Michael Palmer - Extreme Measures

Patients and nurses, uniformed EMTS, and white-coated physicians bustled in and out of the buildings, proud or relieved to be associated with the hospital considered by many to be the world's best And no place was there even a hint of the terror their august institution had spawned.

Eric felt unsettled and anxious about what lay ahead-about the possibility of making a mistake that would alert the wrong people too soon. Timing was everything-timing and an airtight case. His credibility, for the moment, was all but destroyed in everyone's eyes except, he hoped, Dave Subarsky's. If Caduceus realized how far he had come, there was no telling what countermeasures they would take.

Already they had seen to the removal of Loretta Leone's body and tissue samples. That move in itself spoke of resourcefulness and power, just as surely as the deaths of Thaddeus Bushnell and Donald Devine spoke of the lack of moral boundaries. The worst thing he could do would be to tip his hand too soon. Records could be removed as easily as had Leone's specimens.

"Pe-People could be bought off or silenced altogether.

Incriminating evidence could be planted. And of course, he and Laura could simply disappear.

"Give up?"

Dave Subarsky moved in beside Eric and stared down at the E.R. lot.

"Hardly. I'm just deciding where to head next."

"And?"

"The nurse I kept mentioning, Norma Cullinet?"

"Uh-huh."

"She's a patient on the neurosurgical service. She fell and fractured her skull."

"So?"

"So, I don't know what shape she's in, but I think I'm going to try and talk with her."

"Neurosurgery, huh? Well, I hope she's better off than most of the neurosurgical patients I've seen. Most of those you couldn't communicate with at all unless you had an English-Vegetable dictionary."

"Not.true and not funny," Eric said.

"Sorry. You know me-nothing's sacred."

"I know. Sorry for snapping. It's just that this stuff is so damn ugly, I can't handle any sicko humor right now, even yours."

"I understand," Subarsky said. "Sometimes my mouth just has a mind of its own. Well, listen, pal, I've got a slew of errands to run in town.

Let me shut off my terminal and I'll walk you down."

The two of them were headed down the stairway toward the tunnels when Eric looked back at Subarsky.

"I appreciate your help this morning, David," he said. "Now I want you as far away from all this as possible, okay?"

"Sure."

"I mean it. I don't want to be the cause of anyone's getting hurt, especially a friend."

"Okay, but you know I'm here if you need me."

Eric hesitated, and then stopped and handed over the Xerox ledger sheets and his notes.

"David, if anything happens to me, I hope you'll try to break this thing open," he said.

"Nothing's gonna happen, but if it does, you can count on me doing just that."

"Thanks," Eric said. "Thanks for everything."

Once in the basement, the two men shook hands and headed in opposite directions.

Five floors above, in Dave Subarsky's office, the telephone was ringing.

It rang more than a dozen times before it stopped.

"Dammit, Eric, where are you? Where the hell are you?"

Laura Enders listened as the phone in the office where Eric was supposed to be continued to ring.

Finally she set the receiver down and finished dressing. Her hands were shaking and she could barely focus on what she was doing.

Five minutes, she decided. She would try once more in five minutes.,Then she had to do something.

It was only boredom, really, that had led her to check in with the desk at the Carlisle. Now she wondered if the force at work was something much stronger than that. The message, which she had copied down verbatim after three repetitions by the Iranian desk clerk, had come in during the early morning.

Your brother SCOtt is with me. To find out where to get him and where to bring reward, call 236-4356 every hour on the hour until you reach me. Rocky.

It was nearing nine o'clock. Laura struggled to keep her hopes in check. More likely than not, the call was a hoax-or worse, a trap.

Under no circumstances would she give anyone the number at Bernard's apartment; nor would she go anywhere alone. At two minutes before the hour, she tried Dave Subarsky's office once more. Once more there was no answer. She watched the seconds march off on her watch until another minute had passed, and then dialed. A man answered on the first ring.

"This is Rocky," he said.

"Rocky, this is Laura Enders."

She held the receiver with both hands to keep it steady.

"I got yer brother at my place. You still offerin' a reward?"

Laura's immediate sense was of an older man with not much education. In the background she could hear traffic noises.

"Yes, Rocky," she said. "if you really have him, I'll pay."

"How much?"

"First tell me, is he all right'?", "He's not so good, no."

"What's the matter?"

"How should I know? I ain't no doctor. Now, how much are we talkin'here?"

His voice had the deliberation and thickness of a drinker's.

"Five hundred dollars," Laura heard herself say.

..Six.ll "Okay, okay, six. But I no deal until you tell me something.

My brother has a tattoo on his left hip.

Describe it."

"If I have to go back and check, it'll cost you another fifty."

"That's fine. I'll call this number in five minutes."

"Better make it ten," Rocky said.

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

During the minutes that followed, Laura remained by the phone, moving only twice to try the number at the hospital. At nine-fifteen she called once again.

"Mom, Dad, Laurie, three flowers," Rocky said immediately.

Laura felt the muscles in her body go lax. She struggled to keep from dropping the phone.

"Where are you?" she demanded.

"Do we got a deal?"

"Yes, we have a deal. Now where are you?"

"Six-fifty?"

"Yes, yes. Now please, just tell me where to go."

"East Boston. There's a big vacant lot that starts on Bow Street.

You'D see a couple a rusty barrels in one corner. Be there in an hour with the money, and come alone."

"I'll have to have a driver."

"Just keep him the hell away from me. Once I get the money, I'll tell you where you can find yer brother.

Don't fool with me neither, lady. I ain't no dummy."

"I won't. I promise."

It could still be a trap. Laura tried desperately to think through the possibilities of how the man could have learned of Scott's tattoo.

Finally, she knew there was no choice but to go and see. She opened the Yellow Pages to TAxis, then just as quickly she stopped and put the book aside. There was a better, safer way.

After writing a lengthy note explaining to En'c everything that was happening, she picked up the phone and dialed 911.

"My name is Laura Enders," she said. "I must speak with Captain Wheeler, Captain Lester Wheeler.

It's an emergency."

The neurosurgical service occupied the eighth and ninth floors of the Fox Building, the newest-and in Eric's opinion the most appealing-of White Memorial's twelve buildings. The broad, well-lit corridors, pastel decor, and airy rooms seemed as perfect a setting for recovery as a hospital could offer. Eric had done two rotations on neurosurgery, and knew the floors well. Norma Cullinet's room, 814 according to patient information, was quite far from the nurses' station-down a separate corridor, in fact. The location suggested that she was quite stable, at least as post-op neurosurgical patients were measured. Still wary of his uncertain status in the hospital, Eric stopped by the laundry in the subbasement, signed out a knee-length clinic coat, and made his way up the staircase he remembered as opening almost across the hall from 814. As he climbed, he tried to sort out what he had come to know of the woman over the five years of their professional association.