Prague, Czech Repubic
“NERVOUS?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be. You have the easy job. No acting, no speaking, just walking around looking for the servers,” Kalen said to AJ.
“You can’t be serious! I’m the one who has to sneak around the facility, break into secure rooms, and risk being shot by armed guards. Oh, and how can I forget, hold my breath the entire time so I don’t contract the plague.”
“You don’t have to hold your breath the entire time. Only when you run into patients with purple pulsating pustules.”
AJ shuddered.
“Any last minute questions before we go?” Albane asked the group.
“Yeah, just one. What percentage of Victoria’s Secret’s annual push-up bra sales do you generate anyway?” Kalen said staring at her liberal cleavage, strategically framed by the low-cut gray blouse that she wore.
“Any serious questions before we go?”
“Actually, I’m still a little foggy on my role,” AJ said.
“That’s because it’s open ended. Sometimes ops are fluid, sometimes dynamic, sometimes chaotic. The truth is these things don’t go down in the real world like they do in the movies. We never have all the answers before we go in. Once Veronika, Kalen, and I have obtained the facility floor plans, the Coordinator will tell you what to do. To use a military term, think of yourself as being in ‘Hot Standby.’ You’ll be waiting outside in case we need you. If VanCleave is able to hack into their servers remotely, then your entry will be aborted. If not, you’ll be going in,” she explained.
“All I have to do is plug this device into the server rack, and VanCleave’s program will do the rest?” AJ said, holding up a memory stick with an Ethernet connection on one end, and a USB fitting on the other.
“Yes,” VanCleave replied, “Unless, of course, the server room is locked.”
“And if the server room is locked?”
“Hold out your hand,” VanCleave said.
AJ extended his hand, and VanCleave dropped in his open palm three, slightly flattened, oval-shaped objects. Each device was about the size of a grape and was constructed of black plastic and polished metal. A groove ran axially along the flattened side, and four smaller equally spaced lines radiated transversely outward from it. Upon further scrutiny, he noticed seams, as thin as hairs, scribing the entire surface in a complex geometric pattern.
“They look like mechanical origami. Whatever they are, they’re all folded up.” AJ said, inspecting the ovoids.
“Mechanical origami . . . I like that one,” VanCleave replied, “I’ll have to add that to the list.”
“What are these things?”
“They have lots of names: spiders, crawlers, Abbey’s ants, robo-bugs.”
“What do they do?”
“They crawl into wire ducts, server racks, computer terminals. They can plug themselves into ports, bite into data cables, and stream data wirelessly. They were my idea,” VanCleave sniffed. “The good old days when you could hack into anybody’s mainframe are gone. No organization concerned with file security would network their data centers to the Internet when their files contain ultra-sensitive information. Even the best firewall can be hacked. But the best hacker in the world can’t remotely access a physically segregated network.”
“You’re telling me these things are remote control bugs that hack computer networks?”
“Autonomous mechanical infiltrators . . . yes.”
“Next you’re going to tell me that the Coordinators aren’t actual people but Artificial Intelligence programs,” AJ said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re at least five years away from having virtual Coordinators,” VanCleave replied stone-faced.
“All right boys, I’m sure this is all very interesting, but we have a timetable to meet. Our ride is waiting,” Albane said. “VanCleave, we’ll be live in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Yes, I understand, Madame Viskaya, but we were not made aware of this inspection, so I have no authorization to let you into the facility,” the sturdy woman at the reception desk insisted.
A small crowd had gathered in the lobby of the Chiarek Norse research hospital. The day manager had been called down from her office, and despite her bulldogged stance, was beginning to sweat. Two security guards had also joined the mix. The senior guard, a heavyset middle-aged man with dark circles under his eyes, and the door guard, a tall, muscular boy of about nineteen, had taken post on opposing corners of the desk. Like a pair of unmatched bookends they stood at attention, gargoyle and knight. Standing opposite the day manager was Veronika Viskaya with her hands planted firmly on the desk leaning forward over a stack of official Ministry of Health inspection documents she had ramrodded through the proper channels an hour earlier. To her left stood Albane Mesnil, and to her right Kalen Immel. They were dressed in fine dark-colored suits tailored in the physique-accentuating European fashion. Veronika had taken the lead and assumed a direct and assertive posturing. Kalen feigned boredom, frequently yawning and checking his watch. Albane had remained silent, but was passively garnering the attention of the male security guards.
Think Tank Scenario Bravo Fourteen Delta was proceeding precisely according to plan.
“Of course you do not have pre-authorization. This is a surprise inspection. If the Ministry were to inform your management in advance, it would no longer be a surprise, now would it?” Veronika barked in Czech.
“This is a secure building, and I simply cannot let someone walk in from the street and grant access for a tour,” the day manager retorted.
“I don’t think you understand. I have official government paperwork here that says that you must make your facility available for a health and safety inspection. We have received information that a biological contamination breach occurred at this very facility within the past seventy-two hours. An inspection is mandatory. We are not asking for your permission, we are informing you that we will be conducting the inspection and demand your cooperation.”
“I am sorry, Madame Inspector, but we are under strict instructions that no unauthorized personnel may enter these premises at any time for any reason,” the woman replied with conviction. “I am authorized to order the guards to use force to protect this mandate.”
Veronika looked at Albane.
Albane removed her eyeglasses, carefully folded them, and placed them inside her breast pocket. She then stared directly into the reception attendant’s eyes, holding the gaze in silence until the other woman looked away. Then she removed her mobile phone from its belt holster and began to dial.
The woman fidgeted. “What are you doing? Who are you calling?”
“This facility is hereby closed, until further notice by the Ministry of Health. I am calling the state police,” Albane replied stoically in Czech.
“What? You can’t do that!”
“I can, and I am.” Albane leaned forward, pretending to strain to read the name tag on the woman’s shirt. “Not to worry, Ms. Provst, in my report I will be sure to document that you were steadfast in your truculence and hindrance of official Ministry business. I’m certain that your management will take your loyalty into consideration when they are rehiring security positions six months from now when the facility reopens.”
“What? You can’t close this facility for six months! How am I supposed to provide for my family?”
“It is funny that you keep telling me what I can and cannot do. The Ministry does not care about your opinion. Now, either you give me your full cooperation this instant, or you and your coworkers will all be arrested by the state police. Do I make myself clear?” Albane slammed the bottom of her clenched fist on the reception desk with such force that Ms. Provst, the security guards, and even Veronika, were startled.
“Okay. Please, please do not call the state police. You will have our cooperation. I have never had one of these inspections before. What do we need to do?”
Albane put her mobile phone back into its holster. “It’s quite simple really. Madame Viskaya will stay here and interview you. Once your interview is complete, then you can begin filling out the official paperwork, while she interviews the guards. My colleague and I will tour the facility and then conduct a record review.”
“How long will the inspection last?”
“That depends on what we find, now doesn’t it?”
“We have a shift change soon.”
“That’s okay, we don’t mind. You will need to make sure that someone is available during the next shift to answer our questions should we have any. If the hour grows late and the record audit is not complete, we’ll return in the morning to finish.”
“But, I’m not sure that—”
Albane interrupted, “But, nothing. We are wasting time.” She then retrieved her eyeglasses with hidden nano-camera technology from her suit pocket, and put them on. “The first thing we’ll need to look at are the blueprints of this building.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Technical online?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Technical online.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Technical, report status of acquiring network access.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Negative access. Bio is a go for entry.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, online?”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “This is Bio, I copy you.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “You are a go for entry. Social has scanned the building plans. I am uploading the data now.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Is my route inside the building mapped yet?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Standby. I’ll advise you when it is . . . Electrician online?”
Local Embed—Electrician: “This is the Electrician, online and in position at the underground electrical distribution box. Standing by to cut power on your mark.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Roger. What about the backup generator?”
Local Embed—Electrician: “Disabled.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Roger . . . Physical, this is the Coordinator. All Resources are in position, you’re a go for blocking the door.”
The middle-aged security guard flashed Albane a furtive grin; she pretended not to notice. After twenty-three years working security, smiling was as foreign to the muscles of his face as performing a cartwheel is to a nursing home patient. Even after the tongue lashing Albane had given Ms. Provst, Officer Clive Moderkiek had eagerly volunteered to escort the inspectors during their tour of the facility. It was not for fear of losing his job; he wasn’t worried about that. It was simply to be near her. He had never encountered a woman as beautiful and confident as this Inspector woman before, and now he was captured by her gravity.
“Officer Moderkiek, please show us where the contamination breach occurred,” Albane directed in Czech.
“Do you mean the emergency exit where the patient escaped?”
“Yes. We can start there and work backward. I want to see the exact path that he took. I want to know how he escaped from his room and got outside this building.”
“Okay, no problem. All compromised areas have been thoroughly decontaminated. Follow me,” Moderkiek said. Leaving his colleagues behind in the lobby with Veronika, Moderkiek led Albane and Kalen past the elevator bank and through a closed door with an exit sign overhead.
“This is an old building. The elevators were not installed until the 1980s. At one time, this stairwell was the main stairwell for traveling between all the floors of the building, but now it functions as the emergency exit. During the incident, the patient jumped from the fourth floor and landed here,” Moderkiek explained.
Albane looked down at the concrete floor. “How did he accomplish such a feat without injury?”
“I wasn’t on duty that night, but the story is that he tied bedsheets together into a rope and used it to repel down to the ground.”
Kalen snorted.
“Interesting. What did he do next?” Albane asked.
“He went through this door to Corridor E. At the end of the corridor is the emergency exit door which leads to the street.”
“Show us.”
“There is nothing to show. It is a typical emergency exit door.”
“I want you to show us anyway.”
The guard nodded obediently and led the pair down the long empty corridor until they arrived at the red metal door. “See, just a door.”
“Does this door have a magnetic lock?”
“No,” the guard replied quizzically.
“So my colleague can just push it open?”
“Of course, it’s an emergency exit . . . Hey, what are you doing? Don’t open that. The alarm will sound!”
A shrill pulsating alarm reverberated in Corridor E, and white strobes on the emergency exit sign above the door flashed. Kalen had opened the red door and was pretending to peer outside onto the street. With his hip depressing the horizontal rocker bar, he used his body to block the guard’s view of the lock mechanism. In his left hand, he held a small cylinder—the size of a tube of lipstick—which contained a quick-dry epoxy adhesive mixed with propellant. He sprayed the adhesive liberally over the door latch mechanism while it was retracted. The epoxy film hardened on contact, instantly seizing the latch. Behind him, he could hear the security guard yelling, arguing with Albane. He released the rocker arm, looking down to make sure the latch did not spring back into position. It did not. He then let the door swing shut and turned to face the others, while slipping the epoxy back into his pocket with the fluidity of a magician.
“What the hell did you do that for? That is a security violation. I have to file a report on all security violations,” Moderkiek complained.
“Officer Moderkiek,” Albane said, “This emergency exit door was the point of a major contamination breech. We are here to evaluate the level of biosecurity for this facility. I see absolutely no controls in place at this boundary for biosecurity. This door can be opened by anyone.”
“With all due respect, Madame Inspector, this door is an emergency exit. It is supposed to be free to open without any interference. If this door were locked, then during a fire anyone trapped inside corridor would die! Fire escapes are not biosecurity boundaries. Biosecurity is established via access checkpoints on each floor of the building, according to the classification of the work being conducted on the floor. The convention we use here is that Building Level Four, in other words the fourth floor, has BioSafety Level Four controls. The third floor has BioSafety Level Three controls. That way it is not confusing. You can only imagine the mess we’d have if the third floor had Level Four controls and the fourth floor had Level Three controls,” Moderkiek explained, chuckling as did.
“Yes, well, that is one way of doing it, I suppose. We can talk about that later with our supervisors. Now, take us to the biosecurity access point on Level Four. We want to see the controls you have in place there.”
• • •
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, this is the Coordinator. Take station at the emergency exit door.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “This is Bio, roger that. Moving into position.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Electrician, standby to cut power.”
Local Embed—RS:Electrician: “Standing by.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Coordinator, this is Bio. How is the video feed from my glasses?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Receiving your feed on two-second time delay. It looks good.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “I’m in position now.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Electrician, cut the power.”
Local Embed—RS:Electrician: “The power is off. Standing by to restore power on your mark.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, you are a go for entry.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Roger, I’m going in.”
AJ pressed the flat bottom of the star-shaped knob against the metal surface of the emergency exit door and turned it ninety degrees clockwise, just like Kalen had instructed him to do. From the street, the emergency exit door had no handle, so AJ needed to make one. Kalen had called the device a vacuum clamp; it worked like a suction cup, except it was orders of magnitude stronger and could adhere to virtually any solid surface. Turn it ninety degrees clockwise to engage, ninety degrees counterclockwise to disengage. Presto, instant doorknob.
AJ took a deep breath and pulled. The emergency exit door swung open with ease, the latch mechanism still frozen in the retracted position by Kalen’s epoxy. AJ removed the vacuum clamp, slipped it back into his pocket, and stepped across the threshold. Corridor E was pitch dark, save the shrinking triangle of daylight that disappeared quickly as the door swung shut behind him. He had only eight minutes of darkness to complete the mission and no time to waste second-guessing. He needed to move. He extended his arms and walked at forty-five degree angle to his right, until his hand bumped into the wall. He turned his hand to the thumb down position so that his right palm laid flat against the wall. With a surface to guide him and aid his balance, AJ shuffled down the corridor.
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, report?”
The sound of C. Remy’s voice suddenly in his ear startled AJ, almost causing him to trip.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “I’m inside, moving down Corridor E, but it’s pitch black.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Why aren’t you using your light?”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Because . . . because I forgot I had a light.”
AJ reached into the left pocket of his navy blue maintenance worker coveralls and retrieved the LED minilight. The beam from the flashlight illuminated a fifteen-foot cone in front of him. He jogged to the end of the corridor and then pressed his ear up against the door. He heard nothing. With the building power off and the elevators inoperable, traversing the stairs would be his biggest risk of counterdetection.
He turned off his light, opened the door, and crept into the bottom of the stairwell. Overhead, he heard another door swing open, followed by the sound of footsteps, then the door slammed shut with a reverberating echo. On a metal landing somewhere above him, two men began arguing heatedly in Czech; their individual flashlight beams zigzagged wildly over the concrete walls as they gestured.
He hesitated.
He had two choices: Slink up the stairs to the second floor now using their argument as a distraction, or wait for them to leave. With option one he risked an ill-fated mid-stair encounter; with option two he risked being pinned down too long to complete his mission.
His heart pounded.
He wanted someone to tell him what to do, but this time, he was on his own.
• • •
A BEAD OF sweat rolled down Albane’s forehead. It was hot, uncomfortable, and rank inside the yellow biosafety suit, but she was smiling. Smiling in the dark. Scenario Bravo Fourteen Delta was going swimmingly. As soon as the power had gone out Officer Moderkiek had begun to panic. He had instructed his two charges to stay put at the security checkpoint at Corridor C, while he went back through the double doors to talk with another guard about checking on the emergency diesel generator. But staying put was the last thing she and Kalen intended to do. Nicolora had unexpectedly changed the Op Plan to include accessing the Level Four laboratory. No further explanation had been given. The instructions were simple, search for and retrieve any samples related to Vyrogen’s secret formula. Entering the Chiarek Norse facility had gone smoothly. Exiting with the samples in hand and without blowing their cover was another matter altogether. Their success going forward hinged solely on Kalen’s talents.
Albane nudged Kalen.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go. Before Moderkiek comes back.”
In all the years Moderkiek had worked in the building, he could recall losing power only once, and that time the emergency diesel generator on the roof had kicked on automatically. He was angry. The timing of this power outage could not have been worse for the Chiarek Norse security detail. First, the infected American escaped, and now this. With government inspectors present no less! He wanted to scream, and so he did, at the Corridor B security guard. Arguing with his colleague didn’t solve anything, but it did make him feel better. It was imperative that someone check the diesel generator, but he did not want that someone to be him. He had assigned himself the responsibility of escorting the beautiful inspector woman, a responsibility he had no intention of delegating. Unfortunately, the Corridor B security guard was steadfast in defending his obligation to remain at his post at the BioSecurity Level Four boundary door. As much as Moderkiek wanted to overrule the junior guard, he could not. As the senior guard on duty, if he could not find another guard to check on the diesel generator, he would have to do it himself.
From the corner of his eye, Moderkeik caught a glimpse of a flashlight moving in the stairwell below. He abruptly stopped yelling at the Level Four guard and peered down into the darkness. Someone had just entered the stairwell on the ground floor. Good. Whoever it was, Moderkeik would order him to check the diesel generator, so he could quickly return to his official escort duties.
AJ’s legs seemed to make the decision for him, because he felt his body moving while his brain was still engaged in debate. He powered on the LED flashlight and aimed the beam downward toward the stairs. He could not afford an untimely tumble. Besides, all facility employees would be using flashlights—to do otherwise would be conspicuous.
To his dismay, the stairwell fell silent. A deep, angry voice bellowed in Czech above him. He knew the utterance was directed at him, but since he didn’t speak Czech, he was unable to translate.
He kept moving.
The voice called out again.
He did not look up. Only a few meters left to go. As he reached for the door handle to access Level Two, he heard footsteps echoing above. He yanked and the door opened freely. He was in.
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Good job, Bio. Proceed ten meters down the corridor. Turn right at the first intersection.”
This time, the sound of the Coordinator’s voice did not startle him. The opposite was true. Like an invisible wingman, C. Remy was with him. Guiding and emboldening him.
If the men in the stairwell were in chase, then he needed to be clear of their line of sight before they reached Level Two. He needed to make that right turn. He sprinted down the corridor to the first intersection, rounded the bend, and slammed into someone walking the opposite direction. He heard a woman yelp, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.
His heart pounded. Like a hyperventilating scuba diver, fighting the fatal urge to tear the regulator from his mouth, AJ resisted addressing the woman in English. He stood over her, legs straddled, looking down in silence.
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “AJ, this is Founder One, listen to my voice and repeat exactly what I say.”
The voice in AJ’s ear was calm and steady, and he recognized it immediately. Nicolora pronounced a short phrase in Czech, carefully enunciating each word. He repeated the phrase in a normal speaking cadence, and then again a third time.
AJ repeated the phrase verbatim, mimicking Nicolora’s intonation as best he could.
The woman collected herself and put on a good face, seemingly satisfied with AJ’s simple apology. She spoke to him in Czech as she extended her hand for him to help her to her feet.
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “She just chastised you for running in the dark. Now repeat exactly what I say and then laugh in a self-deprecating way.”
AJ mimicked Nicolora’s Czech words as he pulled the woman to her feet. She laughed, brushing her clothes with her hands as if to straighten out any wrinkles from the tumble, a pointless exercise in the dark.
AJ smiled and began to walk away. The woman called out after him.
AJ could hear Nicolora laugh on the line. AJ laughed, mimicking Nicolora.
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “Good. Now say goodbye in Czech. Keep moving. Don’t look back at her.”
AJ did exactly as Nicolora instructed and to his relief, the woman did not follow him. With the corridor now empty, he picked up the pace.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “I’ve got to know. What did I say to her?”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “You told her you were very sorry, but you are not especially skilled with women in the dark. To which she replied that was too bad and she hoped you fared better with women in the light.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Nice.”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “Humor is a powerful diffuser of tension. A well-timed joke can save your ass in our line of work.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Yes, Sir. I’ll be sure to remember that.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, this is the Coordinator. According to the building plans the server room is the third door on your right.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Third door on my right . . . got it. I’m there.”
He peered through the small glass window on the door and saw something he did not expect—rows and rows of modular computer towers—a city of blinking LED lights in an otherwise dark room.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Uh guys, I’ve never actually seen one in person, but from the hardware they’re packing in here, I’d wager our friends have got themselves a supercomputer.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Are you certain? Describe what you see.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Four rows of black cabinets six and a half feet tall, four feet wide. The enclosures look like parallelograms. Everything is humming, so they definitely have UPS. I’m going to try the door . . . Negative, it’s locked.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “What you described sounds like IBM Blue Gene Towers. Supercomputers. Coordinator, access the registered and unregistered IBM client list. See if Vyrogen has purchased a Blue Gene supercomputer.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Copy. Assigning the task.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Bio, check if there’s a gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “There’s a gap. Approximately one half inch.”
E.VanCleave—RS:Technical: “That will do nicely. Deploy the spiders.”
AJ reached into his pocket and withdrew three ovoids VanCleave had given him earlier.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Um, how do I turn them on?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Squeeze each one three times between your forefinger and thumb. Then, set it down on the floor, smooth side up.”
AJ did as instructed. After the third squeeze, a blue LED on the belly of the spider turned on, and the tiny object came to life. He took a step backward and shined his light on the trio to watch the transformation. Silently, eight tiny legs unfolded, extended and elevated the body off the floor. The micro-bots shuddered in unison, like ducks shaking water from their feathers after a swim, and then began to rotate in place. One full revolution clockwise, then one counterclockwise.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “What are they doing?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Calibration sequence.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “It’s creepy.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Any second they should finish calibrating and attempt to log into our network, using your phone as a modem.”
AJ watched the robot spiders complete their calibration sequence, blink twice, and then scurry under the gap of the door. He stepped toward the door and peered in the window, looking down at the floor. He could see three faint blue lights moving across the floor straight toward the server rack.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “My God, they’re fast little buggers. So that’s it? They’ll do the rest by themselves?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Yes.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Good. Then get me out of here.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Negative. Founder One has changed your tasking. Standby for routing to the record room.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “What? Why?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Founder One wants to see Foster’s paper files. Your new tasking is to find his medical charts.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Coordinator, this is Technical. I strongly recommend against this course of action. All the information we need is on the servers. Re-tasking Bio increases the probability of detection forty-one percent. It increases the probability of mission failure thirty-three percent.”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “Objection noted, but the potential payoff justifies the risk. Even in this day and age of electronic records, one thing I can tell you for certain is that doctors take notes. Doctors who are research scientists, I surmise, take copious notes. I want Bio to look at Foster’s handwritten records. Meredith didn’t give us copies of his paper charts. Maybe we need to ask ourselves why. Coordinator, where is the record room?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Central records is on Level One, but the building plans also show a record room on each floor.”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “What floor was Foster kept on?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “According to Social, Foster was kept on Level Four.”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “Where are Social and Physical now?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “On Level Four, en route to the lab.”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “Resources listen up. Op change as follows: Bio, proceed to Central Records on Level One. Objective: find and film Foster’s medical charts. Social, deviate to the record room on Level Four. Objective: find and film Foster’s medical charts. Physical, proceed to Level Four lab and retrieve samples as planned. Social, regroup with Physical upon completion of new tasking. Mission extension granted. You have eleven minutes until lights on. Coordinator, remap the timeline, and get these Resources moving.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “All resources, this is the Coordinator—request status report?”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Coordinator, Social. I’m in the Level Four Record Room. It’s been cleaned out. There’s nothing here.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Coordinator, Physical. Ditto for me in the Level Four Laboratory. The sample fridge is empty. All the drawers and cabinets are empty, and the instruments and lab equipment are wrapped in plastic. Looks like our friends are skipping town.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Coordinator, Bio. I’m inside the Level One Record Room. I’ve hit the jackpot. All the files are here, packed into boxes.
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Physical, this is Social. Meet me back at the Decontamination station. As soon as that diesel is back on line, Moderkiek will be back looking for us. The priority now is to clear Corridor E on Level One for Bio’s egress.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Roger.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, Coordinator. Have you found Foster’s files yet?”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Negative. Still looking. The boxes complicate things. I was expecting nice, organized file drawers. But nooo . . . that would have been too easy.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Look for the box with a big ‘F’ on it.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Thanks, I never would have thought of that. The boxes aren’t labeled. I have to open each one . . . Shit, there are a ton of boxes.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “How are they organized?”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Each box has a sealed manila envelope and approximately thirty file folders. The folder tabs are labeled using an alphanumeric code. I don’t see names anywhere. This is bad. Very, very bad. It could take me hours to figure out which records are Foster’s.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “You have seven minutes.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Technical, this is Bio. I need your help.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Technical online, go ahead Bio.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “I’m trying to locate Foster’s records, but the files are organized using an alphanumeric scheme. We have two minutes to decipher.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Read the folder tabs to me in order, one by one. Front to back, back to front, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t skip folders. Go in sequence.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Got it. P-17.F.01.11.11 . . . P-37.F.02.22.12 . . . P-37.F.03.05.12. . . .”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Okay, that’s enough. Go to the next box.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “All right, hold . . . P-21.M.17.12.11 . . . P-21.M.16.01.12 . . . P-21.M.15.09.11.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Stop. Check three more boxes. Tell me if you see any other alphanumeric scheme besides ‘P,’ two digits, ‘M’ or ‘F’, two digits, two digits, two digits.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Copy, hold . . . No. The other boxes use the same system.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “With ninety-five percent confidence, the scheme is ‘P’ for Patient, followed by ID number, ‘M’ male or ‘F’ female, followed by day, month, year, which is the European date convention. You need to find Foster by his patient number.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Which is?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Standby. Searching the files Meredith Morley gave us on Foster . . . multiple hits on P-65.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Copy P-65.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, Coordinator. You have four minutes.”
The file room was windowless and pitch black, except for the reddish glow from AJ’s flashlight. He clenched the light between his teeth, freeing both hands for shuffling through boxes. His heart was pounding, and he was beginning to feel frantic. Nicolora was counting on him, and time was running out. What he needed now was a little luck.
The boxes were stacked six high. He had already been through three stacks and he counted at least five more. His search method was to lift the top box off the stack, set it on the ground, open the lid and check folders. He then repeated the process placing the next highest box from the stack on top of the previous one he just moved. He was reversing the stacking order, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. Hopefully it wouldn’t be noticed as long as when he left the room the boxes were in stacks of six.
He was rushing, and the stiff edges of the new cardboard boxes were giving him paper cuts as he worked. The most recent slice felt slippery. He held his hand under the light beam; his right index finger was bleeding. Stacking order was one thing, but blood smears on the boxes would certainly not go unnoticed.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Shit! I cut my finger. I’m going to get blood on everything.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Do you have a tube of spray epoxy with you?”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Yes.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Good. Wipe the fresh blood off on your socks. Spray the epoxy right into the cut. One quick pulse. Don’t touch anything for fifteen seconds with that hand.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Into the cut?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Yes. A small cut is nothing. Resources have used this technique for life-threatening wounds.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Okay . . . it’s done. It seems to be working.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, you have two minutes.”
AJ revised his search pattern, tossing the lids off the remaining boxes so he could quickly glimpse inside. On the fourth box he found it—P-65! He lifted the box down, set it on the floor, and crouched next to it.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “I’ve found it. I’m starting with the envelope.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “No, start with the folders. You need to scan as many pages as possible.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “I see tons of folders, but only one envelope. I’m starting with the envelope.”
AJ unwound the string clasp holding the envelope flap closed. The envelope was heavier than he expected. He tilted it and shook it gently over a cupped hand, but the contents slid out en masse, like an avalanche, spilling onto the floor. He cursed under his breath.
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, switch your light from red to white. The image quality from your camera-glasses is poor in the red spectrum. We want to record as much detail as possible.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Roger, switching to white light. I’ve emptied the contents of the envelope. It contains Foster’s personal effects. I’m checking his wallet now. Credit cards, driver’s license, insurance card, cash, couple of pictures . . . who is this? Brunette, pretty. Must be his girlfriend. What else . . . his mobile phone. Note, the battery has been removed. Car keys. Sunglasses.”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “Bio, this is Founder One. Take his phone, forget the rest, and start scanning the damn files.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Yes, sir.”
AJ quickly shoved Foster’s belongings back into the envelope and secured the string tie. Then he shifted his flashlight beam to the box of files and pulled the file with the oldest date. He opened the folder and smiled. The folder contained Foster’s daily medical chart, full of hand scribbled notes, just as Nicolora had predicted. He flipped the pages of the file under the glow of his light.
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Coordinator, Bio. Are you getting this?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Yes. The feed is good. Keep it coming.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “How am I on time?”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “You’re over. Founder One is extending you. You have until my mark.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Roger. Scanning until you mark . . . that file was first in line . . . I’m assuming it was Foster’s day one chart. We don’t have time to scan all of these. Any requests for other dates?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Bio, this is Technical. Like any good story, we need a beginning, middle and end.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Roger . . . day two file scanned. Moving forward in time . . . this box has only one month’s worth of charts . . . I’m closing it up and moving to the next box . . . okay, good, this box is P-65 too . . . grabbing two folders . . . the dates would be about two months in, not exactly the middle but close enough . . . scanning . . . okay, looking for the last P-65 box . . . no . . . no . . . no, damn it, where is it? . . . Bingo, I’ve got it . . . pulling the last file . . . this was five days ago . . . scanning. . . . Oh shit! . . . the lights just went on. They’ve restored power!”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Electrician, Coordinator. Report?”
Local Embed—RS:Electrician: “Clear at my location. Main power is still off. They’ve started the diesel generator. We are plus fifteen minutes on the timeline. What did you expect?”
R. Nicolora—Founder One: “All Resources, this is Founder One. Bio will be egressing with Social and Physical. Execute Exit Scenario Delta on Social’s mark—Location: the Level One Record Room.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Roger.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Roger.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Roger.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Roger.”
Local Embed—RS:Electrician: “Roger, restoring primary power and exiting.”
Admist the stack of boxes in the Level One Record Room, AJ stripped off his coveralls, revealing a paramedic uniform. The door to the record room was shut, but he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. It was time.
“We don’t want to hear your excuses. The fact remains that it took your detail almost twenty minutes to restore power to the facility with the emergency generator, when it should have started automatically and immediately on the loss of primary power,” Albane yelled.
Officer Moderkiek cowered. “Yes, Madame Inspector, you’re right. The response time was unacceptable, but I can show you the inspection records on the emergency generator. It passed the annual certification test just last month.”
Kalen turned his head to the side, hiding an insuppressible grin. Even though he did not speak a word of Czech, he had seen Albane in full dominatrix mode enough times to know exactly what was happening. The systematic humiliation of Officer Moderkiek was at a crescendo, and Kalen relished watching it. In thirty seconds, however, the spotlight would shift. All eyes would be on him.
Kalen slowed his pace to a half step behind the others, clearing his throat as he did. Albane looked at him and nodded. It was time. Out of Moderkiek’s peripheral vision, he slipped a clear dissolvable strip onto his tongue.
“I want to see all the maintenance records for the emergency diesel generator,” Albane said to Moderkiek.
“Yes, Madame Inspector,” Moderkiek said as he reached to open the door to the Level One Records Room. “We maintain hard copies of all maintenance records in addition to the annual certifications.”
Albane screamed.
Moderkiek spun around.
Kalen was collapsed on the tile floor at her feet, writhing like a serpent. His legs and arms flailed in rhythmic violent contractions. A puddle of urine pooled on the floor underneath his midsection. Beneath his rapidly fluttering eyelids, his pupils were rolled back, leaving only the white of his sclera visible.
“This man is having an epileptic seizure,” Moderkiek yelled. He knelt and began to reach for Kalen’s arm.
“No, don’t touch him,” she ordered. “He told me what to do if this ever happened. Do not restrain him.” She pulled her mobile phone from her pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Moderkiek raised his two-way radio to his lips and called in the medical emergency to the front desk. Within minutes a small crowd of Chiarek Norse personnel had gathered around Kalen, who continued to have clonic seizures.
Nearly a minute passed before Kalen’s body went still and then fell limp. His head flopped lifelessly to the side, and the gathering crowd of onlookers gasped.
Albane knelt, checked his pulse, and looking up at the circle of concerned faces said, “He is unconscious, but alive. The paramedics should be here momentarily.”
Albane remained at Kalen’s side until the squeal of stretcher wheels and pounding footsteps announced the arrival of the medical team. Two men in paramedic uniforms pushed their way through the circle of people and converged on Kalen.
As Albane stood, extracting herself from EMT duties, she whispered, “Mark.”
C. Remy—RS:Coordinator: “Bio, that’s your cue. Move toward the door. When the paramedics address the crowd, you slip in and take position on the stretcher. Two paramedics came in, three go out.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Roger. I’m ready.”
“Okay, everyone, the show is over. Please make some room. We need to load this man onto the stretcher,” one of the paramedics said to the crowd in Czech.
“You heard him. Move back people. The paramedics need room to work,” Moderkiek said, taking charge of his gathered coworkers.
The other paramedic began pushing the onlookers away—creating confusion and commotion—and no one noticed a third paramedic take position at the foot of the stretcher. This man wheeled the stretcher into position as the other two paramedics readied Kalen for lifting.
“On the count of three, we lift him . . . One, two, three, LIFT,” the paramedic in charge directed, and they lifted Kalen onto the stretcher bed.
“Officer Moderkiek, please get these people out of here,” Albane ordered.
“Yes, Madame Inspector. I’m very sorry.” Moderkiek raised his arms and barked at the crowd. “Back to work. The inspector is in good hands. Everyone, back to your stations.”
“Thank you, Officer Moderkiek.” She extended her hand, which he gladly took within his. “Given this event, the inspection is over. However, your diligent cooperation will be noted in my report and will reflect positively on you as an individual regardless of how the facility fares overall.”
“Thank you, Madame Inspector,” Moderkiek said with a smile, clutching her hand in both of his until at last she pulled it free from his sweaty palms. “If you have any future questions, you know you can count on me.”
He watched the inspectors hurry toward the ambulance. He was proud of himself. He had shown initiative today. And leadership. Maybe instead of being fired, he would be promoted, from Section Leader to Chief of Security. “Chief Moderkiek”—he liked the sound of that.
• • •
WITH SIRENS BLARING and lights flashing, an ambulance sped away from Chiarek Norse through the streets of Prague at 100 kilometers per hour. In the cramped rear compartment, AJ sat in silence, his knees wedged against the metal frame of Kalen’s stretcher. With every jarring pothole, his kneecaps suffered a new bruise.
He peered down at the motionless Kalen, resting on the stretcher. Kalen’s eyes were closed and his face was drenched with beads of sweat.
“This sort of thing is hard on a body, even for someone as fit as Kalen. Maybe you better check his breathing,” said Albane, from her position next to him on the narrow bench seat.
A lump formed in his throat. No one had warned him that Kalen’s health would be put in jeopardy by the stunt. Damn, The Tank was hardcore. He leaned over the stretcher and put his cheek close to Kalen’s mouth and nose. He felt a warm moist breath against skin, but it seemed faint and labored. He was about to suggest that they take Kalen to a real hospital when without warning, Kalen’s hands shot up and clutched him by the shoulders.
“BOO!”
He jerked free from Kalen’s grasp, knocking his head on the ceiling of the ambulance.
Kalen howled with glee. Veronika wiped tears from her cheeks, she was laughing so hard. Even Albane could not help but chuckle at the scene.
His initial confusion gave way to laughter as he joined in his colleagues’ revelry at his expense.
“Nice one, Archer,” Kalen said, slapping AJ on the upper arm. “Very nice.”