The Book of Fate

83

You sure that’s right?” Rogo asked, reading from the original May 27 entry in Boyle’s datebook. He held it up to the redacted photocopy just to make sure it was a perfect fit. Underneath the

were the handwritten words

“That’s the big secret they were hiding from the masses?” Rogo added. “That Boyle had a doctor’s appointment?”

“It is personal information,” Freddy pointed out, slowly approaching them as Rogo tucked the original into a nearby file.

“Makes complete sense,” Dreidel agreed. “In every White House, half the staff lines up to see a shrink.”

Standing at the edge of one of the long research stacks, Rogo turned to his friend, who was sitting on the corner of a nearby desk. “Who says he’s a shrink?” Rogo challenged.

“Wha?”

“Dr. Eng. What makes you think he’s a shrink?”

“I don’t know, I just assumed he—”

“Listen, guys, I’d love to spend the rest of the night debating the merits of Eng’s particular practice,” Freddy interrupted, “but this is still a government building, and like any government building, when the little hand reaches the five—”

“Can you just run one more quick search?” Rogo asked, pointing to the library computers.

“I’m trying to be helpful. Really. But c’mon — the library’s closed.”

“Just one more search.”

“It’s already—”

“Just put in the words Dr. Eng,” Rogo pleaded. “Please — it’ll take less than thirty seconds. It’s just typing two words—Dr. and Eng—into the bat-computer. You do that and we’ll be gone so fast, you’ll be home in time for the early early news.”

Freddy stared at Rogo. “One last search and that’s it.”

A few keystrokes later, as Freddy hunched over the keyboard, the answer popped on-screen.

No other records found.

“And you—?”

“I checked everything: the WHORM file, staff and office collections, e-mail, even the few odd bits of microfiche from the old national security stuff,” Freddy said, well past annoyed. “The library’s now officially closed,” he added, standing from his seat and pointing to the door. “So unless you’d like to be introduced to our well-trained security staff, I suggest you have a nice day.”

Walking swiftly through the brick and concrete courtyard in front of the library, Rogo was a full five feet in front of Dreidel as they headed toward the car. “A business. Yes, in Fort Lauderdale,” Rogo said into his cell phone. “I’m looking for the number of a Dr. Eng. E-N-G.”

“I have a Dr. Brian Eng on Griffin Road,” the operator said.

“Two six seven eight, exactly,” Rogo said, reading the address off the sheet of paper they had copied it to. “And does it say what kind of doctor he is?”

“I’m sorry, sir — we don’t list occupations. Please hold for that number.”

Within seconds, a mechanized female voice announced, “At the customer’s request, the number is nonpublished and is not listed in our records.”

“Are you friggin’— What kinda doctor keeps an unlisted phone number?” As he turned back to Dreidel, he added, “Anything on the Web?”

Staring down at the tiny screen on his phone, Dreidel fidgeted with the buttons like a grandparent with a remote control. “I know I’m set up for Internet access — I just can’t figure out how to—”

“Then whattya been doing for the past five minutes? Give it here,” Rogo snapped, snatching the phone from his hand. With a few clicks and shifts, Rogo entered the name Dr. Brian Eng and hit Enter. For almost a full two minutes, he scrolled and clicked but didn’t say a word.

“Anything?” Dreidel asked as they weaved around cars in the parking lot.

“Unreal,” Rogo moaned, still clicking buttons on the phone. “Not only is his number unlisted — the guy’s somehow managed to stay out of every major search engine. Google… Yahoo!… you name it — put in Dr. Brian Eng and nothing comes up — it’s ridiculous! If I put in the words Jewish Smurfs, I get a page full of hits, but Dr. Brian Eng gives me goose egg?” Approaching the driver’s side of the Toyota, Rogo slapped the phone shut and tossed it across the roof of the car to Dreidel. “Which leads us right back to, what kinda doctor keeps himself so hidden, he’s almost impossible to find?”

“I don’t know… a mob doctor?” Dreidel guessed.

“Or an abortion doctor,” Rogo countered.

“What about a plastic surgeon — y’know, for the really rich who don’t want people to know?”

“Actually, that’s not a bad call. Wes said it looked like Boyle changed some of his features. Maybe the May 27th appointment was his first office consult.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, Dreidel glanced down at his watch. Outside, it was already starting to get dark. “We can swing by when they open tomorrow morning.”

“You kidding?” Rogo said as he started the car. “We should go right now.”

“He’s probably closed.”

“Still, if the building’s open, I bet the directory in the lobby’ll at least tell us what kind of practice he has.”

“But to trek all the way to Fort Lauderdale…”

Halfway out of the parking spot, Rogo jammed the brakes and shifted the car back into park. Turning to his right, he glared at Dreidel, who was still staring out the front windshield.

“What?” Dreidel asked.

“Why don’t you want me driving to this doctor right now?”

“What’re you talking about? I’m just trying to save us time.”

Rogo lowered his chin. “Good,” he said, jerking the car back into gear. “Next stop, Dr. Brian Eng.”