Thursday, April 9, 12:33 A.M.
Lynn glanced up at Michael, who was looking at the monitor screen over her shoulder. They were in the Shapiro NOC, which they had found empty, as they had expected, going by Vladimir’s comments. Lynn was sitting at one of the terminals. She had quickly logged in to the Shapiro network without difficulty, using Vladimir’s user name and password, and, once connected, had first typed in Carl’s name. What had popped up was his home page, which Michael said looked the same as Ashanti’s, even with the same apparent location: Cluster 4-B, but with a different number. Carl’s was 64, whereas Ashanti’s was 32. What also was different was that it didn’t say DROZITUMAB +4 ACTIVE but rather ASELIZUMAB PRELIMINARY.
“What do you think?” Lynn asked.
“I think it is convenient they are both in Cluster 4-B and the number must be their bed like you suggested. We can check them both.”
“I’m asking about the ‘aselizumab’ reference.”
“I guess he is going to be given aselizumab, whatever the hell that is.”
“We’ll have to look it up later,” Lynn said hurriedly. “At least we know from the ‘ab’ at its end that it is a biologic drug.” Exiting the window, she then queried how many deaths the Shapiro Institute had logged since its doors opened in 2007. The answer flashed on the screen: 31.
“That’s incredible,” Lynn said. “Do you believe that’s true?”
“The system has serious restricted access. Why wouldn’t it be true?”
“Hell, if it is a true stat, they must be doing something right,” Lynn said. She was impressed, even a bit relieved. “Two years ago, when we visited there had already been twenty-two deaths in six years, but they had a low census, a fraction of the potential capacity. They must be full now and have had only nine deaths in two years. That’s phenomenal.”
“Find out the current census!” Michael suggested.
Lynn turned back to the screen and typed in the question. The answer came back instantly: 931 patients out of possible 1200. “There you go,” she said. “They have almost a thousand patients! And if they lose less than five patients a year, that is an incredible statistic. In my research Monday night, I found out that the mortality for people in a vegetative state is ten percent up to as much as forty percent per year. Here they are managing less than one percent, if I’m doing the math right.”
“You’re doing the math right,” Michael assured her. “In fact it is less than half of one percent. I’d say it’s a damn good advertisement for automation, which is what they had told us was key.”
“Like I said, they have to be doing something right. It’s even more impressive if they are using their patients for drug testing.”
“What did you say you found was the major cause of death in coma patients?”
“Pneumonia and other infections often stemming from bedsores. It is because the patients are so immobile.”
“Maybe keeping visitation to a minimum really works. It’s like reverse precautions for immune-compromised people.”
Lynn nodded. Michael had a good point, even though the visitation policy bothered her from a personal perspective because of Carl. “Let’s look at the other side of the coin,” she said, “and check how many people recovered enough to be discharged. Remember, trauma is a major cause of coma and around ten percent of them recover enough to go home.”
Suddenly Michael straightened up. He looked back toward the hallway.
“What’s the matter?” Lynn asked nervously. As focused as she was on what she was doing, she had forgotten where they were.
“I thought I heard something,” Michael said.
For a few moments both students listened intently, holding their breaths. All they could hear was the hum of the powerful ventilation system.
“I don’t hear anything suspicious,” Lynn said.
“Nor do I,” Michael agreed. “Okay, my mind must be playing tricks.” Nervously he glanced at his watch. “I’m thinking it’s best if we get our asses out of here. Someone someplace is going to be aware that these stats are being accessed by someone in the middle of the fucking night. What we are doing here is legally more serious than our coming into this place.”
“I’m with you,” Lynn said. “I know! But this is important. Just a few minutes more.” She went back to the keypad and quickly asked for the number of people discharged since the Shapiro had been in operation. The answer was as surprising as the death rate: none!
Lynn looked back up at Michael. She was taken aback. “I’m not sure which is more incredible: the low death rate or the lack of any discharges.”
“Well, maybe they don’t take trauma patients.”
“I can’t believe that. As I said, trauma is a major cause of persistent vegetative state and coma.” Lynn laughed even though she didn’t find anything funny. “They are doing a bang-up job with survival but have a piss-poor cure rate.”
“Okay, let’s go,” Michael said. He tried to pull Lynn’s chair back from the terminal.
Lynn resisted. “Just one more thing,” she said. “Let’s see what the cause of death was for the thirty-one patients. I’d guess pneumonia will top the list.” Quickly Lynn typed in the query, and when the answer came back, she was as shocked as she had been when she found out there had been no discharges. Almost half the deaths were from multiple myeloma!
Throwing up her hands, Lynn said, “This can’t be true. No way!”
“It’s big-time weird,” Michael agreed, but at the moment he had other things on his mind even if she didn’t. With a bit more force he succeeded in pulling her chair back. “Enough data surfing if you want to try to visit Cluster 4-B and the recreation space, like we planned!” Without waiting for a response, he went to the door and opened it. When he was sure the coast was clear he said, “All right, let’s go, girl! Get your ass in gear!”
Lynn followed him out into the hallway. She looked stunned. “Those numbers are crazy! How can the Shapiro have a death rate from multiple myeloma that is one hundred times what’s seen in the general population?”
“Let’s hold off this conversation until we get out of here,” Michael snapped as he got the NOC door to close. It was a pocket door operated by a touch pad in the wall at chest height. “Come on! Let’s get to the stairway.”
For the rest of the way down to the stairwell door, Lynn held her tongue, but her mind was roiling. As soon as the stairwell door closed behind them, she stopped and said, “I’m sorry, but there is something truly weird about multiple myeloma and this institute.”
“Listen!” Michael said with exasperation. “Let’s get this visit over with before we launch into a lengthy discussion about what it all means. You seem to be forgetting we’re on borrowed time in hostile territory.” He undid his mask for a moment to wipe the perspiration off his face. It was warm and humid in the stairwell.
“Okay, you’re right,” Lynn said. “But I wish I’d had tried to see if there is any data on the incidence of gammopathy in here. Maybe on our way out, we can stop back in the NOC. It would only take a couple of minutes.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” Michael said, replacing his mask. “Provided, of course, we are not being chased.”
“Don’t joke about such a thing,” Lynn said.
“I’m not joking,” Michael said.
As they descended the stairs down to level four, Lynn consulted the floor plan. When they reached the landing, they paused outside the door and she showed him that there were several ways for them to get to Cluster 4-B.
“Let’s stay as far away as we can from the room labeled ‘automation control.’ My sense is that is where the staff will be holed up.”
“Good point,” Lynn said. “That means we should go left out of the stairwell and follow the hallway to the end and then turn right. I hope the doors are labeled. If they are not, it will be the fourth door on the right after the turn.”
Michael cracked the door onto the fourth floor and listened. Except for the omnipresent sound of the HVAC, silence reigned. He opened the door just enough to look up and down the hallway. It was a mirror image of the hallway above on five and just as white and brightly illuminated. Most important, it was similarly without a soul in sight. The only difference was that, at its far end, it lacked a door to the exterior. “Let’s not make this our life’s work, you know what I’m saying?”
Lynn knew exactly what Michael meant. “I’ll be right behind you,” she said.
It wasn’t a mad dash, but they moved as quickly and silently as they could, passing under a number of what they guessed were ceiling-mounted video cameras. The doors that they passed were labeled, for the most part. They turned the corner and resumed their speed. They hadn’t needed to count. Cluster 4-B was clearly labeled on the door in black sans serif letters and numerals.
“You ready?” Michael questioned.
“As ready as I ever will be,” Lynn responded, bracing herself. Seeing Carl in this sterile, deserted place was going to be an emotional challenge.