TUESDAY, MAY 2
The TPI was closed for business, its doors bolted shut, and this made Lee happy. If he had not stumbled onto Noah Pickering, the fifth afflicted student, he doubted the FBI would have bothered to shut the place down. It was a small step, but an important one. It meant the president was taking his concerns seriously—even though he had not connected Susie’s and Cam’s symptoms, or those of the others, to any known disease, and even though Yoshi insisted he never gave the kids any experimental nootropics.
For the next several hours, Lee had to put his records search on hold, so he could concentrate on doing the job he was paid to do. He was back at the MDC, which was bustling with the usual late-afternoon rush. He worked diligently for several hours overseeing the residents before retreating to the staff lounge at the end of his shift. The TV was tuned to CNN, and, no surprise, the only story was Cam Hilliard’s disappearance.
There was no break in that case either.
Karen seemed to be hanging in as best she could, or at least that was Lee’s assessment from their phone conversation last night. He hurt for her, but there was little he could do to help her, or Susie for that matter, and frustrations were mounting.
After downing a cup of extra-muddy coffee, Lee touched base with Paul, who was still at the clinic after hours, sorting through medical records, hunting for another Noah Pickering.
“Any luck?” Lee asked. “Not that it would be luck to find another TPI kid with a bright future cut short.”
“Nope, no luck at all,” Paul said. “But thank you for another mountain of paperwork to go along with our other mountain of paperwork. We officially have a mountain range.”
“You’re a bitter man, Paul.”
“No, I’m a loved husband and an adored father. I’m a bitter doctor. There’s a difference.”
“Noted.”
“How about doing an old pal a favor and swing by Chip Kaplan’s office while you’re at the MDC,” Paul said. “Tell him we’ll take half of his last offer.”
“I don’t think that’s how negotiations are supposed to work,” Lee said with a laugh.
“I don’t want to blow the deal,” said Paul.
“And I’d like to avoid Chip at all costs if I could. Dr. Rajit gave him an earful about my abducting Susie Banks, and I got an earful from Chip about my continued role at the MDC.”
“Fine. But next week, pitch him the sale and pitch him hard.”
“Fear not, my good man,” Lee said. “You help me figure out what the TPI is doing to these kids, and I’ll help you get a job as the new White House doctor. Few patients, no insurance companies to deal with, and plenty of perks.”
“Promise?”
“Just hang in there, buddy. We’ll talk later.”
Lee was headed back to the sixth floor to finish his charting, when his cell phone rang. He assumed it was Paul, but no, the number came up as the White House. Lee tensed. Was it about Cam?
He answered the call. “Dr. Lee Blackwood.”
“Dr. Blackwood, please hold for the president of the United States,” said an officious female voice Lee did not recognize.
A moment later, President Hilliard came on the line.
“Lee, it’s Geoffrey—”
Geoffrey—I’m on a first-name basis with the president.
“We have an emergency and I need your help right away. Where are you?”
“I’m at work at the MDC. Is this about Cam? Is everything all right?”
“The MDC, you said? Good, that’s where they brought him.” The president pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Forget the car, Lee’s already at the MDC,” he said to someone else.
“Brought who to the MDC?” Lee asked.
“Yoshi,” Hilliard said. “I’ve had the FBI watching his apartment.”
“And?” Lee’s voice rose with anticipation. “What’s happened?”
“Our agents hadn’t seen movement inside the home for some time. They got worried he might have snuck out. They broke in and found him unresponsive on the kitchen floor. There was a bag of mushrooms nearby.”
“Oh no.”
“He should be at the hospital now, Lee. If he knows something—anything—about Cam, he can’t die. Promise me. Promise me, Lee, you won’t let him die.”
“I’ll do everything I can, Mr. President,” Lee said.