CHAPTER 19
HELSINKI UNIVERSITY CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL, HELSINKI, FINLAND
SIX MONTHS AGO
Dr. Nikolas Kapanen studied the computer monitor and read the chart, summarizing for himself with clinical dispassion the case before him. The twelve-year-old boy had fallen from his speeding electric scooter a few blocks from the hospital and struck his head on the interlocking brick roadway. EMS responded, and a paramedic had intubated the unresponsive child en route to the emergency department. On arrival, the child’s airway was patent, and medics were assisting ventilations, but the boy remained unconscious. A respiratory therapist was in the room with him now, connecting him to a ventilator.
Kapanen rubbed his chin and sighed deeply. The X-ray and ancillary reports showed a depressed skull fracture, complex maxillofacial fractures, a subdural hematoma, lacerations, abrasions, contusions, and a closed fracture of his right humerus—broken bones and other injuries to go along with his severe TBI, a potentially life-altering traumatic brain injury.
He wished they’d outlaw those damn e-scooters. ER and hospital admissions had surged proportionately with the growth in their popularity. Everybody rode them like they were Kimi Räikkönen on too much Red Bull—no helmets and seemingly no common sense.
It wasn’t looking good. Kapanen had a granddaughter the same age. The resemblance was uncanny and disturbing to the emergency medicine specialist, right down to their hair color and length. He had been a physician for the better part of four decades, and every few years, he had to take a step back from treating a patient who reminded him of his sister, brothers, mother, or father. It was an occupational hazard. Having empathy for one’s patients was never a bad thing, but when he started seeing in them his close relatives, identifying with them on a personal level, he knew he’d crossed the line.
The telltale sound of the ventilator pulsing air through the patient circuit told him the respiratory therapist had completed hooking the boy up to it. The child’s parents still weren’t there, but the police officer had assured him they would be arriving soon. That was something else Kapanen wasn’t looking forward to. He had spoken to the boy’s father on the phone to provide an update and obtain consent, but it would be a whole different ball game once they arrived and saw their baby hooked up to life support.
He was standing outside the sliding glass doors to the boy’s room when a nurse called him back to the station.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You have to see this,” she said.
He walked back around the nursing station counter and stared at the computer monitor. The entire screen was red. At the top was a yellow hammer and sickle, like the one on the flag of the former Soviet Union. There were several lines of Cyrillic text in bold white font, followed by the translated text in the paragraph below it.
Этот компьютер и сеть были заблокированы и зашифрованы.
Ваша система и периферийные устройства больше не работают.
This computer and network have been locked and encrypted.
Your system and peripherals are no longer operational.
To fix this, deposit €100,000.00 in cryptocurrency to helpdecryptme through this hyperlink (an interface window will open). Once the ransom is paid, enter the decryption code in the space below.
DO NOT:
-attempt to rename encrypted files.
-attempt to recover the system with third-party software.
-turn this computer off.
If you do, all system files and data will be
permanently deleted and unrecoverable!!!
Enter Decryption Code: _
“One hundred thousand euros? What is this? Is this a joke?” He knew what it was. And he knew that it wasn’t. “Call IT and security—”
But just as the words left his lips, the lights went out.