Bada-BOOM!

by Wally Duff

  Today, she wore a tight, yellow, low-cut halter top, white short-shorts, and strappy, white, four-inch stiletto heels. My outfit was a one-eighty from Molly’s. I wore black sweat pants and a black T-shirt. Over it, I had a black Under Armor stadium hoodie that I would pull up if I needed to conceal my face.

  I wore a fanny pack. In it, I carried my Glock 19, my cell phone, my lock pick gun and torque wrench, and a can of Raid wasp and hornet spray, Cas’s version of over-the-counter pepper spray.

  Molly’s narrow heels click-clacked on the tile floor of the atrium. My shoes? Not so much, because I wore my black ASICS running shoes.

  Fertig’s and Warren’s offices were located in the same building; Fertig’s on the second floor, Warren’s on the fourth. People rode on elevators to the hospital on the south side of the atrium. Because it was Sunday, no one was even remotely close to the office building’s elevators, which were at least forty feet away to the north.

  This time, only one man sat at the atrium’s communication desk. Molly was going to distract him long enough for me to sneak up the stairs to the second floor of the doctor’s building. These were the same stairs I sprinted up when I was late for my eye exam with Warren.

  Molly walked up to the desk and faced the man. She kept her back toward the hospital’s entrance and faced the doctor’s building elevators. I walked the opposite direction to the boutique clothing store, which was located next to the elevators to the doctor’s building. I peered in, pretending I was window shopping.

  The man turned his back to me and faced Molly as she leaned on his desk. She began to chat him up. He ignored me and his security screens as he gave Molly his full attention.

  Our plan is working.

  He didn’t see me open the door to the stairwell up to Fertig’s office. I waved at Molly. She winked at me and kept talking to the man. His head was still turned away from me.

  I pulled up my hoodie and sprinted up the stairs. I exited on the second floor.

  Let’s do this!

  18

  Fertig’s office took up the entire west side of the second floor of the building. His locked office door was my first barrier. I put on latex gloves and inserted my electric lock pick gun and torque wrench into the lock.

  I’d purchased the equipment on the Internet years ago to use on a story I was researching in Afghanistan for the Washington Post. I opened the lock in less than one minute. Taking in a deep breath, I entered Fertig’s office.

  Whoa.

  Warren’s office looked like it had been decorated with used furniture from Goodwill compared to Fertig’s. Here, the beige carpet was handmade wool, and it was so thick, my ASICS running shoes sank down until all I could see were the tops of my shoelaces.

  There were so many original paintings on the walls that I felt like I was in the West Gallery of the Frick in New York City. I recognized some of the chairs and tables as original French antiques I’d seen in high-end stores in Chicago.

  The only noise came from the hum of the computers in other rooms. I sniffed and didn’t pick up any unusual odors. I scanned the area for security cameras. Not seeing any, I slipped the hoodie back off of my head.

  I went through the inner door on my left and found twelve patient exam rooms, a nurse’s station, a lab, two ultrasound rooms, three mammogram areas, a CT room, and an MRI machine. To my right were clerical offices with several computers and a bathroom. I moved the mouse on one computer, and the screen lit up.

  I got out my cell phone and took a picture and a video of the screen, the hard drive, and the rest of the setup. I did the same thing with the office.

  I walked to the end of the office, and other than finding an additional small lunchroom and an employee’s entrance door in the back wall of the office, I didn’t find anything suspicious.

  Opening cabinet drawers, I continued my hunt for paper charts. I even went into the bathroom and linen closet but didn’t find anything.

  Reversing my course, I walked to the other end of the hallway, where I found Fertig’s private office. When I walked in, I had to stop and catch my breath. The room was nearly an exact replica of the papal study in the Apostolic Palace, where I’d previously been while doing a story on the new Pope.

  One difference from the papal study was the computer on Fertig’s desk. Cas said doctors, especially surgeons, assumed they were God, but this was ridiculous. Fertig did think he was. I took pictures of the room and his computer and hard drive setup.

  I made a circuit around the room but didn’t discover any cabinets or closets with hidden paper charts. There were twelve patient exam rooms, indicating Fertig ran a volume practice. If each of his breast cancer patients had a paper chart, that would be a whole lot of records.

  Where the heck are they?

  19

  I called Linda instead of texting. “I’m in Fertig’s office, but I haven’t found any paper charts,” I said. “Can you download the building plans and see what’s below his office?”

  “Give me a sec,” Linda said.

  Her fingers clicked on the keyboard.

  “Got it,” she said.

  Silence.

  “Linda?”

  “Hold on.”

  More silence.

  “Speed it up,” I said. “I don’t know how long I have before someone discovers I’m in here.”

  “There’s a room two floors directly below his office. It’s in the basement level.”

  “How big is it?”

  “The size of his entire office.”

  “That might be it.”

  “One problem. I don’t see a door in or out of it.”

  “How is that even possible?” I asked. “All storage areas have to have an exit door. It’s a fire code or something.”

  “I’m telling you, the building plans show a large room with no door.”

  “Is there a stairway into that room?” I asked.

  “Not in this plan, but if Fertig wanted to keep the charts down there, the only access to the room might be hidden in his office.”

  “Which I’m in, but I don’t see any door.”

  Or do I?

  “Call you right back.”

  I continued searching. There was one other item in Fertig’s office that wasn’t in the Pope’s study. A large original Picasso hung on the wall behind Fertig’s desk.

  I wonder?

  I walked up to it and wiggled the painting. It didn’t move.

  I ran my fingers up and down both sides of the frame and felt a narrow vertical hinge on the right side. It ran the full length of the frame and was painted the color of the wall, effectively camouflaging it from anything other than a close examination.

  The bottom edge of that hinge continued in a concealed groove down the wall to the floor. Moving my fingers down the left side of the painting, I discovered another hidden vertical seam that also ran to the floor.

  A door?

  Was this his access route to the room in the basement? But if it was, he needed to have a mechanism to open it. I pushed the painting’s frame, but nothing happened. I ran my fingers around the entire frame looking for a button or latch but didn’t discover one.

  I called Linda and told her what I’d found.

  “Check his desk for a switch to open the door,” she suggested.

  “Got it.”

  I disconnected and sat down in Fertig’s chair. I stared at the large antique desk. I assumed he was right-handed, so first, I ran my fingers around the right edges of the desk.

  Nothing.

  The rest of the exterior of the desk was next.

  No switch.

  I began to sweat. This was taking too long. Opening the top drawer on the right, I felt around inside.

  Bingo!

  There was a button hidden underneath the top of the drawer frame. I pushed it. There was a swooshing noise behind me. I swiveled around in Fertig’s chair and saw that the Picasso painting and that portion of the wall had opened toward me into the room.

&
nbsp; I jumped out of Fertig’s chair and peeked behind the opening. There was a second, conventional door behind the first one. I turned the doorknob and wiggled the door. It was locked.

  There was a keypad above the doorknob. I didn’t have the combination.

  Now what?

  20

  I called Linda and told her what I’d found.

  “Take a picture of the keypad and email it to me,” Linda said.

  I did and sent it into cyberspace.

  “Do you think Fertig’s a narcissist?” she asked after she received the picture.

  “Is a bluebird blue? Of course I do.”

  “Try 0813.”

  I did. The lock clicked open.

  “How did you know that was the combination?” I asked.

  “Who does Fertig love more than anyone else in the world?”

  “Himself?”

  “Good guess. It’s his birthday, August 13th.”

  I disconnected. I pushed the door inward and stepped onto the landing of a staircase. Steps on my right disappeared into darkness. They went in only one direction from this level: down.

  There was a small switch on the left side of the wall. I flipped it up. Lights came on, illuminating the staircase. I wanted to prevent having someone sneak up behind me, so I needed to close both doors, beginning with the Picasso door, which didn’t have a doorknob.

  There had to be a control switch to operate it.

  I found it next to the second door frame. I pushed the button. The Picasso door swooshed shut. The second door did have a knob, and I pushed it closed.

  I walked down two flights of stairs. There was another door at the bottom. It was locked and had a keypad similar to the one two floors above me. I punched in 0813. Nothing happened.

  Damn!

  I was so close. I called Linda.

  “A second door, right?” she asked before I could say anything.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “If Fertig wants to keep his charts secret, a different security pad combination would be his last line of defense.”

  “If 0813 doesn’t work, what does?”

  “Try 915 RF.”

  “Linda, there aren’t any letters on this keypad.”

  “Sorry, 91573.”

  I tried it. The lock opened.

  “I’m in. What’s that number?”

  “A toy for his favorite person.”

  I waited.

  “It’s the tail number for his private jet, a sixty million dollar Gulfstream G550.”

  21

  I stared into a black void. The only illumination in the room came from the lights in the stairway behind me. I felt around and found a switch on the wall. I flipped it up, and the sudden flash from the fluorescent lights going on temporarily blinded me. I blinked a couple of times, and my vision returned.

  Wow.

  The room was the size of Fertig’s entire office. I counted eight lanes of shelves going away from me. They ran the length of the room. Each shelf was five rows high. From where I stood, there appeared to be paper charts neatly filed into both sides of each shelf in all five rows. If there were empty shelves, I couldn’t see them from where I stood.

  The only sound came from the hum of the lights and my breathing. The air smelled musty, and dust particles, probably from older paper charts, irritated my nose.

  I sneezed.

  Get going!

  I turned around and shut off the lights on the stairway. I closed the door to prevent anyone from sneaking up on me while I did my investigation.

  As I stepped back into the room, I sneezed two more times. I sniffed and then wiped my dripping nose, first with my hand and then with my only other option, the back of my hoodie sleeve.

  I slid out four charts from a shelf to my left and snapped pictures of everything Linda and Cas wanted. I shoved the charts back and shot a video of the room, then looked at the shelves again.

  Something’s weird.

  I could easily reach the charts and read the individual numbers on the edge of each chart, even on the top rows. I glanced up at the ceiling. There was room for at least three more levels of shelving before they would touch the ceiling.

  A lot of wasted space.

  Unless… the only person accessing the charts was short and didn’t want to have to use a stepstool to reach the top row of charts.

  Someone who was shorter than me.

  Fertig and his cowboy boots…

  This had to be the secret room where he hid his paper charts. I walked halfway down another row, slipped out three more charts, and snapped more pictures. I took one more step and my phone rang. The unexpected sound made me jump.

  I answered.

  “Tina, get out!” Linda screamed. “Cops and security personnel are running into the building!”

  22

  My heart began pounding against my sternum.

  “Call Molly to distract them!” I shouted. “I need time to get out of here!”

  “Even if she takes off all of her clothes, there are too many of them!” Linda exclaimed.

  If I was going to be arrested, I didn’t want it to be for nothing. “I’m going to send you the pictures of the charts I took, in case I’m arrested.”

  “There isn’t time! They’re waiting for the elevator!”

  I disconnected and sprinted down the length of inner wall of the room looking for a hidden exit door.

  I didn’t find one.

  Do something!

  I sneezed again. Perfect. Even if I tried to hide, my nose would betray me, and they would hear my allergic reaction to dust.

  Hiding was my only option.

  But where?

  I spun around in a circle. There wasn’t anywhere to hide except behind the end of one row of shelves.

  Or to lie flat on top of one of the shelves.

  I ran to the last row of shelves at the end of the room furthest from the door. I slid my hand between the vertical metal edge of the frame and the charts on the first row. My plan was to push the charts far enough away from the frame to gain a toehold so I could climb up to the top row.

  I wiggled the toe of my ASICS into the space I’d created on the first row. Grabbing the vertical edge of the frame, I stood up, hoping the shelf would hold my weight.

  It worked!

  After sliding the charts on the upper four rows away from the metal frame, I quickly climbed to the top where I discovered a metal top completely covering the charts. At least I had a place to lie down if the shelves held my weight.

  I gingerly sat down on the top shelf. I shifted my weight slightly and nothing happened. The shelves wouldn’t collapse under me.

  Looking around, I noticed the shelves didn’t go all the way to the ceiling. I had enough room to straighten up and touch it.

  Huh?

  The two-by-two, white, drop-ceiling tiles were the only thing above me. I pushed up on one of the tiles and slid it to the side. I raised my head to peek into the dark gap above the ceiling tiles. Enough room light filtered in so I could see a two-foot space between the ceiling and the tiles.

  Uh-oh.

  Room lights?

  Damn!

  If the cops found them on, they would know for certain I was down here.

  After repositioning the tile, I hopped down and sprinted to the light switch. I turned on my cell phone light and shut off the room lights. I turned to run back to the last shelf.

  My cell phone battery died.

  23

  The last time I’d been in total darkness was during a cave tour in Colorado Springs, and the flashlight batteries on my hardhat went dead. I was terrified until my friends found me. This time, the cops were after me and the room was pitch black.

  Don’t give up!

  I had my Glock and Raid spray, even though I wasn’t sure how I would use them against the Chicago PD and the hospital security personnel.