Robin Cook - Host

Michael checked the time, using his phone. Its illumination briefly lighted his face before he quickly turned it off. “We’ve been here now for more than forty-five minutes,” he said. “I think that’s it. I don’t think we are going to see any more people coming out or going in.”

“That wasn’t much of a shift change,” Lynn said. Just before eleven P.M. they had seen six people go in. A quarter of an hour later six people came out. All were wearing the Shapiro coveralls. They could hear conversation, but not individual words. They couldn’t even tell if they were speaking English.

“I’m shocked there weren’t more people,” Michael agreed.

“I wonder if some of the Shapiro staff come and go via the connection to the main hospital,” Lynn said. “It’s hard to believe that there are only six people working during the evening and the night shifts. That would mean only one person per floor.”

“Some must use the hospital,” Michael said. “There’s no way six people could take care of all the vegetative patients, even with automation. That’s absurd.”

“Absurd or not, it can’t be good care. It is all the more reason I hate the idea of Carl being put in there, above and beyond the possibility he’s being used as a guinea pig for clinical drug trials.”

“The only good aspect is that if there are only six people on the night shift, we might actually get away with going in there. If I had to guess, with only one person per floor, that one person is probably minding the automation and not concerned about possible intruders. So if you are still committed to giving it a try, this is the time.”

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Lynn asked.

“No more than I’ve had from day one. Let’s go get our stuff and get it over with.”

They stood up and stretched. They had been sitting there now for almost an hour. Both briefly eyed the Shapiro as they joined the main paved pathway. The dark, massive building was, if anything, more intimidating at night. It could have been a tomb or mausoleum. What they didn’t see was that another figure had emerged from the shadows and followed them at a significant distance as they headed back to the dorm.

The afternoon had been difficult, almost painful, for Lynn. If she thought the ophthalmology lecture was humdrum, then the dermatology talk was worse. Yet she persevered. At one point she thought seriously about bagging it, but Michael had somehow sensed it and whispered, “Don’t even think about it!” So she had stuck it out. Same with the clinic after the lecture.

Later that evening, at dinner, Lynn and Michael had made it a point to eat with a group of friends as a way of pretending they were acting normally. At the table Lynn had voiced her negative reaction to both ophthalmology and dermatology. A few people, Michael included, felt as she did. Others had different ideas. Two of their dinner partners mentioned they were soon heading off to dermatology residencies, so Lynn didn’t belabor the point.

After dinner, Lynn and Michael had excused themselves and headed back to the dorm. There they had spent more than three hours following the instructions Lynn had downloaded from the Internet for fooling fingerprint scanners in general, and thumbprint scanners in particular. Lynn had already gotten the necessary gear, which included a high-resolution digital camera, which she had borrowed, super glue, wood glue, a good laser printer, and transparency film.

They had experimented by making mock-ups of their own prints and using Michael’s HP laptop, which had a fingerprint lock, to see if they would work. It had taken several attempts, but eventually they did work. The step that they had found the most difficult was going from the negative toner print on the transparency sheet to the positive made from the wood glue. But they had kept at it until they thought they had perfected the step. Finally, feeling relatively confident, they had tackled Vladimir’s prints and made a number of copies.

When they had finished, they debated whether to walk over right away and see if the fake thumbprints would open the Shapiro door, but they decided against it, as the chances of being seen were too great. Instead, they would try to go into the Shapiro after the shift change at eleven o’clock, when they reasoned there would be fewer people out and about in the medical center quadrangle.

Now, as midnight was approaching, both Lynn and Michael were feeling progressively keyed up as they boarded the dorm elevator to go up to Lynn’s room to get the paraphernalia they needed for the break-in. Unfortunately, just as the elevator door was about to close, several fellow students who’d come back from studying in the library got on. Reluctant to talk in the presence of others, Lynn and Michael bit their tongues and stayed silent. Once they got to their floor and found themselves alone again, the floodgates opened, and they excitedly went over the general plan they had agreed on if and when they got into the institute.

The first order of business was to go directly to the NOC and try to access the Shapiro data bank and learn what they could, including finding out Carl’s location. Then they would visit the appropriate cluster room. After that, they planned to check out the supposed recreation space on either the first floor or the fourth, whichever was more convenient, since those floors had the only access.

“My sense is that we should make this visit as short as possible,” Michael said as they approached Lynn’s room, where they had left their gear. “We have to be fast. No foot-dragging! The longer we’re in there, the greater the risk. You know what I am saying?”

“Of course,” Lynn said. “It stands to reason, but I am determined to get what we need from the Shapiro computer with Vladimir’s log-in. It might take a few minutes, and I don’t want you to be ragging on me. We need to find out how many deaths the Shapiro has had, and the cause, since it opened. We also want to know how many people have recovered enough to be discharged. It’s important, since I know from my reading what the stats should be.”

“And we want to find out Carl’s location,” Michael added.

“Obviously,” Lynn said. “That’s going to determine which cluster room we go to. Will you want to try to visit Ashanti?”

“Not necessarily,” Michael said.

Lynn keyed open her door and entered. Michael followed, closing the door behind.

“Okay, I think it’s time we dressed for the occasion,” Lynn said, adding a touch of humor to temper her growing anxiety. Her intuition told her they were going to find something disturbing if they managed to get in, but it also reminded her that if they were caught, there was going to be hell to pay. She didn’t agree with Michael’s hope that they might only get a slap on the wrist because of their medical-student status.

Without further discussion they quickly changed out of their clothes and got into the white one-piece Shapiro coveralls Vladimir had provided. When they were finished, they looked at each other. Lynn was the first to laugh but Michael quickly joined in.

“Yours is way too small,” Lynn said. “Sorry to laugh.”

“Yours is way too big,” Michael said. “Rest assured: no one is going to accuse us of being dipped.”

“Surely not,” Lynn said. She knew that in Michael’s vernacular “dipped” meant “dressed up.” Both pocketed their mobile phones, each with a flashlight app and fully charged. Lynn checked the time. It was just after midnight. “It’s just about the time we thought appropriate.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “Let’s go kick butt!”

Over their distinctive scrubs they both pulled on long raincoats. They didn’t want any fellow students who might see them asking any questions about their outfits. Both picked up an envelope containing one of the fake thumbprints. Lynn put the stapled floor plans into a pocket — the one-piece Shapiro coveralls had an abundance of them.