Foreign Threat

by Mitchell Goldstein

They laughed and departed in opposite directions.

  Chapter 10

  The Whitefish apartment complex was definitely not paradise, but it was a place to call home until one could afford paradise. The front held a large white-lighted sign. If it weren’t missing half the lights, it probably would have been a halfway decent sign. The peeling paint from the sides of the building gave it a certain raunchy look. Passersby stared at it as they walked past, but they were not admiring it. It often helped them realize that they weren’t so bad off after all.

  The man in the overcoat had selected an apartment with a fantastic view. It enabled him to look out the window and see the three feeder streets that connected into the street outside his apartment building. It allowed easy visualization of the entrance to the front lobby. There were no back exits; he had checked before signing the lease.

  His apartment was on the top floor of a four-story building, providing a clear view of the surrounding neighborhood. His place was the only apartment in the complex to have easy access to the roof directly from his bedroom. He had already organized an escape plan to the roof where he had stored a long ladder so he could cross between buildings. He had obtained the key to open the rooftop door to the next building.

  The rundown apartment had an unexpectedly terrific security system. The man could watch anyone come through the front lobby doors as well as look at the underground parking and outside parking ramps. This was all he really needed to monitor his building. There were no security guards or doormen like at his last residence, eliminating the chance of enemies entering the workforce at the Whitefish. Certainly if any new people started to work at the Whitefish, they would stick out

  like a sore thumb. The man would be able to recognize it and

  move on.

  The place didn’t have much furniture, but then he didn’t really need a lot. There was a bed, a couch, and some other miscellaneous items. He had not bothered to purchase a television yet, but he had arranged to rent one for several days until he took time to buy one. This way he could watch the news and see how far the mission had progressed.

  Tonight, though, would not be good for T.V. shopping. He had to make another phone call abroad. He thought about his last phone call, which had gone well. Actually, the phone call itself went well, but afterwards the gangbangers made everything a little tough. He was glad he would not need to make many more phone calls. The plan was almost all set up, and the contacts were being made.

  He thought for a moment about how nice it would be if the mission were already completed. He would be able to retire in some beautiful paradise and not worry about a thing. He would be able to sit on a beach, sipping margaritas with a straw hat and some funny sunglasses. Gorgeous women would bring him drinks and kiss up to him.

  He woke himself up from this daydream. Time to figure out how to reach his phone on Sixth Street. It was definitely too far to walk, but he didn’t want to take a chance with the bus in case he needed to flee quickly. If he took his own car, the kids surely would destroy it. The taxi the last few times worked out well, but the most recent experience had been a close call. Unfortunately, it was the best option to have a getaway plan, so he called for a taxi.

  As he waited for the ride, he checked all the cameras for suspicious characters lurking around. He sat in a recliner chair and used the remote to view the channels with the different camera angles. The basement parking lot had a few places someone could get in and hide. The lobby and outdoor parking lot were straightforward with few places to hide. The lobby had a large floor plant but not big enough to hide a person.

  He saw the taxi pull up on the lobby camera. As always, he locked his room with both the dead bolt and the door handle lock. The elevators in this building made him a little nervous, so whenever possible, he took the stairs. It was much easier going down the stairs than climbing up.

  The lobby was deserted, and nobody was behind the front desk. There were two chairs in clear view of the camera. They were also empty. He pushed the lobby doors open and walked to the taxi. From the doors, he glanced to see the driver’s face and stopped for a brief second thinking the driver was the same man from his last phone call. But when he got in the car, he decided it was definitely not him. In fact, the ID pictured in the back was that of a Margaret Sinville. Nothing to worry about.

  After he shut the door, the driver released the brake and started on her way, “Where to, mister?”

  “Sixth and DuPont,” replied the man.

  “You gotta be kiddin’, man. That is like the worst part of town. Of course, you’re not leaving paradise here, are ya?”

  The man knew she was referring to the apartment building where he was staying. He sat back and smiled. He wanted to tell her to treat a future millionaire with a little more respect, but he bit his lip and made no reply. He just leaned back into his seat and watched the buildings go by.

  This whole project made him a little uneasy, but it made

  him feel powerful, too. The plans could not advance without his help. There were a lot of people depending on his resources. If he wanted to, he could demand more money, demand more time, demand more people power, demand this and that. But the fact of the matter was that if held up the plans, the entire project could be delayed indefinitely. That would mean that he would have to work a real job longer and be out of millions of dollars.

  So the show must go on.

  As the taxi turned down DuPont, he got that queasy feeling he always did in this area. It truly was the slimiest part of town, but for his phone calls, it offered the most private moments. No one in their right mind would come out to this place and stake him out.

  The driver also felt the uneasy vibe of the place. As she spoke, her voice had less confidence than when she first had the man enter her taxi. “Uh …uh, so where would you like to be dropped off in this pretty part of town? Will you be staying for a bite to eat after your movie?”

  The man smiled, “That’s funny, but if you would be so kind, I would like to go over to the next corner. I should only be a few minutes, and if you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’d-”

  Before he could finish, the tough little taxi driver saw the writing on the wall. “No fuckin’ way am I hanging out here while you get yourself laid!” she shouted.

  “First of all, I am not getting laid, and second, I will make it worth your while.” He leaned over the seat and dropped a hundred dollar bill on to her crossword puzzle from the newspaper.

  She looked down at the money and then grabbed it.

  She slowed the car down in order to inspect the bill. She held it up into the light and glanced at both the front and back of the green paper. Without any further hesitation, she smiled and said, “Thanks, but no thanks.” She threw the bill back at the occupant in the back seat.

  He was astonished. This had never happened before. The drivers always took the money. There were never any questions or hesitation. They just took the money and waited. The last visit was nearly a disaster, but even that still turned out ok.

  This would cost him more, but it was certainly better than hanging out on Sixth and DuPont waiting for another cab in the middle of the night. “Fine! You win. I’ll give you two hundred bucks to stick around.”

  “No fuckin’ way,” she said.

  The man started to get worried and hyperventilate. “OK, what do you want?” he shouted from the back seat.

  “I want to let you out and get the hell out of here. Here is Sixth and DuPont, sir. That will be $37.50.”

  Not only had this never been an issue before, but also the man was unusually uncomfortable with the fact that he may not have a ride home and would be stuck out there with the gangbangers. He certainly would not stand a chance out on the street for more than an hour.

  The driver knew this. She had heard from a few fellow drivers about an incident a few days ago with a driver and a client being chased by some gangbangers. “I’ll tell you what, mister. The way I see it is you had to come down to beautiful Sixth and
DuPont to make a very important phone call that you could not make at your wonderful apartment. There probably are not any phones there, but whatever. So now you’re stuck down here, and you need me to stick around while you make this all-important phone call. In fact, you are probably so scared that I might leave that you would pay a lot of money for me to stick around and put myself at risk for serious injury or harm.”

  He could see where this was going. “So how much do you

  want?”

  “Well, taking account the fact that the risk of personal injury or death is high, I think five hundred would be acceptable.”

  “Five hundred dollars? No fucking way, absolutely not,

  forget it.”

  “Here you are, sir, Sixth and DuPont. Have a great day!”

  “FUCK YOU!” He counted five hundred dollar bills and slapped them into her hand.

  She smiled back at him.

  “If you decide to split while I’m on the phone I’ll look you up Ms…” He turned sideways to see her name again. “Ms. Margaret Sinville. I’ll look you up and make your life miserable.”

  The taxi driver stared at him through her rear view mirror and smiled. “Do you have any other threats? Because if you do, I just want to remind you that if I did leave your sorry ass here on Sixth and DuPont, you most likely would never get a chance to make my life any more miserable than it already is! Any other warm fuzzies before you get out of the car, darlin’?”

  The man opened the car door slowly and looked at her and then all up and down the street. She was smiling, and for good reason. She had him where she could manipulate the situation to her pleasure, and he knew it. He just never before had a driver that would take advantage of the situation. This was definitely getting to be an expensive phone call.

  He stepped from the car and cautiously walked over to the phone. He picked up the receiver and began to insert the money that he had already counted. It was the exact amount to keep the line open for 45 seconds. The man glanced at the driver and saw her shit-ass grin. It pissed him off even more. He listened for the international operator. He asked for Afghanistan and then dialed an international number. All the while, he was looking up and down the street watching, not for troubled youth, but for any suspicious characters lurking behind cars or garbage cans and staking him out.

  Finally, a familiar voice came on the phone. “Well, my

  friend, I think we are ready here. We have all the essential ingredients to make this work. We need to know the name of a fine young American doctor for my friend in case he gets sick.”

  “I think before we get to this point, I need to make absolutely sure this doctor will take on new patients,” said the

  man.

  “Listen, my friend…”

  As the foreign voice continued to ramble on, the man looked down at his stopwatch to check the time remaining. As he did, he noticed the mouthpiece to the phone was slightly loose. He started to tighten it thinking that one of the kids in the neighborhood was playing with it.

  Then, as he was screwing the mouthpiece, he was hit with a sinking feeling. He quickly glanced up to the street. Again, he looked up and down the road, but there was nothing suspicious. He stared at the mouthpiece as the voice on the other end babbled. He quickly unscrewed that part of the phone, examined it, and nearly collapsed. He could feel his heart pounding. He was sure that the driver of the taxi could probably hear his heart racing. He looked around again as he felt himself beginning to panic. He started to hyperventilate again.

  He interrupted the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Listen, I have to go. I- I have an emergency. I mean, I- I have a situation here that I need to correct before I give you any names of doctors here that your friend can see. I will call you when the time is right!”

  The man in the phone booth pulled the receiver down while holding the phone in his hand. He laid his head on the side of the booth with his heart racing. He was beginning to get a nasty headache. Then there was this rush of nausea and light-headedness. He felt faint and started to sweat. The street began

  moving in all different directions.

  The man looked again at the phone and the mouthpiece. Without any further hesitation, he opened the door to the booth and threw up until dry heaves were audible from the taxi in the street. Finally, the man took the micro bug off the mouthpiece and threw it on to the pavement. He slammed his heel on it and heard the crisp sound of the mechanical device break into tiny

  pieces.

  He nonchalantly wiped the phone off with a cloth and hurried back to the taxi. “Take me back to the Whitefish Apartments.” The man was pale as a ghost.

  “Are you okay, mister? Do you need to see a doctor first?”

  “No!” screamed the man. “Just get me back home, and I’ll feel better, thanks.” As the taxi sped along DuPont, the man searched for a stakeout vehicle. He looked up at windows in deserted buildings. He looked down the cross streets. He looked and looked but could not find a soul.

  But that didn’t matter. He knew they were on to him.

  Chapter 11

  The alarm clock went off again. Much too early, but that was part of the deal for surgical training. Steve had only been a resident for a short week, but the long days were already taking their toll on him. He could tell he was becoming impatient with people and situations. Just last night at the grocery store, he scolded a checkout clerk to hurry up with his checkout because he was in a hurry to get home so he could get some sleep. It was little incidents like these that were beginning to mold his personality into that of a general surgeon. As much as he tried not to become a typical egotistical doctor, the trap was set, and he was about to fall right into it.

  His apartment, which was usually tidy and well organized, was now looking more like a tornado flew by. Although it had been only a few short days since he started his residency, he found less and less time to take care of everyday tasks. His laundry was beginning to pile up next to the hamper. The dishes were stacked in the kitchen sink. In the bathroom, he had a brand new roll of toilet paper on the counter top because the roll in the dispenser had been empty for three days now. There was just no way of denying it: his precious time was a thing of the past. When he did have a moment or two to himself at home, he felt obligated to read from his surgery text. In fact, it had been almost three whole days since he corresponded with Sweetpea.

  When he got up out of bed, he kicked some clothes lying on the floor across the room in order to make room for a path to the bathroom. After his shower, he went to get dressed. As he reached for the usual tie and shirt, he remembered this was the day. This was going to be the very first day. He broke out in a cold sweat. This was the day he had been frightened of since his last two weeks of medical school. Today was going to be the

  very first call day. He had heard horror stories about interns’

  first night on call.

  The surgery interns’ last year filled his head with so many fears. Fears like managing a fresh postoperative patient by himself. If anything were to go wrong, it was always the interns’ fault. Life was no longer like a medical student, where the blame was always directed to a person of higher authority. As an intern, you were the responsible physician giving orders and taking responsibility for your decisions.

  As he thought about this, he became more and more anxious. He tried to focus instead on breakfast. As a med student, he would take time to eat a fortifying breakfast, but the last few days, he had filled the coffee mug to the rim with caffeine and grab a bagel as he was leaving the house. He was out of bagels today, so he found a few slices of bread and dashed out of the house.

  He locked his apartment door and headed down the stairs. However, there was this noise coming from his apartment, and it was getting louder. “Oh, shit,” he said to himself. “Pudge!” Steve ran back up the stairs and fumbled with the keys as he tried to open the door. He dashed in and found Pudge whimpering. He had totally forgotten about the dog. While he let Pud
ge run around outside, Steve loaded a bowl with a generous supply of dog food for the day.

  He had previously given a copy of his call schedule to his landlords so they would be able to let Pudge out during the times he wouldn’t be around. He thought about calling them to remind them that he would not be home later tonight, but it was much too early. Anyone in their right mind would be sleeping at five in the morning.

  Pudge started to whimper outside the door, so Steve let the dog in and showed him his food. Then Steve turned around for his second attempt to depart, leaving the animal devouring his

  meal.

  It was pitch dark out. The sun was nowhere to be found, and

  the moon was on its way to another part of the sky.

  Steve had trouble finding the keyhole on his car door in the darkness. As he struggled with the key, he thought he heard some noises in the bushes near the house. He stood up straight, eyes wide open. His heart began to race. He strained his eyes in the dark to see if there was anyone around. He could not find a soul, and there were no more sounds, so he continued to work the key into the door. Once opened, he grabbed the coffee and bread and hopped into the car.

  Traffic was always light on the interstate at this time of day. That was probably the only good thing about leaving so early every morning. The music was playing on the radio, but Steve was not listening. He started to plan his day and imagined what it would be like being on call. He was role-playing all sorts of scenarios in his head. What if he got to the hospital and there was a major trauma before the chiefs arrived? Since this was his call day, would he have to place the IVs or the foley? Would he have to make the decision to crack a chest in the emergency room? How would he explain the situation to the little girl’s parents that she had major intra-abdominal injuries and would need emergency surgery?

  The DJ on the radio yelled “Gooooood morning” in a voice loud enough to jolt Steve back to reality. Steve realized that there would also be a junior or senior resident with him on call, so all those difficult decisions would be made by a more experienced doctor. A more realistic thought was what to do if the nurses called about patients on the floor. He started to think what questions he might be asked while on call. “Good morning, Dr. Carmichael. I have Mr. So-and-so, and I just noticed him throwing up gross amounts of blood, and his urine output has dropped significantly. Also, during the last hour or so, he developed a maculopapular rash over his torso and became diaphoretic. Oh, and by the way, his pressure dropped to the sixties, but now it’s back up to the low one hundreds.” Steve thought and thought about this hypothetical patient situation he had created and tried to come up with a diagnosis and treatment plan. As he pulled into the parking lot, he realized he couldn’t come up with a good diagnosis, but he then started to master a treatment plan to deal with the problem at hand.