Instead of returning to his hotel after the drive home from his mother’s house, Jack went to the hospital to check on Tess. He had just entered the lobby when he heard his name being paged overhead. With the melodious sound of a holiday instrumental playing in the background, he walked over to the information desk, reached for the physician phone and dialed the operator. While he waited, he noticed a stack of morning newspapers. He shuddered when he read the headline about the death of another woman suffering from GNS. He shook his head and closed his eyes. A few moments later, the operator connected the call.
“This is Dr. Wyatt.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Wyatt. I know we’ve been asked not to page any of the doctors with outside calls during the crisis, but this gentleman was so persistent. He claims he’s a physician with information on GNS and that it’s imperative he speaks with you, and only you.”
“That’s fine. Put him through, please.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
After two rings, Jack heard the call connected. “Hello, this is Jack Wyatt.”
“Dr. Wyatt, my name is Konrad Bilka. I’m a neurologist on the faculty of the Charles University School of Medicine in the Czech Republic. I’ve been in Florida for the past four weeks lecturing at Florida Atlantic University as part of a faculty exchange program.”
“How can I help you, Dr. Bilka?”
“I’ve been following with great interest the GNS outbreak. I think I may have some information that would be of particular interest to you. Do you think we might be able to meet?”
Jack noted that although his Eastern European accent was unmistakable, his command of English was good.
“I’d be pleased to hear your ideas. Would you like to meet me here at the medical school?”
“I have many notes, scientific articles and other information. If you can find the time, it might be easier to meet at my hotel.”
“Of course. Where are you staying?” Jack asked.
“At the Sealodge in Boca Raton. I’m in room 704.”
“When would be a good time for you?” Jack inquired, making a mental note of the hotel and room number.
“Would you be able to make it tomorrow morning at ten?”
“Ten tomorrow will be fine.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wyatt. I am sure you won’t regret taking the time to have a look at my work.”
“I look forward to talking with you tomorrow.”
Four miles away in room 704 at the Sealodge Inn, Alik Vosky tossed his phone on the bed. He had entered the United States and checked into his hotel using a forged passport. With a self-satisfied grin, he crossed the room and sat down at the desk. In less than a day, he would have Dr. Jack Wyatt, the man who was far too close to undermining everything he had worked for, exactly where he wanted him—alone in his hotel room. He opened the center drawer of the desk and removed the serrated hunting knife he had purchased immediately after he’d arrived.
Vosky tested the knife’s edge against his index finger, and then licked away the trickle of blood. He was calm, devoid of any anxiety or uncertainty. The risk involved was small and didn’t concern him in the slightest. By the time Jack Wyatt’s body was found, he’d be a thousand miles away using yet another name, and the police would be looking for a man who didn’t exist.