Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

The woman appeared to be checking her computer screen for something. Tansu feared she was checking to see if Dr. Williams was even there. Tansu got his name from the newspaper that morning, but he hoped that would be enough of a password. He cupped his hand under her chin, holding it there as if he were framing her face for a portrait. “I hope you don’t think me rude,” he said, “but I only started seeing patients on Tuesday, and. . um. .”

This got her full attention-a plastic surgeon actually examining her face. “Yes?” she said, anxiously.

“Well, it’s just that, being new and all. . I could use some work to keep me fresh.”

Her eyes widened as he moved around her, touching her cheek ever so softly. She sat perfectly still, as if the slightest movement could cause a miscalculation.

“If you are at all interested, uh-”

“Marie,” she blurted.

“Yes, Marie,” he said, gazing at her bone structure as if it was a fine diamond. “I’d be glad to do a little work on you, maybe a little around the eyes,” he said, gently pulling her skin toward her ear, then using both thumbs to get the symmetrical effect. “It wouldn’t take me more than a couple of hours. I could do it right across the street in my new office. And, of course, I would waive my fee. Like I said, I could use the work. At least until I develop my practice. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she said. What’s to understand, he was offering her every American woman’s dream come true. Free plastic surgery.

“That sounds great,” she beamed.

Tansu looked at his watch. “Uh oh. I’d better get back there. Could you-” he pointed to the door that he hoped led to the patient rooms.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she held her index finger up against the computer screen. “Mrs. Bracco is in room 406.” She stood, then pointed down a long corridor. “Take the second set of elevators to the third floor.”

Tansu was already walking away. “Thank you, Marie. I’ll stop by on my way out and give you my office number.”

She was smiling like a high school girl on her prom night. Tansu couldn’t help but smile back at her. A very helpful woman, he thought. He was almost to the corridor when he heard her yell, “Dr. Marshall.”

He turned.

“There’s a police officer standing guard in front of that room,” she said. They both stood there looking at each other. Tansu held up his hands, unsure what to say. He was prepared to kill a half a dozen people to get to Julie Bracco, one unsuspecting police officer didn’t pose much of a threat.

Marie finally picked up a phone and said, “I’ll call up there and tell him you’re coming.”

Tansu blew her a mock kiss. “Thank you, thank you.”

He made his way down the corridor, searching for a storage room for medical supplies. He came unarmed in case he needed to pass through a metal detector. He knew that a hospital had more than enough weapons for him to choose from.

He wondered why Kharrazi had such a fixation for this Bracco person. It seemed that half of their time was spent attempting to put to death this FBI agent or some family member of his. Tansu tried not to doubt his leader, but sometimes personal reprisals seemed to get in the way of their ultimate goal: to force U.S. troops out of Turkey and allow his people to defend themselves properly. Tansu himself had a cousin who was shot by a Turkish soldier. His cousin was simply escorting his wife to the river for water, when a band of soldiers came driving by in an open jeep, waving their machine guns in the air. They were drunk with hatred and didn’t stop to ask questions. If you were Kurdish and lived in Kurdistan, you had a target on your back at all times.

Now, all Tansu wanted to do was kill this woman as quickly as possible and get back to the business of pressuring the White House for a withdrawal. He saw the elevators he needed, but decided to find something sharp first. A nurse carrying a tray with glass tubes and packages of wrapped needles was walking toward him. He held up his hand to get her attention. “Pardon me, I’m new and a little lost here, could you direct me to the supply room?”

“Sure,” the nurse said. She turned back where she had come from and pointed. “See that sign that says, ‘Emergency Room?’”

“Yes.”

“Follow that sign until you go past the cafeteria, then make your first right. About halfway down that hallway you’ll find the supply room. Just tell Mitch what you need, he’ll help you out.”

“Thanks,” Tansu said. These Americans were wonderful hosts, he thought. Very helpful.

He followed the directions and found the room he was looking for. Under a sign reading, “Supply Room,” was a wooden door split in half. The top portion was swung inward and open, while the bottom half was closed. Tansu leaned in and called, “Anybody here?”

A thin, elderly black man with a close-cropped white beard slowly rose from behind a small metal desk. The room appeared dim, but for the miniature gooseneck lamp illuminating the old man’s desk. “Can I help you?” the man asked.

Tansu extended his hand and the man shook it. “Hi, I’m Dr. Marshall. You must be Mitch. I’m new here. I was told to come down and get some scalpels.”

“Sure thing, Dr. Marshall. Do you have a requisition form?”

Tansu was perplexed. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I was just up in the operating room, and they told me to come down and get some more scalpels.”

“Who told you?”

“Well, uh, Dr. Williams.”

The man broke into a soft, wide grin. “That rascal. He hasn’t filled out one of those forms in twenty years. I guess that’s what happens when you have his kind of clout.”

“I guess,” Tansu said. He was ready and willing to snap the old man’s head like a stale pretzel if he resisted, but the man appeared ready to hand him the weapon he required.

“Which kind would you like, Dr. Marshall?” the man said, his shoulders already turning toward the shelves behind him.

“Oh, how about a big one?” Tansu said, casually.

The man stopped abruptly. He looked at Tansu with a leery expression. “Excuse me?”

Tansu shrugged. “They really didn’t tell me which size. I just assumed they wanted a large one.”

“A large one,” the man repeated. He seemed to examine Tansu more closely. “Where did you do your residency, Dr. Marshall?”

That was Tansu’s cue to take the man out. He looked up and down the corridor and noticed nobody in the immediate vicinity. He motioned for the man to come closer. And as everyone else he’d met lately, the man cooperated. Tansu reached over the doorway and grabbed the man’s throat with his right hand. With his left hand he gave a short, powerful jab directly into the man’s nose. It was enough to cause the man’s vision to blur with tears, and he fell straight backward holding both hands over his broken nose. The man’s head bounced on the cement floor hard and he appeared to lose consciousness.

Tansu reached over the ledge and twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. He hopped over the half-door and jumped onto the man’s chest. It took only a couple of seconds to snap the old man’s frail neck, the bones clicking as they twisted sideways, unnaturally.

Tansu lifted the dead man’s frame and dragged him into a nearby walk-in refrigerator. There were four rows of metal shelving with vials and bottles of medicine neatly organized on each shelf. Tansu dragged the corpse by his shirt collar and dropped him face down on the floor in the back corner of the refrigerator. Without some serious investigative work, the old man would appear to have fallen to his death. And that would buy Tansu plenty of time to accomplish his mission.