by Leslie Wolfe
“I wanted to track where the attack was coming from, and that wasn’t easy. It was done by pros,” he said, spitting out one lie after another and getting more and more comfortable in the web of lies he was creating. “The attack was bounced around from China to Singapore, then to Russia, and so on. It took me hours to decrypt it.”
“Do you have the source? Where did it come from?”
Randy hit a few keys and said, “Yes, it came from San Diego. But I can’t tell you more than that. It came from behind an excellent firewall, government grade or something. When do I get my money?”
“Soon,” the man said, then hung up.
“Whew, motherfucker, that was close,” Randy said out loud, allowing himself to slide down onto the couch.
...49
...Thursday, February 11, 6:49PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Hen of the Wood Restaurant
...Burlington, Vermont
Alex walked through the restaurant’s double wooden doors, grateful to feel some warm air against her flushed, tingly face. The local weather was fairly brutal, and the snow seemed to keep on falling, continuously, with no end in sight.
She stomped her feet near the entrance to shake the snow off her boots. She unzipped her parka and took out her cell. Checking the image on her phone one more time, she consolidated in her mind the key information about the man she was looking for. Dr. Gary William Hager, thirty-nine, light brown hair, green eyes, relatively handsome.
She looked around the restaurant, ignoring the hostess who was trying to seat her.
“Just a second,” Alex said, “I’m looking for a friend.”
There he was, seated at the chef’s counter. Not a very favorable location for a private conversation. Dr. Hager was seated between two other men, but they didn’t seem to know each other. Alex noticed the empty shot glass in front of him. Good.
She waited a little, stalling, thinking of ways to approach him. She fumbled with her gloves, took off her parka and spent forever hanging it on the coat rack in the corner. She checked the restaurant for other familiar faces and the windowed doors behind her for anyone who might have followed her here. There was no one.
The man sitting at Dr. Hager’s left paid his tab and made for the exit. Alex took the opportunity and headed for the empty seat, no clear strategy in mind. She sat next to Hager and smiled.
“Hi,” she started cautiously, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, you’re fine,” Hager said and turned slightly away from her, giving her a clear signal he wanted to be left alone. He seemed tired and preoccupied.
“I’m new to town, just passing through,” she said with a light chuckle, “and I was thinking you could recommend a few places to go.”
Hager turned her way and checked her out real quick.
“Listen, I mean no disrespect, but I would rather be by myself.”
“I understand. I also understand you think I might be hitting on you right now,” she said, dropping her voice to almost a whisper and gently touching the man’s forearm, “but I’m not. However, it is in your best interest to behave like I am actually hitting on you and like you are very much into it and share a table. That is if you want to hear what I have to say in private. For me, it will work either way.”
Hager checked her out again, this time with a deep frown above his intense green eyes. He decided to follow her lead and stood.
“There’s a table right there.” He pointed to an empty one in the far corner of the restaurant.
“Perfect,” Alex said, grabbing his arm and flashing her power smile.
“So, what’s this about?” Hager asked as soon as they were seated. “Are you a patient?”
“No, but I’m here about a patient. I need some information about a case you operated on last December. The patient’s name is Melanie Wilton.”
Alex watched him intently as she said Melanie’s name. Blood ran from his face, and his pupils dilated, giving away the pang of fear he must have felt.
“I can’t discuss anything. All patient information is confidential; I’m sure you know that much. You’re wasting your time and mine.”
“Not so fast,” Alex said, smiling and touching Hager’s hand lightly. From a distance, they appeared to be a new couple enjoying their time together. “I have specific questions regarding that procedure, and they’re not about Melanie Wilton’s cholesterol levels. However, I’m prepared to ask my questions with the authorities present. Are you?”
Hager swallowed hard but didn’t say a word.
“Listen,” Alex insisted, “there are many ways this can end terribly wrong for you and only one way it could end well. I suggest you make the right choice.”
He nodded, giving up. His shoulders hunched, and his head hung. He clasped his palms together. “Ask away.”
“All right then, I’ll make this as quick and painless as I can. Who paid for her surgery?”
“I have no idea. It was paid in cash and lots of it. Some for the clinic, some for me personally. I’m sure the surgical team was nicely compensated too. I received a package at my house with my fee, all cash, used twenty bills.”
He was very cooperative, holding nothing back. She continued. “Where did you get the heart?”
“I didn’t. I’m not aware of where the heart came from. It was delivered in the middle of the night by an unmarked chopper. The chopper landed right in the clinic’s backyard, left the container, and took off within minutes. The heart we received was strong, viable, the right donor match and everything, ready to be transplanted. It was delivered on order. We were told to start prepping her even before we had the heart, and we did. We knew the heart would come at a certain time and date, which almost never really happens.”
“How was it packaged?”
“Perfectly packaged, by the book, cold crystalloid ischemic storage with all legal organ transplants, minus the paperwork. Cooler was unmarked. No logos on anything. There was no paperwork and no documented origin for the organ. No source.”
“If you were to venture a guess as to where the heart came from, what would you say?”
“I wouldn’t. It’s really hard to tell. A heart can only survive four to six hours after harvesting, so it had to be close, or relatively close, two-hour chopper flight range, tops. Someone, somewhere, spent a lot of cash to make that heart appear.”
“How about the surgical team?” Alex asked.
“They were strangers to me. I had never met them before. They came in that night, all traveling together in a large SUV, a GMC Yukon, I think. They showed up, they scrubbed, they did an excellent job, and they left before dawn. They were a good surgical team. They seemed to know one another and had experience working together.”
“Any names you can remember?”
“They didn’t say any names.”
“What time was the surgery?”
“It started after midnight and lasted a few hours.”
“Is this normal?”
“It can happen, because the harvested heart can’t survive for too long. Our normal staff wasn’t recalled on duty, like normally happens when surgeries are scheduled. That was strange. There was minimal staff only, the typical core crew for a night without any OR bookings.”
“Where did Melanie come from?”
“Her paperwork said she had transferred from Municipal to recover post-surgery. That’s obviously not true. Somewhere between Municipal and the clinic, the paperwork got fixed. That’s if she ever set foot in Municipal.”
“Why did you do it? Who approached you and offered you the cash?”
Hager hesitated a little. “My boss.”
“Dr. Kanellis?”
“Yes.”
“Did he explain why?”
“He said it was a personal favor to him, of utmost importance to keep quiet; our licenses were at stake, and so on. He was very insistent. I couldn’t say no. After all, we did save a life. Maybe not the right one, or the right priority one, but nevertheless, a life.”
“Did Kanellis mention any names?”
Hager frowned as he was trying to remember.
“At some point, in a related conversation regarding the procedure and the drug regimen to follow, he had a slip of the tongue and mentioned a name. Hems, Helms, Holmes, maybe? Does this mean anything?”
Alex didn’t respond. That Helms guy again. He was everywhere.
“Do you know where I could find the man Kanellis mentioned?”
“No idea.”
“One more question. If this procedure was so hush-hush, why are there records of it in the system?”
“I often ask myself the same thing, even asked Kanellis about it. It was by his decision that we entered anything in the system, but we didn’t enter much. Nothing relevant, anyway. No names, no insurance information, not even Mrs. Wilton’s social. In retrospect, I think we shouldn’t have entered anything. What purpose does that system entry serve?”
Excellent question, Dr. Hager, Alex thought.
“If someone wanted to delete that record, would they be able to?”
“I’m sure they would, no doubt. We’ve had duplicate entries and errors in the system cleaned up before.”
“OK, that’s all I needed from you, Dr. Hager. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“What’s gonna happen to me?” Hager asked, looking up for the first time since she’d started asking her questions.
“Hopefully, nothing. Keep this conversation a secret, and I promise I’ll do the same.”
“Who are you?”
“Just someone you won’t ever see again, Dr. Hager. And now, just in case someone was watching us have this little talk, I will be providing you with a good cover story. Just remember I hit on you at first,” Alex said and winked. She stood up abruptly, slapped Hager across the face, and yelled, “You bastard!”
Then she rushed toward the exit, grabbed her parka on the way out, and was gone in seconds.
To anyone watching, Dr. Hager must have said something very wrong to this young lady. His chances were not looking too good with her. A couple of patrons commented on the event, stifling their laughs.
...50
...Friday, February 12, 11:02AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Randy Turner’s Residence
...New York, New York
A rapid tap on the door woke him. He groaned, the typical groan of a nineteen year old when he has to wake up before noon. He turned on the other side and mumbled.
“Who is it?”
The tap reoccurred. Randy tried harder this time, getting out of bed and dragging his feet to the door.
“Yeah?”
A voice from behind the door said quietly, “I have your money.”
Randy took the door chain off in a second and welcomed the man in.
“Come on in, man, I am so happy to see you.”
Helms walked in, looking around.
Randy grabbed a pile of clothing scattered on the old, beat-down couch and made room for his guest. The air was stale and smelled of dirty laundry, but Randy didn’t smell that anymore. However, any time his friends dropped by, they bitched about it, so Randy opened the sliding window to let in some fresh air. The frazzled window sheers waved in the brisk winter breeze.
“Here, sit down. Fuck, man, am I glad to see you!”
Helms continued to stand. He patted the kid on his back. Helms looked scary, just as scary as the day he had met him. He was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Cold as ice, the man’s blue eyes gave him the willies. He hated how this guy skeezed him out.
“Where can we speak privately?”
Randy hesitated for a second, confused by a question with an obvious answer.
“Right here. There’s no one else here.”
“Good. You did good on the assignment, kid, show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Show me how you saw the intrusion. Can you figure out what that person saw in the system?”
Randy went to his old laptop and demonstrated, flipping through screens fast, so that Helms wouldn’t catch the date on the intrusion report.
“Yeah. See? This is the app I’m running; it shows the hack alert here, on this screen.” He displayed the report screen for half a second. “Then in here you see what he saw.”
“He looked at multiple records?”
“Yeah, the dude checked a few of them out. Checked this one fairly thoroughly, then looked around some more.”
“Which one did he check first?”
“This one, umm...Melanie Wilton. But there ain’t any info that makes any sense in there. The other records have info in them, see? They have dates, names, activity, socials, stuff like that. This one has nothing, just a name and some codes and acronyms.”
“Good, good,” the man said, grabbing Randy by the back of his head, gently, as if to pet him like a parent would stroke a child. “You did really good.”
“Great, so I get my money now?” Randy asked, turning around to look at Helms.
Suddenly, the grip on his neck became forceful, not allowing him to turn his head any farther. He kicked around, flailed his arms, tried to grab something, but he was almost paralyzed.
“What...? The fuck...?” Randy managed to say as the grip turned to steel.
“Yes,” the man said, “you did good.”
With a rapid twist of his right hand, he gripped Randy’s neck rendering him helpless. His left hand then grabbed his chin and executed a sudden right-to-left movement. Randy’s legs turned to jelly as loud cracks marked the multiple fractures in his cervical spine. Before glossing over, Randy’s eyes continued to express the utmost disbelief.
Helms dropped the body to the floor gently to avoid making too much noise. He closed the window after looking around and checking for any unusual activity. He grabbed the laptop, slid it under his overcoat, and left, closing the door behind him without a sound.
...51
...Monday, February 15, 10:14AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...DCBI Headquarters, Sixth Floor Conference Room
...Washington, DC
Robert fidgeted before settling down at his conference room table. He was about to enter a new phase of this madness, a phase in which he had to involve his team. To some extent. They’d be ignorant players, manipulated into taking certain actions by a man they had learned to trust. The thought made him sick to the stomach; he hated lying to his people, or to anyone for that matter. Making things even worse was knowing that someone was watching his every move and listening to every word being said, waiting for the tiniest misspoken word or hint of betrayal to kill Melanie. It was a very fine line to walk, but he felt determination replacing his anxiety. They were going to pay for everything they had done. Soon. He was working on it, and he was no longer alone.
The conference room seemed too big without Laura and Jimmy; it was just Ellen, Eddie, and Brad now. But today was not the right time to think of those departed. Today was the day to start focusing on fixing things, on finding out who had killed two members of his team. Focus on preventing a disaster of immense proportions.
He finally settled into his chair and opened his portfolio, extracting some papers from it.
His team followed his lead and took their usual seats. Ellen sipped some of the steaming coffee in her mug, holding it with both hands. Eddie looked a little absent, lost in his thoughts. Brad, his normal professional and focused self, waited for him to start the weekly staff meeting.
“All right, guys, it’s time we get going on finding replacements. I know how painful this is, believe me, I know. I sometimes feel like no one else can ever take their places, like we’re betraying their memories if we replace them so soon.” He paused, checking their expressions. All of them nodded in approval, sadness written on their faces. “But it’s time to move on, because we have a contract of historical importance to handle, and we must handle it well.” He handed them each a copy of a three-page stapled document. “This is the résumé of a highly qualified contra
ctor, currently working for our number one competitor, Innovatix Consulting in Texas. Her name is Alex Hoffmann. We could employ her for the right amount of money of course. Please take a look and let me know what you think.”
They read through the résumé quietly for a while.
“I like that she has a lot of experience in quality,” Brad opened. “And she did some offshoring too. In technology. I think she’d be a great fit, very solid.”
“I like her too,” Ellen offered. “You’re right; it’s hard to think of bringing someone new on board, but we have to. Currently, there’s almost no time or resources available for vendor performance management. My guys generate the reports, but we don’t have the capabilities to spend enough time studying progress and performance and to act on that data. I say let’s move on with this; let’s give her a shot.”
“She’d be a contractor,” Eddie said, “that means we have very low risk bringing her in, and we get to bypass certain delays that normally happen with fulltime employees. Yeah, let’s go for it. We need someone onsite at this level.”
“She’d need to relo, right?” Brad asked. “How long would that take?”
“Yeah, she’d need to relocate, but with contractors you know how it works,” Robert said. “We can offer her assisted temporary living, get her a furnished apartment or a long-term hotel room, and we’re there. She’d be working offshore for the majority of the time anyway, so there’s no reason to actually mover her at this time. Not with the time pressures we’re currently under.”
“Sounds a bit insensitive,” Ellen said.
“Yeah, it does.” Robert agreed. “We can always ask her if that poses a problem and manage from there. But if you like her profile I’ll hand it over to HR to start the process and schedule our interviews.”
“Yep, let’s get started,” Brad said, “we can’t afford to wait any longer.”
Robert smiled faintly. Brad’s statement held true from many different perspectives.
...52
...Wednesday, March 2, 9:01PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
