Black Hawk Day Rewind: An action packed spy thriller (Mark Savannah Espionage Series Book 1)

by Dominick Fencer

Even if Davis had seemed sincere, there were still many questions needing answers. Of course, Davis had brought him to Dallas for a reason, and Mark had every intention of finding out what that was.

  David Marshall, the director of the neurology department, was waiting for him in his office and, when Mark knocked on the door there came a mumbled "Come in" with no harmonics; Mark laughed at the vision of Marshall with two chocolates in his mouth. In fact, Marshall’s left hand was holding a still untouched muffin and his right a cup of coffee.

  "Thank goodness you only have two hands, David!" Mark said laughing.

  "Would you like some coffee? A couple of chocolates? A donut?" asked Marshall winking. He opened a drawer in which he had just placed a tray with three donuts.

  "Lucky you're a doctor!” laughed Mark. “What other goodies have you got in that drawer? Any serious vices you need to feed? Do you smoke? Drink? Use copious quantities of drugs?"

  "No, no, I only have a few olfactory hallucinations sometimes. I smell truffles, but I can’t explain it, maybe you can find an explanation. I'm joking!"

  "I was falling for it, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised at all. When I was finishing my PhD, I looked after a colleague who couldn’t cure his fixation on snakes: every so often, when he was at home, he had hallucinations of a snake that passed through his living room and then disappeared under a piece of furniture. He was desperate. No treatment worked and under pharmacology therapy his condition was worsening, and then he came to me."

  "What was your diagnosis?"

  "First, I called in a reptile disinfestation service, since he had a home with a garden. No one in his family had thought about it. Sure, of course, they had looked for the snake several times, but without results."

  “Then?"

  "I immediately made him stop the treatments and drugs. And we found it: a fine specimen of a Natrix."

  "I can’t believe it."

  "Yeah, it's an episode worth dwelling on."

  "Here, instead, we have two people that arrived about a week ago: one suffering from Internet addiction disorder, male, 15 years old, and the other, male, 37 years old, has a BlackBerry dependency that so strong it’s even disabling.

  “They were sent here because, despite several expert opinions, neither of their problems had been solved; in fact, they were getting worse. I've called you here for this. Frankly, like my colleagues, I don’t know what to do with them."

  "So this is my job?"

  "You’ll assist the residents, the hospital patients, and work on these two cases. There’s still no established literature that can offer guidance, so I’m placing my trust in you, Dr. Stearman! We'll meet every day to discuss the development of the two cases."

  "OK, David. Where are the patients?"

  “They’re hospitalized on this floor: East Wing rooms 324 and 331. Here are their medical histories. Let’s go."

  Marshall got up and walked to the east wing followed by Mark, then stopped in front of a door that bore the name plate Dr. M. Stearman.

  "There you go; this is now your office. You can install whatever you think is appropriate, and you can improve its decor as you want, at your own expense, of course. The laptop is already configured, and now I’ll call a technician to show you the procedures, applications, where you will find the archives of medical records, sensitive data, the diary of patients, and will set your access level. Well, I’ve told you everything…at this point I just need to say goodbye and have a nice day Mark!"

  "Thanks for everything David. Good day to you, too. See you tomorrow!"

  Mark picked up one of the two medical histories; the one of the thirty-seven year old guy with BlackBerry dependency syndrome and began to browse through it.

  58

  Alan Cox was the Commercial Director of a petrochemical group, he was not married, he did not drink, he did not smoke and he went to the gym regularly.

  He had had two operations in his life: an appendectomy and surgery on his meniscus. The rest of his medical history revealed neither serious problems nor behavioral disorders of any kind.

  Alan had been hospitalized in the psychiatric ward twice that year, first in Houston and then in Austin, but without any positive results.

  The hospitalization, forced in both cases, was necessary due to a violent panic attack while driving in heavy traffic, followed by an aggressive reaction to the rescuers who were only trying to help him and to calm him down. In both episodes he had taken a knife out from his pocket and tried to stab people.

  The patient had initially suffered from BlackBerry addiction; showing signs of this addiction and withdrawal when the device was turned off and when it was taken away from him.

  Later, he began to manifest obsessive thoughts and uncontrollable impulses to be in visual and tactile contact with the device. When he was hospitalized for the second time, the doctors also diagnosed him with "BlackBerry phantom syndrome", that is he had auditory hallucinations and answered non-existent calls.

  The clinical picture was further aggravated by psycho-cognitive hyperactivation, sleep imbalances (he suffered from insomnia at night and he fell asleep suddenly during the day as if he were narcoleptic), susceptibility and mood swings.

  When he had arrived at the Southwestern County Medical Center, his daytime hypnagogic hallucinations were frequent and often involved the BlackBerry transforming into a monstrous animal with horns that perched between his mouth and nose, preventing him from breathing.

  The drug therapy that he had received up to that moment had been directed mainly at treating his panic attacks and anxiety. It was also associated with psychotherapy, but it had not produced the desired effects.

  Mark locked the medical records of the young internet addict in his drawer, put Alan’s medical history under his arm and headed for room 324.

  "Can I come in?"

  "Could you give me back my BlackBerry?" Alan Cox asked quickly.

  "Not at this time," replied Mark calmly.

  "So it’s not allowed."

  "Hi Alan, my name is Mark Stearman and I’m the specialist that will be looking after you from now on."

  "Good morning, Doctor. It’s so boring here: all I have is this television and no real contact with the outside world."

  "I understand. If it's OK with you, we'll have a chat. We should probably take a different path if you want to get back to using the web and the phone. I need to get a clear understanding of the problem. We have to trust each other to be successful in solving your problem. Do you feel like working on that?"

  "Certainly, at least I can stop being bored and just thinking all the time about missing the BlackBerry."

  "Tell me how it all started. I have already read your story in the medical records, but could you give me a detailed explanation of your job and how you spend your leisure time?"

  "I’ll begin with free time: I go to the gym three times a week, and in the evening I usually I go out to dinner, alone or with friends."

  "Do you read?"

  "Nope, I don’t have time."

  "Do you have any hobbies?"

  "I have no time, but sometimes I go to the cinema. I get up at 6:30 in the morning; if I'm not traveling, I take the car and drive about 62 miles to go to the office. I come home around 9:00 pm.

  “I’m the Commercial Director of a petrochemical group and I deal mainly with countries that produce raw materials. I travel a lot and my counterparts generally are not private. I have a lifestyle that causes me a lot of stress but also a lot of satisfaction. I don’t want to change job. I love what I do."

  Mark looked down at the file in front of him and then spoke:

  "Your medical history doesn’t indicate that you’ve had anxiety attacks in the past."

  "Absolutely not, you have to take into account that due to a car accident that I had a year ago, I had my spleen, liver, part of my stomach and heart removed. Isn’t that written in my medical records?"

  "No, of course, we haven’t yet received all the information fro
m the hospital that took care of you. How do you feel?"

  "I feel good, even though I'm a little bit disorientated at times. I would have expected total annihilation instead, but luckily my working pace is always the same."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "What kind of question is that? Because I died in surgery!"

  "Are you sure you died?!!"

  "Absolutely! I'm dead, and now I'm in a present without several organs, but my daily routine hasn’t changed. How do you explain it? I had the first crisis immediately after the accident, the horrible, inescapable feeling that I was dying, I couldn’t find my BlackBerry to get help."

  "Who rescued you?"

  "I don’t remember. An ambulance arrived, but the paramedics kept telling me that it was a panic attack and that I wasn’t dying. They said that I had slightly rear-ended the car in front of me. They kept on talking, and then I reacted. They were wasting time and I was dying! Finally, they realized that I was dying with serious internal injuries, so they took me to the hospital and there they removed the organs and replaced them with new ones. But I died all the same, and here I am. You are dead, too, only it might be that you don’t want to let me know."

  "Do you know that you are being treated for a BlackBerry addiction?"

  "Certainly, otherwise, what else would we talk about?"

  "What does that device mean to you?"

  "That the situation is under control, nothing more. It’s just a work tool."

  "How many hours a day do you work normally?"

  "About twelve, or thirteen. It depends on the period."

  "Do you sleep enough at night?"

  "I’m satisfied with my routine. I don’t sleep more than three hours a night…I can’t sleep more, not even when I’m on vacation.

  “I saw it again,” Alan is leaning forward pointing to Mark’s pocket. “It was in your pocket. Doctor. Do you happen to have a BlackBerry in your pocket?"

  "What did you see, Alan?"

  "The hairy monster who always tries to choke me..."

  "Alan, there is no hairy monster. It’s just your imagination, dependency plays dirty tricks, but I’m convinced that we’ll find a solution and you’ll be back in possession of your life and your BlackBerry."

  "Doctor, I am not at all convinced, but I hope I can go home soon. I don’t like it here, the food is terrible."

  After this remarkable conversation, Mark continued his visit with a thorough physical examination and updated the medical record.

  "Well, we'll see you tomorrow morning to start an alternative therapy. You’re going to make it. Now… have a nice day!"

  Savannah left the room thinking deeply. He picked up the phone and dialed Marshall’s number. “This is Mark, have you got a minute, David? I just visited Alan Cox, and I’d like to talk to you."

  "OK, I’m in my office."

  David Marshall was working on the computer when Mark knocked on the door.

  "Come in, Mark!"

  "Hello David, when your team made their diagnosis, did they include all of the, let's say, nuances?"

  "Yes, it’s complete and as you can see the medical record has been integrated with the information received from the other two hospitals. Why do you ask?"

  "Cotard’s syndrome. It's a rarely diagnosed disease, frequently confused with mere hallucinations ascribed to addiction and completely missed. The syndrome has created a strong alteration in reality: Cox believes that he has lost some of his vital organs and that he’s actually dead."

  "That's a very rare psychiatric syndrome, isn’t it? I have no experience with Cotard’s syndrome."

  "It’s true, it is very rare, but I'm sure that he has both the addiction and Cotard's syndrome. It makes this case quite complicated: I have to think on it some more, so far the therapy has achieved no positive results other than to calm the patient. I’d like to try another drug therapy combined with hypnosis. Will you give me the green light?"

  "Sure…send me the treatment that you intend to give him, in accordance with the procedure, and I will grant you the authorization. When you get the patient’s consent you can start the therapy."

  "Ok, thank you. I'll visit Alan again tomorrow. Now I'm going to take care of the students. Bye, David."

  When Mark crossed the reception on his way to the north wing of the hospital, the clerk called to him. "Doctor Stearman, good morning! We received a package for you. Here it is."

  Finally, Mark had his smartphone back; he put the package in his pocket, intending to open it in the peace and quiet of his apartment.

  Mark stayed with the interns throughout the afternoon, then went to his studio to get the therapeutic protocol for Alan Cox: he wanted to use hypnosis to reprogram the patient’s subconscious instead of benzodiazepine anxiolytics and antidepressants.

  While he was in his studio, he unwrapped his new device; he couldn’t wait for the evening – the irony of that wasn’t lost on him. He checked out its various applications for almost two hours. After that he downloaded the photo of the agent who had tried to kill him in Aisha’s apartment, and then wrote to Pavel using the protected line.

  "QRV Digitrevenant69, hello, thanks! The woman is the one that tried to kill me, see what you can find out about her. I’m certain she works for Colonel Reed. I'm fine, and yourself?"

  Pavel was on line and immediately replied, "QSL, but I have not spoken to A for two days. She’s driving me crazy."

  "W?"

  "She got me excited as hell and then, out of the blue, she went home without letting me do anything."

  "She shouldn’t play with your feelings, but you have to get over her. There are fascinating women who are after you and you don’t even see at them."

  "What are you doing in Dallas?" wrote Pavel.

  "My old job and I’m waiting for the delicate issue to grow cold, in the meantime I’m thinking of a medium-term strategy. I can’t move for now."

  "I'll let you know about the photo, but what happened to her? Although you beat her black and blue, she still looks very beautiful. Is she alive?"

  "The truth is I left her alive and, yes, she is really beautiful."

  "Why didn’t you kill her…Are you getting soft?"

  "Something familiar about her stopped me, I don’t know. Among other things, she could have killed me, but she didn’t. She is a tough nut and not that nice at all; in fact, she didn’t say anything and didn't give me any information. Anyway, thanks for everything. See you soon. And forget Anna…you’re wasting your time."

  "Sure, I know, I know. Have a nice evening. As soon as I discover something I'll write you."

  Mark realized that it was already past 8:00 pm. He left the Southwestern County Medical Center and headed home; at 10:00 pm, after having sent David the request for authorization on the protocol of Alan Cox, he started to watch a movie on television, but was fast asleep by the end of the first half.

  59

  "You are a pain in the ass, Green! Now get on this Cessna 172 M and we’ll fly over the Grand Canyon. I'm not going to take you to Santa Fe without enjoying that view, it's almost a forty-minute flight to the airfield. Get in here!" said Anaïs who had lost her patience.

  "They told me that many accidents occur each year because of the climatic conditions in the Grand Canyon. There are rotors, strange thermals and the wind conditions often change with gusts that come up suddenly. Let's go directly to the airfield. How long has it been since you've flown?" asked Green.

  "Since I left Switzerland to come here, but I’ve being practicing three hours per week on average. I’ve being flying for ten years and usually I change aircraft a lot to get more experience. Come on board or I’ll leave you here. Afterwards I am going to fly directly from Las Vegas to New York on a regularly scheduled flight; tomorrow I'm going to pay a courtesy visit to Aisha, she will not be very happy to see me.”

  Green still hesitated.

  “Damn it! Do you wanna get into this Cessna?” said Anaïs. “Trust me, you will enjoy flying o
ver the Grand Canyon and then I'll take you to her. She’ll join us, you’ll sit next to her and you’ll take her cold hands and voilà, la femme est faite, in the real sense of the word."

  "You’re such a romantic!" Jago C. Green said as he listlessly climbed into the Cessna.

  "What a brave man. What's her name?"

  "Ellen..."

  "Ellen, we’re going to arrive shortly!” Anaïs shouted out. “Oh yeah, let's fly!"

  Anaïs took off with determination and went immediately towards the Grand Canyon.

  She liked the sound of the engine, as always the vibrations tickling her body and the top-down perspective was something she could never do without. It seemed like she was riding the horizon between unlikely agitated slices of sky. Jago, on the contrary, was behind her, holding on to his seat belt and sweating from the temple.

  The turbulence began as expected and transverse gusts of wind repeatedly hit the aircraft, forcing Anaïs to constantly correct with stick and rudder.

  The intoxication of the air, light and colors made her feel at peace with herself; occasionally, she looked at the empty seat next to her, and she thought with a little touch of melancholy that she would have liked to have the navigator of her life with her to share the long shiver of pleasure that flights with him always gave her.

  When she turned to see Jago C. Green turn greenish, she decided it was time to head straight for Santa Fe.

  "If you could see yourself in the mirror, you would see the face of terror personified!" said SkylineP92, laughing with satisfaction. "I have no intention of making you feel sick. Half an hour under these conditions with you on board is sufficient. Relax now, OK? Let’s go get Ellen."

  After about forty-five minutes, they landed in Santa Fe and Jago went to look for Ellen. Anaïs stayed on the plane, getting ready to take off again with an additional passenger.

  Jago held Ellen’s hands during the flight, he explained the control panel to her and described the landscape below. When they disembarked in Santa Fe, fifty minutes later, they asked SkylineP92 if she wanted to stay with them for the rest of the day, but the agent warmly thanked them and quickly got back on the Cessna to return to Las Vegas.