Shock

by Robin Cook

  Helen’s face registered understanding. She knew full well whose office was behind the closed door. Lowering her voice, she said: “I was shocked to learn Dr. Wingate was here.”

  “You and everyone else,” the secretary whispered with a nod. “No one expected it. He arrived this morning unannounced. There’s been a bit of fireworks as you well can imagine.”

  It was Helen’s turn to nod. Then she shrugged. “It will be interesting to see what happens.”

  “That’s the truth,” the secretary said. “At any rate I’m sure Dr. Saunders will be out shortly. Perhaps you and your applicants would like to make yourselves comfortable.” She smiled graciously at Joanna and Deborah.

  Almost simultaneous with the group taking seats, the closed office door opened and banged against its stop. Paul Saunders’s short frame filled the doorway, but his attention was directed back into Spencer’s office. His face was flushed and his hands were balled into tight fists.

  “I can’t sit in here the entire day and argue about all this,” Paul spat. “I’ve got patients to see and work to do even if you don’t.”

  Spencer’s form materialized behind Paul and crowded him out of the doorway, forcing him to take a step back into the anteroom. Spencer was almost a foot taller and his tanned skin made Paul look paler than usual. His eyes blazed with an intensity equivalent with Paul’s. “I’ll excuse that kind of impertinence as a product of the heat of the moment,” he snapped.

  “That’s very big of you considering it’s true.”

  “I have a fiduciary responsibility to this clinic and its stockholders,” Spencer hissed. “And I want you to understand that I intend to carry out that duty. The Wingate is primarily a clinical organization, and we’ve been that way from day one. Our research is to support our clinical efforts and not vice versa.”

  “That’s a Luddite attitude if I’ve ever heard one,” Paul shot back. “Research is an investment in the future: short-term sacrifice for long-term benefit. We’re positioned to be at the cutting edge of stem-cell research which has the potential of being the basis of twenty-first-century medicine, but we have to be willing to forfeit some profit and take some risks in the short run.”

  “We’ll revisit this discussion when you have more time,” Spencer stated flatly. “See me after your last patient!” Abruptly he stepped back into his office, grabbed the edge of his door, and slammed it shut with a resounding bang.

  Paul took another step backward as if blown by wind from the slamming door. Furious at being dismissed when it had been his intent to walk out, he spun around. He took a single step toward his office when his eyes caught sight of the unexpected audience. Like the turret on a battleship, his head pivoted in a staccato fashion as his gun-barrel eyes took in each individual in turn. They stopped on Deborah. His expression softened.

  “Ms. Masterson has some recruits for you to interview,” the secretary announced.

  “So I see,” Paul said. His tightly fisted hands relaxed, and he gestured toward his open door as his eyes took in Deborah’s high-heeled shoes, short skirt, and plunging neckline. “Come in, come in!” he said. “Gladys, did you offer our guests something to drink?”

  “It didn’t occur to me,” Gladys admitted. She furrowed her brow.

  “We’ll have to rectify that,” Paul said. “How about some coffee or a soft drink?”

  “Not for me, thank you,” Deborah said, struggling to get to her feet. It was an effort in the high heels since the couch was inordinately deep. Paul responded by bounding around Gladys’s desk to offer a hand, but Deborah made it upright without assistance. She pulled her miniskirt down, which had the effect of lowering her already low neckline.

  Paul glanced at Joanna.

  “Nothing for me either,” Joanna said. She felt like the poor relation when Paul immediately switched his attention back to Deborah and then made a point of graciously guiding her into his office. Joanna and Helen followed.

  Paul added a third chair to the two facing his desk and gestured for everyone to sit. He went around behind his desk and sat himself. Helen proceeded to introduce the two women with their aliases and mentioned their respective Harvard undergraduate degrees along with which departments they hoped to work for.

  “Excellent,” Paul said with a broad smile, revealing his small, square, widely spaced front teeth, which were in concert with his wide, squat nose. “Bloody excellent, as they say in Merry Old England.” He laughed. Without taking his eyes off Deborah he added: “It appears, Miss Masterson, you’ve found us several more fine prospective employees. You’re to be congratulated.”

  “So we should continue with the employment process?” Helen questioned.

  “Certainly. By all means.”

  “They have expressed an interest in starting as early as tomorrow,” Helen said.

  “That’s even better,” Paul said. “Their zeal should be rewarded since we’re in dire need of help, particularly in the lab. You’ll be very welcome, Miss Marks!”

  “Thank you,” Deborah said, mildly self-conscious about the attention she was getting at the expense of Joanna. “I’m looking forward to using some of that superb equipment you have.” No sooner had the statement left her mouth than Deborah felt her pulse quicken and her face redden. It had belatedly occurred to her that she had yet to see the lab on this trip. Luckily the only person who seemed to realize the blunder was Joanna. Paul continued the conversation without so much as a beat.

  “Let me ask you something about your lab experience, Miss Marks,” Paul said. “Have you ever done any nuclear transfer?”

  “I haven’t,” Deborah stammered. “But I can certainly learn.”

  “We do a lot of nuclear transfer,” Paul said. “It’s an integral part of our research efforts. Since I spend a lot of time in the lab, I’ll be happy to show you the technique personally.”

  “You’ll find me a willing and hopefully apt pupil,” Deborah said, having regained her composure. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Joanna briefly rolling her eyes.

  “Well, then,” Helen said after a brief silence gripped the room. She stood. “I think we’d better get to it if we’re going to have Miss Heatherly and Miss Marks working tomorrow.”

  The women stood, as did Paul.

  “I’m sorry about the verbal exchange you people inadvertently witnessed earlier,” Paul said. “The founder of the clinic and I have an occasional minor disagreement, but it’s more about style than substance. I hope the little episode doesn’t adversely color your impression of the institution.”

  Five minutes later Helen was leading the women back through the fire door into the south wing of the building.

  “I gather that Dr. Wingate doesn’t come into the clinic often,” Joanna said to Helen.

  “Not over the last year and a half,” Helen said. “We all thought he was permanently retired and living in Florida.”

  “Is there some problem about him and Dr. Saunders getting along?” Deborah asked.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Helen said vaguely. As she’d done previously, once in the football-field-length south-wing corridor, she bustled ahead. Mostly due to Deborah’s high-heeled shoes, the younger women lagged behind.

  “That was a strange interview,” Joanna said in a hushed voice. “That man is weird which, of course, we already knew.”

  “At least he didn’t recognize us,” Deborah said.

  “True, but no thanks to you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Deborah demanded in a forced whisper between breaths.

  “I don’t think you should be coming on to these men like you are.”

  “Get out of here! I’m not coming on to anyone. They’re coming on to me!”

  “Well, you’re not helping. This is supposed to be a quick, clandestine operation, not a drawn-out parody.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  “That’ll be the day. I don’t want men staring at me like that.”

  “I�
��ll tell you what I think all this proves,” Deborah said, but then didn’t finish her thought.

  “Tell me,” Joanna mockingly pleaded after a brief silence.

  “We blondes certainly have more fun!”

  Joanna swiped at Deborah playfully, but Deborah avoided the blow. Both laughed briefly. Ahead they could see Helen standing at a doorway and looking back at them impatiently.

  “What did you think of that little verbal set-to between the two chiefs?” Deborah asked while they were still out of earshot of Helen.

  “There’re obviously some interesting management issues here,” Joanna said. “I couldn’t help but notice how Helen referred to Dr. Saunders as ‘Napoleon’ when she was on the phone and how she called him ‘our fearless leader’ when talking with us. That doesn’t imply a lot of respect.”

  “I agree,” Deborah said. “I also didn’t buy her disclaimer about having no knowledge of a problem between the two.”

  “Well, it’s not our concern.”

  “That’s for sure,” Deborah agreed.

  The next step in the women’s preemployment process was a visit to security. Contrary to Joanna’s earlier concerns, it was an easy procedure. The location was one of the cubicles in the administration area manned by a guard wearing the same uniform as the individual with the clipboard at the front gate. He took Polaroid photos of both women and created laminated plastic Wingate Clinic ID cards which the women were instructed to have on their person at all times while on the premises.

  The second part of the security process involved the blue entry cards. The guard produced these by entering the women’s predetermined level of access, obtained from material given by Helen, into a form displayed on his workstation monitor. It took a moment because he typed with only two fingers. Once the typing was completed, the cards were extruded automatically. He handed them over and told the women to be careful with them.

  The next step was computer access. That involved going to a different cubicle where the women were introduced to Randy Porter. According to Helen they were lucky to have caught him at his workstation. Randy was a sandy-haired, slightly built fellow who looked like he was still in his teens. He explained to the women that when they sat at their workstations for the first time and swiped their blue cards through the slot on the top of their keyboards, a prompt would pop up asking them for a password. He said they were to select NEW and then provide a secret word which only they would be apt to know and which they could count on remembering.

  “Should the password be a specific number of letters or digits?” Joanna asked.

  “That’s up to you,” Randy said. “But it is best if it is six or more alphanumeric ciphers. Just be sure it’s something you can remember, because if you forget your password, you have to come to me, and that can take some time.”

  Helen gave a short, corroboratory laugh.

  “Any other questions?” Randy asked.

  “What kind of a system is it?” Joanna asked.

  “The operating system is Windows 2000 Data Center Server.”

  “And the hardware?”

  “It’s an IBM Server xSeries 430 with a Shiva firewall,” Randy said. “Is that what you’re asking?”

  “Thanks,” Joanna said simply.

  “It’s all Greek to me,” Helen said. “Is that it?”

  “That’s it from my end,” Randy said. “Unless there are more questions.”

  As they left the network administrator’s cubicle Helen checked the time. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon. She hesitated in the aisle.

  “I’d like to introduce you to your respective department heads,” Helen said. “But it is lunch time. Perhaps I could invite you to have something to eat in our dining hall. Gauging from Dr. Saunders’s response, I’m certain he would not want you to go hungry.”

  Joanna started to decline the invitation but Deborah interrupted her by saying, “Lunch sounds good to me.”

  “Wonderful,” Helen said. “I know I’m famished.”

  The dining hall was located on the second floor of a two-story, curved pavilion attached to the back of the central section of the building. Helen led the women back on the same route they’d used to get to the directors’ office, but after the fire door they took a right instead of a left.

  “Damn it! Why did you have to agree to eat here?” Joanna whispered sotto voce to Deborah when she was confident Helen had gotten far enough ahead so she could not hear.

  “Because I’m hungry,” Deborah said flippantly.

  “The more we do here today and the longer we stay the greater the chance we’ll be recognized.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” Deborah said. “Besides, the more we learn about this place, the greater chance we’ll have succeeding tomorrow when we’re here in earnest.”

  “I wish you’d take this more seriously.”

  “I’m taking it seriously!” Deborah blurted.

  Joanna shushed her as they came up to Helen, who’d waited for them.

  The dining room was semicircular in shape with windows looking out the rear of the building. With the ground sloping downward, the view to the east was expansive. Deborah recalled that the lab had a similar view although from smaller windows and hence it was not quite as dramatic. The roof peaks and chimneys of some of the living quarters could be seen sticking up above the budding trees as could the much larger chimney of the power station. Also, the red top of a silo was just visible between the power station and the living quarters.

  Helen restrained the women at the threshold while she scanned the diners, obviously searching for someone in particular. The room was large, and like the rest of the building it had numerous Victorian details, including a central, period crystal chandelier. Considering its size, the room was hardly crowded. Only thirty to forty people were sitting at widely separated tables. Their voices caused only a soft murmur.

  Joanna stiffened as she caught sight of Dr. Donaldson sitting with five other professional-appearing colleagues. Turning her back in the doctor’s direction, Joanna grabbed Deborah by the upper arm and motioned with her head. Deborah immediately comprehended.

  “Relax, for goodness’ sake!” Deborah said. Joanna’s anxious paranoia was getting on her nerves.

  “Is something wrong?” Helen asked.

  “No, nothing,” Joanna said innocently. She gave Deborah a dirty look.

  “There they are,” Helen said, pointing off to the right. “There’s Megan Finnigan, the laboratory supervisor, and Christine Parham, the office manager. Conveniently enough, they’re sitting at the same table. Come on, let me introduce you!”

  Joanna cringed and tried to keep her back toward Dr. Donaldson as she followed Deborah, who’d fallen in behind Helen. Helen was leading them toward one of the tables near the window. To Joanna’s dismay, the sound of Deborah’s heels on the aged parquet floor combined with her tawdrily provocative outfit had caught the attention of everyone in the place, including Dr. Donaldson.

  Deborah was unconcerned about the stir she was causing. Her attention had been absorbed by a table of Spanish-speaking diners she’d passed near the dining room’s entrance. They were all young, compact, darkly complected women who Deborah guessed were South American or Central American natives. What caught her attention was that they all appeared to be pregnant—and all of them seemed equally far along.

  Following the introductions to the two department heads who had finished their meals and were about to depart, Helen took Joanna and Helen to a separate table. There they were served by another woman who, like the young women they’d seen on the way in, appeared to Deborah like she was from South or Central America. She, too, was pregnant to the same degree as the others.

  Once the lunch was served, Deborah’s curiosity got the best of her, and she asked Helen about the women.

  “They are Central Americans,” Helen said, corroborating Deborah’s impression. “They’re from Nicaragua. It’s an arrangement that Dr. Saunders has made with
a colleague in that country. They come for a number of months on a work visa, and then return home. I have to say, they have solved a big problem for us by providing kitchen, cleaning, and serving help, which we were unable to find in this area.”

  “Do they come with their families?”

  “No, just by themselves. It’s a chance for them to make a serious amount of money, which they send back home.”

  “But they all look pregnant,” Deborah remarked. “Is that some kind of coincidence?”

  “No coincidence at all,” Helen said. “It’s a way for them to earn extra money. But listen, eat up! I really would like to show you the living quarters which I hope we can talk you into taking advantage of. I know you’ll be pleased with the rents. They’re shockingly reasonable, especially compared to those in Boston.”

  Deborah looked at Joanna to see if she’d been listening. For most of the meal Joanna had been preoccupied by Dr. Donaldson’s presence and the supposed need to keep her back to the table where the doctor had been sitting, but Dr. Donaldson had now left, and it was apparent to Deborah that Joanna had heard what Helen had said about the women laborers. Joanna returned Deborah’s stare with a look that was a mixture of dismay and disbelief.

  MAY 9, 2001

  2:10 P.M.

  AFTER LUNCH HELEN MANAGED

  to get the two women into the golf cart despite Joanna’s reservations. Once the tour began, even Joanna found it interesting. The size of the property was impressive, and most of it was covered with dense, old-growth forest. The residences of the upper-echelon personnel like Wingate, Saunders, Donaldson, and a few of the others were detached homes similar to the gatehouse in style although with white trim instead of black, making them significantly more appealing.

  Even the average workers’ housing was charming. The buildings were two-story row houses grouped together in a fashion reminiscent of a rural English village. The two-bedroom unit Helen showed the women was quite homey. Its front windows looked over a small, cobblestoned central square, while its larger rear windows faced south, affording a view over the millpond. Equally attractive was the rent: eight hundred dollars a month.