Extreme Measures (1991)

by Michael Palmer

  "Thanks to that lawyer, I am," he said. "I'm really exhausted, that's all. And I'm desperate as hell to get back at someone--anyone--for what we've been through. You know, I wasn't even able to bury Verdi. I left his body on the balcony."

  She kissed him once again and then led him to the oak table in the dining alcove.

  "You'll get the chance," she said. "For what it's worth, Bernard and I believe that whoever killed Verdi broke into your place looking for what we have right here." She motioned to the pile of ledgers and papers on the table. "This is some stuff, Eric. Wait till you see it. A lot of it didn't make sense to us, but we have a feeling it will to you. Are you up to looking at it now?"

  "I'm exhausted, but I'm not dead," he said. "Let's do it."

  They began by scanning Donald Devine's two ledgers, but quickly discarded the larger of them as being pure mortuary business. The other book was much more of an enigma. There were, in all, seventy entries, spanning more than two years. The first entry read:

  P.F. -- 3/19 -- Rx by W., transf. by C. -- arr. GOH 3/21; dpt. 3/24. Cost to GOH $200; transp. costs $511; Tot. $711; Dep. $150; bal. due, $561. Pd. 41 2.

  "You have gasoline receipts that correspond to this P.F?" Eric asked.

  Laura retrieved a small stack and placed them in front of him.

  "There are some I can't find, but fifty-nine of the seventy entries match a set of these," she said. "They're all round trips from Boston to somewhere around here." She pointed to the circled area in the atlas.

  "What in hell was he into?"

  Laura turned his face to hers.

  "Eric, don't you see? The man had an intensive-care unit in his basement. Why would he have that if he only dealt with corpses? He was transporting bodies, all right, but I don't think they were dead ones."

  "Let's see if we can break one of these entries down," he said.

  When they had finished, they rewrote the item, filling in as much information as they could.

  P.F. March 19

  Treated by W.

  Transferred by C.

  Arrived Gates of Heaven March 21

  Departed March 24

  Cost to Gates of Heaven $200

  Transportation costs (Gas receipts plus meals)--$522

  Total $711 ($200 + $511)

  Balance due, $561 ($150 advance payment)

  Paid April 2

  The initials heading each entry were different, but the abbreviations W. and C. were present in every item, except for the last four. Three of those four, including ET, were treated by C. and transferred by C. The fourth, coded L.L., was incomplete.

  As they studied each item, other patterns began to emerge as well. Each case spanned four or five days, from the initial date through transfer to the Gates of Heaven two days later, and ending with transport, presumably to southeastern Utah, two or three days after that.

  "This is incredible," Eric muttered over and over. "This is absolutely incredible."

  "These people listed here weren't dead, were they?"

  "I don't think so."

  "What could Devine have been up to?"

  "I'm not sure he was up to anything--at least not on his own. He was a strange little duck, but unless he was an absolute Jekyll and Hyde, it's hard to imagine him doing anything but taking orders from someone and getting paid."

  "I agree." She walked across the room and back. "Eric," she asked finally, "do you think Devine could have had anything to do with Caduceus?"

  He pushed away from the table and looked up at her. Since their earner conversation, and her description of Devine's macabre basement chamber, that notion had been drifting in and out of his thoughts as well.

  "If all of these initials correspond to WMH patients, I think you may have something," he said. "With these dates, it shouldn't be too hard to check out--especially if I can get into the record room, or at least tap into the record room computers. Wouldn't that be something." He pounded his fist into his hand. "Goddam but wouldn't that just beat all."

  Laura's face was glowing.

  "Eric," she said, "I think he was part of them. I really do."

  At eight-thirty they packed up Donald Devine's material and opened the bottle of Chardonnay that Laura had picked up for them.

  "Tell me something," Eric asked. "Why do you think someone tried to kill you yesterday?"

  "I don't really know," she said. "Bernard thinks the people Scott was after still believe I'm a threat because I can locate that tape. If they thought I already had it, they'd have tried to capture me, then kill me later. Now he says I shouldn't leave this place until he gets back from Utah. But, Eric, I won't last a day cloistered in here."

  "You've got to do what he says."

  "I don't. Listen, I'm the one who started this by coming here. It's my brother we're after. I need to do something."

  "Look, just give me till tomorrow morning. I'm going to find a way to screen the files in the record room. Afterward, depending on what I find, we'll make some sort of move ... and we'll do it together."

  "What if the people at the hospital know you've been suspended and don't let you have access to the records?"

  "It wouldn't surprise me if Caduceus has already seen to that," he said. "But I'm not planning on going anywhere near the record room. If I'm correct, the whole system's computerized."

  "Explain."

  "Give me a minute," he said, picking up the phone.

  Laura listened as he called the White Memorial emergency room and spoke to a nurse who was obviously a good friend. In just the minute he had promised, he hung up, having obtained the access password to the WMH records.

  "It's FILE-RITE," he said. "Cute, huh? The password's all over the hospital, because every floor and nurses' station needs access to the records."

  "You mean anyone from anywhere can call in and get anyone else's medical record?"

  "It's not that easy. There's probably a call-back built into the security system to prevent unauthorized outside callers from getting in. It requires the caller to type in his phone number, and then checks it against an approved file and either hangs up or returns the call."

  "So you've got to use a computer inside the hospital?"

  "Exactly."

  "For how long?"

  "Dunno. It depends on how complete the user menu for the records department is. If it's real complete--and I think it is--I may need only a couple of hours to do what I have to."

  "But where in the hospital can you work that long without somebody seeing you?"

  He pulled her to him.

  "Remember my friend Subarsky--the one I built the laser with?"

  "The one you grew up with in Watertown."

  "Exactly. He has an IBM that's connected to the hospital system, and he's probably good enough with computers to fill in the million or so blanks in my knowledge."

  "Well, I promise to stay put if you promise to be careful."

  He traced the lines of her perfect mouth with his fingertip.

  "And I promise to be careful if you promise to let me at that smooth little place just below ..."

  She cupped her hand to his lips as she undid the top few buttons of his shirt. Then suddenly she pulled away and raced up the ladder to the loft. Before Eric could react, her sweater floated down onto his lap. Seconds later her jeans followed.

  "Can you make it up here with your injuries?" she called out.

  "I can," he said. "In fact, if this meteor shower continues, I may not need the ladder."

  He left his clothes at the foot of the ladder and climbed up to the loft. Laura lay naked on the futon, her chin resting on her hands as she stared out the half-moon window at the river. Beneath the soft glow of light reflected off the ceiling, her slim, long body was like a sculptor's masterpiece.

  She turned to him. "Does it frighten you that I'm falling in love with you?" she whispered.

  "The only thing that frightens me is realizing I've never let myself feel anything until now," he said.

  For an hour
they made love--desperately at first, then with such slow, exquisite tenderness that before long it seemed neither of them could survive another touch. Finally, locked in each other's arms, they slept, their breathing and their bodies working in gentle, perfect harmony.

  Six miles away, in East Boston, Rocky DiNucci shuffled into a phone booth, laughing to himself. Crumpled in his hands was a poster he had torn off the side of a warehouse on the docks.

  "Rocky the elephant," he cackled. "They call me punchy, but what do they know? Yessiree, yessiree. Ol' Rocky the elephant. That's me."

  He dropped a coin into the phone, smoothed the poster out, and dialed.

  At five thirty Eric was up, alternately pacing about the apartment and poring over the ledger taken from Donald Devine. After a peaceful hour in Laura's arms, visions of Anna Delacroix, the death's-head mask, and Verdi lying dead in his sink began intruding on his sleep. Surviving as an emergency physician had meant becoming somewhat inured to the ugliness and brutality in the world, to the sad results of man's capability for violence, self-destruction, and a myriad of unfeeling acts. But nothing had prepared him for the evil he and Laura were confronting.

  He shuffled to the bathroom and studied himself in the mirror--the bruises, the tension in his jaw, the strange metallic anger in his eyes. It was like looking at a total stranger. He had been battered and pushed beyond the limits of his tolerance by faceless men and women who seemed ready to kill and maim without hesitation. And now he knew that if he was to survive, if he was to spend his life in the profession he had chosen and with the woman he was growing to love, he had to be ready to fight by their rules.

  Laura and Bernard Nelson had taken the first steps toward reprisal. Now it was his turn. And waiting for him in Dave Subarsky's lab was the weapon he would use to begin his counterattack against the faceless ones--a computer. Leaving a note in case Laura awoke, he slipped from the apartment and made copies of the ledger pages at an all-night convenience store on Berkeley.

  He returned to find her up and cooking breakfast. She was wearing only a man's dress shirt, and the sight of the full length of her wonderful legs immediately began diverting Eric's thoughts from the task at hand.

  "Bernard said to make full use of the place," she said. "You don't think he'll mind that I borrowed one of his shirts, do you?"

  "If he learns where it's been, I don't think he'll ever wash it again."

  "You got the copies?"

  "Uh-huh. I'm going to wait another fifteen minutes and then call Dave. With luck, we'll be able to screen the E.R. visits on the days listed here, looking for people with these initials."

  "I want to come."

  Eric shook his head.

  "I know waiting here's going to be harder than what I have to do," he said, "but you can't take the chance of someone's recognizing you."

  "But what if they recognize you?" she asked.

  "If they wanted me dead, they could have done it. No, they want people thinking I'm crazy so no one will pay any attention to what I have to say. There's no way they could know how many people I've spoken to about my tetrodotoxin theories, so their best approach is simply to discredit me altogether. Killing me would only add weight to the possibility that I was onto something."

  "I hope you're right. I just keep wondering how that woman knew to be at the medical library."

  He looked at her, startled.

  "You know," he said, "with all that's happened, I hadn't thought about that at all."

  "Well, do. And please be careful."

  He kissed her on the back of the neck.

  "I will. I have too much to live for to cash out now."

  "Okay, then," she said reluctantly. "I'll stay here and catch up on the soaps. It's only been two or three years, so I shouldn't have much trouble. Damn! I don't like being made helpless."

  "I know. But after what happened yesterday, we should try at least to pick and choose when we take chances."

  "Just do me one favor, then. Start with that P.T. person."

  "You think that was Scott?"

  "The dates match."

  "Okay, I will. But, Laura, please don't hold out too much hope."

  "When I see his body, I'll stop hoping," she said, setting Spanish omelets and a dish of hash-browns on the table. "And when I see you back in this apartment in one piece, I'll stop worrying."

  Eric broke from their meal to call Dave Subarsky. Five minutes later he was back.

  "We're in luck," he said excitedly, helping himself to seconds. "Dave feels there's a good chance we can get into the record-room system."

  "Just be careful," she said again.

  He flexed his muscle.

  "Does a man with these biceps need to worry?"

  "Eric, I'm serious."

  Eric pulled her to her feet, slipped his hands beneath her shirttail, and held her tightly.

  "Damn right," he said.

  Eric took the river walk to the hospital. The flat gray morning was chilled by a steady wind that whipped at him from behind and sent a heavy chop across the dark water. An occasional bundled jogger chugged past, but otherwise he was alone. He tried to focus on the computer search he was about to attempt, but his thoughts were continually sidetracked by the question Laura had raised. Just how did Anna Delacroix come to find me at the Countway?

  He had assumed that her interest in him had been triggered by his interest in tetrodotoxin, and that her perception of him as a threat to her cult had subsequently arisen as a result of the information he had shared with her about the White Memorial cases. But what if she had been at the Countway because of him? What if her people had already known of his growing suspicion of the arcane poison? How would they have found that out when I didn't really speak to anyone outside the hospital?

  He turned the questions over and over in his mind, considering first the likelihood that Anna or someone connected with her had been following him all along, and then the possibility of whether the death's-head priest could have purposely sent her to make contact with him while they were arranging the whole Sproul Court nightmare.

  The questions were still gnawing at him as Eric entered the hospital through the outpatient department and quickly took the stairway down to the tunnel connecting all the WMH buildings. He passed no one who showed any particular notice of him along the way. Dave Subarsky was waiting in his office with coffee and doughnuts.

  "So," he said, "public enemy number one surfaces. Man who kill our women, rape our buffalo." He set his beefy hands on Eric's shoulders. "You holding up okay?" There was no mistaking the concern in his eyes.

  "I've been better."

  "I should hope so. Here, have a chocolate-covered. I understand they're a special favorite of the criminal element."

  "I'm about as much of a criminal as you are."

  "Careful what company you put yourself in. I've been known to pull a few labels off mattresses in my day."

  Subarsky hoisted his size thirteens onto the corner of the desk and tugged absently at his beard.

  "I take it, then, that every phantasmagoric thing you've been telling the press and the police is true."

  "Everything."

  "And the cocaine?"

  "Do you know a straighter arrow about that stuff than I am?" Eric asked.

  "But why would someone set you up like that?"

  "That, my furry friend, is what I was hoping you might help me figure out."

  "Well, then, that being the case, my computer is at your disposal, along with my somewhat limited knowledge of its applications. But first, how about telling me what we're looking for?"

  Eric set the copies of Donald Devine's ledger on the desk.

  "Settle back, big fella," he said. "This ain't gonna be pretty."

  Starting from the day in February when he failed to resuscitate the man named John Doe, Eric took the biochemist step-by-step through his initial meeting with Laura, their encounters with Thaddeus Bushnell and Donald Devine, and finally to the tie-in with the horrible events
surrounding the death of Loretta Leone. Subarsky listened thoughtfully and without comment. When Eric finished describing Laura's break-in at the Gates of Heaven, and the conclusions suggested by Devine's notes and the basement intensive-care room, Dave whistled softly through his teeth.

  "You have gotten yourself into some shit, my man," he said. "I will say that."

  "Laura's in even deeper than I am. Some organized-crime types think she's a threat to unearth this video showing them in a drug deal. Apparently her brother did the filming while he was undercover. Yesterday the bastards tried to run her down. They actually killed a guy in the process."

  "She doesn't know anything about the video?"

  "Nothing."

  "Like I said, you are really into some shit...." Subarsky crumpled a sheet of paper and lofted it into the wastebasket ten feet away. "So," he said, "where do you want to start?"

  "Look at this list, Dave. If we can find WMH patients whose names correspond to these initials, we'll have at least forged the link from Devine to the hospital."

  "And you think one of the three bigwigs on that search committee is part of this Caduceus thing, and whoever that is tried to recruit you and may be at the bottom of this whole business?"

  Eric shrugged. "Maybe. At this point I'm only guessing."

  "Well, then, Don Quixote," Subarsky said, booting up his terminal, "let's have at it."

  Using the FILE-RITE password, Dave quickly worked his way into the main menu of the record-room computerized data system. As Eric had suspected, White Memorial had gone into electronic data in the most comprehensive way. The menu of available functions and maneuvers was exhaustive. Subarsky retrieved from his desk a manual describing in detail the hospital's computer capabilities and codes.

  "Here," he said, handing the manual over, "you do the brain work; I'll do the grunt work."

  Eric studied the screen, and then the book. "Type RETRIEVE," he said.

  With Eric issuing the commands, they moved like mice in a maze from one menu to the next, into dead-end alleys and then back out again. Their goal, the reward waiting at the far side of the maze, was a list--a compilation of those patients seen in the emergency room on February 25, the first date noted beside the initials PT. Twenty minutes passed.