by Robin Cook
“It is embarrassing when I think about it,” he confessed. “She clearly wasn’t interested in me and, in retrospect, probably not capable of any kind of normal relationship with anyone.”
George explained that Pia had disappeared in London, and even her father, high up in the NYC Albanian Mafia, had difficulty finding out what had happened to her.
“You mean no one has heard from her since then?”
“Not a word,” George said. “Although her father called a couple of months ago, saying that he had finally come across some encouraging information and said he’d get back to me when something concrete happened, he never did. I’ve not heard anything since. I hope for her sake that he is ultimately successful in locating her.”
There was a pause as each eyed the other, wondering exactly what the other was thinking. It was Paula who broke the spell. “Maybe it’s time to clean up the dishes.”
“Good idea,” George said. They carried their dishes to the kitchen counter. For a few minutes they worked in contented silence.
“You know, I’m amazed that I feel as relaxed as I do,” George admitted.
“You’ve been a trouper, considering what you went through,” Paula said. “But you definitely need more sleep, whether you know it or not.”
“Oh, I know it,” George agreed. “I’ll be able to nod off with no problem, especially in that bed. It’s amazing! Have you ever slept in it?”
“No, not yet.” She smiled. “You know I’d been planning to go to Hawaii for a long weekend. I’m not expected back at work until Thursday. We have plenty of time to hash out our game plan. Feel free to stay here as long as you want.”
“I appreciate that,” George said sincerely. “Thank you. I don’t know where I would have gone otherwise, because I surely would not have felt comfortable staying in my apartment.”
“I’m glad I could help. Now it’s time for bed. I’m exhausted, even though I didn’t spend last night in jail.” She smiled. “If you need it, I have some Ambien.”
He shook his head. “I think I’ll be fine.”
She gave him a hug. After a moment he hugged her back. Hard. Finally, they let each other go. Paula quickly turned to the kitchen cupboards. “Okay, then! For breakfast!”
George watched while Paula pointed out where the fixings were in case he got up earlier than she did. They stood in the kitchen, awkward and quiet; both were tired but neither wanted the evening to end.
“Okay, then, good night.” She gave George’s hand a squeeze. George squeezed back.
“Good night.” George watched as she mounted the stairs to the second floor and the master bedroom. Then he headed toward the guest suite.
49
PAULA’S HOUSE
SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
SUNDAY, JULY 6, 2014, 11:53 P.M.
George was still exhausted, but after sleeping for five hours that afternoon he found he couldn’t fall asleep after all. He had turned off the light and gotten into bed, but as soon as he lay down, all his fears about his future returned. Although he’d been able to let his mind rest for a few hours about iDoc, Zee, his legal worries, and the fact that he was on a forced leave of absence from his residency program, in bed it was another matter. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking even though he had no answers, and, as Paula said, there wasn’t any way anything was going to be solved that night.
After an hour or so of tossing and turning, he switched the light back on. He got up, pulled on the bathrobe against the air-conditioned chill, and padded over to a built-in bookcase. Paula had stocked it with a collection of novels and nonfiction. He scanned the titles for something to read. He was not choosy, he just needed to keep his mind occupied. He pulled out a worn copy of Barbara Tuchman’s The Guns of August. He propped himself up in bed and began to read, hoping to fall asleep. But he soon realized that the book was too well written and too interesting. After several chapters he knew he needed to find something else. He was about to get up to find something else when he thought he heard a faint knocking. He listened and thought he heard it again.
Opening the door connecting to the main part of the house, he was surprised to see Paula standing there, also in a bathrobe, arm raised, about to knock again. She, too, was surprised by the sudden opening of the door. They both laughed, mildly embarrassed.
“Sorry to disturb you, but from my bedroom I can see the window to the guest room, and noticed your light was on. I didn’t know if you were asleep or not and didn’t want to wake you if you were, but since I was having trouble dropping off, I thought I’d come down and see if you were having trouble, too. If you are, I can keep you company for a bit.”
“Great! Come in!” He chuckled. “I can’t believe myself, I’m inviting you into your own guest suite!”
She followed him over to the sitting area. “You know, despite the circumstances that brought us together, I enjoyed the evening.”
“I feel the same,” he agreed.
She settled into the sofa, tucking her legs under herself. “My mind wouldn’t stop. And not just because of the iDoc situation. Tonight . . . Well, I wasn’t as up front as I should have been.”
George raised his eyebrows. “Go on!”
“When we were talking about our relationship in medical school, I wasn’t completely truthful about how angry you had made me.” She stared at her hands folded in her lap. “At the time it was a self-esteem issue for sure. I decided that I would never have anything to do with you socially again.”
“Paula, I’m so sorry about what happened. In retrospect, as I said, I don’t understand my own behavior. Truly.”
“I recovered to a degree over the next three years, but not completely. When you called me during the summer of your first year of residency and my first year out here, saying that we should get together, I was tempted to tell you how angry and hurt I had been and not see you. But I decided on the spur of the moment to give it a go anyway. Can you remember what we talked about?”
George thought he remembered; he had babbled on about Pia.
“For the entire evening, all you talked about was how Pia was not returning your phone calls, texts, or emails and how worried you were about her, blah, blah, blah.”
George grimaced. “Did I really do that?” He knew he did.
“You did. You carried on all evening, which brought up all the hurt from our freshman year.”
“I’m sorry, I was such an ass. But I’ve grown up a bit.” What he didn’t explain was that he had grown up because of Kasey.
The conversation went on for a while longer, with Paula finally taking the opportunity to express herself as she could not before. George was contrite and apologetic, asking Paula to understand that his behavior had stemmed somewhat from his being an addict of sorts, and the more Pia rejected him, the harder he tried to make the relationship work. Since honesty was on the table for the night, George decided to open up about Kasey.
“I never mentioned that Kasey Lynch, the first victim of the iDoc problem, was actually my fiancée,” he said softly. “She was part of the iDoc beta test when she was diagnosed with advanced, stage-three ovarian cancer.” What he still didn’t include was that he had awakened with her dead in his bed.
Paula’s mouth dropped open. “George, I’m so sorry! Here I am talking about my hurt feelings seven years ago, and you just lost your fiancée, possibly because of something I helped create!” She let out a sigh. “When did she die?”
“A few months ago.”
“Are you still grieving? Of course you are. It’s only been a few months.”
“I’ll probably always grieve. But I’ve reconciled myself to her loss, except to why it happened so precipitously. Her death is one of the reasons I have to find out exactly what is going on. Can we do that together?”
“Yes, George.” She took his hand and squeezed it tightly.
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br /> George reached out and hugged her. It was obvious to him that this time neither of them felt self-conscious about the hug. It lasted and lasted and led to a tentative kiss. The kiss led to another, and to both their surprise, the sense of attraction they had for each other since they had first met surmounted any reservations they held or the circumstances that had now brought them together.
With a certain desperation the two old friends hesitantly clung to each other, then abandoned restraint. They tore off their robes. Sinking into the canopied bed, they devoured each other, making mad, passionate love. For a few paradisiacal moments they allowed their minds and bodies to be completely absorbed in the giving and receiving of pleasure. Some time later, locked in an embrace as if afraid their coupling had been a dream and that the other was going to disappear, they fell into an exhausted, sublime sleep.
50
PAULA’S HOUSE
SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, JULY 7, 2014, 3:23 A.M.
A muffled explosion sent a shock wave through the house, rattling the windows and waking George and Paula from their sleep. Both were momentarily stunned, particularly George, who, for the moment, as after his earlier nap, didn’t even know where he was.
An alarm sounded, with a loud, intermittent, obnoxious, grating noise throughout the house. They looked to each other, wondering if it had been an earthquake. It was almost completely dark. What little light there was came from the pool, filtering in through the Bermuda shutters.
Paula was the first to act. She leaped from the bed, her silk nightgown billowing behind her, and rushed over to a small LED security screen mounted in the wall. She quickly typed in a code.
George scrambled out of bed and joined her.
The LED screen came to life, providing the first real light in the room, and began flashing a schematic of the house. It showed a blinking light at the front door.
“The front door has been breached,” Paula croaked. She couldn’t believe this was happening.
Now actual images of the property flashed on the screen, one after another, coming from security cameras throughout the property. Paula tapped out a command and the image shifted to the front door. It had been blown wide open. Through a cloud of smoke they could make out an armed figure dressed from head to toe in black, seemingly standing guard at the entrance.
“My God!” Paula voiced. She tapped out another command. The image switched to the main stairs and then the upper hallway. Three more figures in black could be seen dashing through the hall toward the master bedroom.
The phone rang.
Paula snapped it up. “Confirmed! Break-in in progress!”
George could hear a voice on the other end saying, “Ten-four! Police on their way!”
Paula dropped the phone and turned to George. “We have to get to the safe room! Now!”
“How can we get to it?” George blurted as he scrambled to pull on a pair of pants. Being naked made him feel even more vulnerable, if that was at all possible.
Paula turned back to the security pad, and they watched as the intruders flew back out of the master bedroom and paused, as if confused about what to do next.
“They’re searching for me,” she whispered over the sound of the alarm. “Who the hell are they?”
“Lord knows! They can’t be FBI or SWAT.” He remembered that the team of men who had invaded his apartment all had their affiliations clearly blazoned on their uniforms. These people did not.
They watched as one of the men made a call on what they guessed was a cell phone.
“Follow me,” Paula said quietly. “There are back stairs to the second floor just outside the guest suite.”
“Is that the best idea? The safe room is in the basement?”
Paula nodded toward the screen. “They already checked the master bedroom. We should go there and use the hidden slide.”
George nodded his understanding.
They slipped out of the guest suite, Paula pulling George behind her as they ducked into the back stairway behind what looked like a closet door. Once there, they began creeping up the dark wooden steps. At the top, Paula came to an abrupt halt and ducked down, causing George to bump into her, nearly tripping over her crouched figure. She pointed ahead, down the second-floor hallway to a dark figure standing at the head of the main stairway, blocking their route. With no other option, they cowered in the darkness at the head of the back stairs and waited. The raucous noise of the alarm stopped as suddenly as it had started.
A whistle came from below, and the man silently sprinted down the steps in response.
“Now!” Paula whispered. She scrambled forward, urging George to follow. She hurried down the hall toward the master bedroom.
Hearing footsteps, the man who had just descended the stairs looked up, spotting them dashing past in the half light. “Stop!” he yelled.
They ignored him and kept running for the bedroom.
The man leaped up the stairs two at a time, yelling over his shoulder to his colleagues. “I have them! Master bedroom!”
George and Paula burst into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut as the man chasing them ran into it. George braced himself against the door while Paula flicked the lock.
The intruder threw his full body weight at the locked door, but it was lined with steel: another level of protection ordered by the former owner, for which George and Paula were now thankful. The man out in the hall repeatedly lunged at it, crashing into it presumably with his shoulder. It rattled but held.
The master bedroom was almost pitch-dark, with just an inkling of light coming in through the curtains covering the sliding glass doors that led to a balcony overlooking the pool area. They made their way over to the wood panel that covered the chute, with George holding on to Paula’s nightgown. Locating the handhold ingeniously camouflaged in the panel’s trim, Paula yanked open the panel to the chute. A whiff of comparatively stale, humid air wafted up from the chute in stark contrast to the highly air-conditioned air of the bedroom.
Paula grabbed George’s arm and pulled him toward the yawning maw. George hesitated. Throwing himself down a black hole willy-nilly was a scary proposition, even though he had already done it earlier. But then it wasn’t dark in the room.
“Go!” Paula commanded in a harsh voice. The man in the hall continued to pound away at the door. Boom! But now they could hear the sound of wood splintering. George realized that while the door itself might not give way, its frame was about to.
Sensing he could not hesitate another second, George launched himself feetfirst down the chute. The walls were of polished metal, and only an instant later he hit the cushioned floor of the basement. In the utter blackness he groped for a landmark. As he started to stand, Paula collided with him, knocking him forward onto his hands and knees.
“Sorry,” she managed.
“It’s okay.” He scrambled to his feet again and then began inching forward with his hands outstretched, swinging them in a tight arc in the direction of the safe room in the hope of connecting with something to orient him.
He felt Paula place her hand on the small of his back, urging him forward toward the safe room’s door. Then, for the second time that night, they were stunned. On this occasion, it was even more frightening than when the front door was blown open.
51
PAULA’S HOUSE
SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, JULY 7, 2014, 3:31 A.M.
George and Paula were frozen in place, blinking against a blinding bright light shining directly at them. They were immediately set upon by several of the intruders, who grabbed them and bound their hands behind their backs with plastic ties. Whoever these people were, they were in a hurry. Not a word was spoken.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Paula demanded. With the anxiety of the actual chase over, her terror had morphed in
to rage.
The men ignored her and placed black hoods over George’s and Paula’s heads. Rapidly, they half dragged and half carried their two captives to the stairs, where they were unceremoniously hauled up to the main floor. Then, just as quickly, they were propelled out the back door, wincing in pain as their bare feet trod across the stone walkway to the alley.
Paula started to yell out but was immediately thumped on her back with a club. “You’ll lose all your teeth if you do that again,” a captor sneered.
George overheard the threat and remained silent. The next thing they knew, they were being forced into a van, pushed down to the metal floor, and covered with what felt like a heavy blanket. A moment later the door to the van was slammed shut, and they could feel the vehicle begin to move, slowly at first, along the alley. A few seconds later it lurched forward as it accelerated in the open street. Both George and Paula repositioned themselves to make breathing easier.
Their movements brought rapid retaliation. They could feel their captors above them pushing down with their boots to keep them from moving. They heard a police siren in the distance, but the blaring sound faded as the van raced in the opposite direction.
So much for the police, George thought, discouraged. They would find nothing but an empty house.
After several minutes George risked a whisper: “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I brought this on you. I tried to make sure I had not been followed.”
“They must have tracked your car with GPS,” Paula answered back just as quietly.
“Maybe so,” George said. He’d never given a thought to having been tracked wirelessly.
“Regardless, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry, too,” she added.
