a painful story.” With her chin quivering, Dr. Zeidler said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  Sniffing, Denise said, “There’s nothing to be said, just be aware of what that monster is capable of. I want you to see a rapist every time you look at him.”

  Despite the fatigue of her grief, Denise bore a look of determination the doctor hadn’t seen before. The strength of this woman to persevere through all that was thrust upon her was now visible in the set of her jaw and the glare in her crimson tinged eyes.

  Doctor Zeidler overcame her halting emotions to say, “I’ll look upon him with refreshed eyes. I’m going to go order your tests now. I hope you find peace.”

  “Thanks a lot,” said Denise “but I don’t think I’m going to see peace in my future.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Diegert laid in his bed. It was 5:30 a.m. He was awake but had no intention of getting up.

  “Good morning,” said Avery Forsythe with a cheerful tone as he walked into Diegert’s room wheeling a device which he parked in the space typically occupied by a second bed. He locked the brakes on the wheels and looked at Diegert with a big smile. Diegert remained in his bed, wiping sleep from his eyes.

  “You’ve been physically inactive now for six days including more than twenty-four hours unconscious,” Avery stated in a matter of fact tone. “You’re going to be in medical a few more days so I brought you this gym on wheels so you can get your strength back.”

  Diegert swung his legs out of bed and sat at the edge looking at the contraption.

  Avery was excited, “First it’s important to recognize that with all four wheels locked this thing is solid. You’ve got dumbbells, and kettlebells, ten pounds through forty pounds and the dumbbells can be adjusted through five-pound increments with these add-on plates.” Avery pointed out the black discs with a slot down the middle, and the little lever which secured them in place.

  Diegert, having not yet said a word, gave a nod to the obvious.

  Pressing a button on the shaft of the upright cylinder on the right side of the rolling base, Avery extruded three feet of steel tubing. He flexed the tube at the hinge, attaching the open end to the upright cylinder on the opposite side of the base. With the crossbar in place, he pulled on a cable, telescoping the vertical support sections until the crossbar was seven feet high. Turning the twist lock on the base shaft solidified the supports. Stepping back, Avery said, “Give it a try.”

  Diegert slid his feet to the floor and stood under the crossbar. He reached up, grabbed the steel tube with both hands, and slowly did a pull-up. He struggled four more times and, after completing five, let go of the bar, dropping to his feet, toiling for breath.

  Unable to mask his disappointment, Avery said, “It looks like this device has arrived just in time.”

  Sitting back on his bed, Diegert pledged, “Let me get some breakfast, and I’ll get on it.”

  When Avery returned the following afternoon, he asked Diegert, “How do you like the gym?”

  “Yeah, I like working out,” said Diegert.

  “Which is more important,” asked Avery, “strength or quickness?”

  “For what?”

  “Fighting.”

  “I dunno, aren’t they both important?”

  Avery shot his right hand out, instantly touching the backside of his fingers to Diegert’s cheek. He pulled his hand back before Diegert could blink. The younger man’s startled reaction occurred after Avery had already returned his hand back to its folded position.

  The contact was a touch, not a slap. There was no harmful force delivered to Diegert’s face. His defenses, however, had been breached without him even realizing or reacting.

  Avery began, “Quickness is the speed of interchange between the sensory, central and motor components of your nervous system.”

  “Central?” Diegert asked.

  “That’s your brain and spinal cord. The sensory and motor make up the input and output networks of your peripheral nervous system.”

  Central is my brain and spinal cord, and peripheral is the rest of the nerves in my body?” stated Diegert seeking clarity.

  “Precisely. When you’re quick, you can sense what’s happening and react to it appropriately.”

  “So you think quickness is more important than strength.”

  “Strength is the generation of force. Is great force always necessary to defend yourself or defeat an opponent?”

  “All right, so there both important, so what?”

  “So gaining strength will not increase your quickness. You must train both.”

  “Well, you brought me a whole cart there for building strength.”

  “And now I have some drills to make you quicker. Move that chair into the corner and sit down.”

  Diegert moved the sturdy chair, so it faced the corner of the room. The floor and both walls were covered in aquamarine tile. Sitting in the chair, Diegert turned his head to look over his shoulder at Avery, who held a tennis ball in his hand. Raising his hand, Avery twirled his extended index finger indicating that Diegert should turn around. Now facing the corner, Diegert heard Avery say, “Catch the ball.”

  Immediately, the tennis ball bounced into the corner, first contacting the floor and then ricocheting off the right wall. Diegert reached, but his reaction was too slow, and the ball shot past him.

  “Ok, I get it now,” said an agitated Diegert. “Throw it again.”

  This time, Avery threw it at the right wall, sending it down to the floor where it bounced to the left. Diegert’s reaction was again too slow, and the ball got away from him.

  “Hey, it’s supposed to hit the floor first,” shouted Diegert as he turned to face Avery.

  “There are no such rules. Turn around.”

  Diegert swung around to face the corner again. He leaned forward in his seat with both hands ready. He turned his head slightly to the left and then the right anticipating the coming of the ball from either direction.

  Avery lobbed the ball over Diegert such that it fell right in front of the tense young man. The ball bounced up, and Diegert grabbed for it, first with the right and an instant later the left, neither of which contacted the ball as it fell to the floor and rolled under Diegert’s chair.

  Avery picked up the ball as it rolled to him. Diegert stood up from his chair to face his tormentor. “Hey, this is not fair. I don’t have a chance. How ca
n you expect me to know where the ball is coming from?”

  “David, there are no rules, it is not fair. It is a game of skill. It is a test of your ability to react to visual stimuli, generate appropriate neural signals, and allow your muscles to be guided by them.”

  “Well, that makes it sound so simple.”

  “I believe it is. The real test is whether or not you are going to let the simple thing happen, or whether you’re going to clutter your mind with unnecessary and conflicting information which interrupts the simplicity.”

  “Fuck you, let me try again.”

  “OK, but you are filling your mind with anticipation. Creating visual cues in your imagination trying to predict where the ball is going to come from, rather than allowing your eyes and your visual cortex to relax and accurately interpret what comes before it, without all the extraneous data created by your imagination.”

  Diegert looked at Avery. He felt like a jack lighted buck just before being shot.

  Avery smiled. “Relaxation isn’t just time off to watch TV. It’s a state of conscious presence during which we must still the mind, allowing it to absorb and interpret what is before it, without bias or judgment. In a truly relaxed state, we can see with eyes that are fresh, and gain insight that is not prejudiced by all that has come before it. While relaxed, we can see a simple truth and follow the path of something as basic as a bouncing ball. You ready to try again?”

  Diegert let out a big sigh as he turned and sat back down in the chair.