Cell

46

George was ushered into the courtroom along with three other men. A cramped seating area with a thick glass partition running up to the ceiling separated him from the courtroom proper. A narrow opening ran the length of the glass at face level so that the imprisoned men could be heard by the judge and attorneys.

George had met with Bonifacio and a bail bondsman early that morning in an interview room to take care of the necessary financial transactions after the lawyer had secured George’s credit card. George thought both men had been sent from central casting. They were tall, overweight, and practiced marginal personal hygiene.

George was more exhausted than he could ever remember being in his life, which was saying something after slogging through four years of medical school and three of residency. During the night he had been joined by a number of other cellmates, and their activities squashed any hopes of getting even the briefest spell of shut-eye. One man had tried to “cuddle up” to George. The biker, apparently not concerned with politically correct attitudes toward gay men, had put an end to that in a terrifying flash of homophobic violence.

The topper for George had been when stomach cramps necessitated his use of the toilet. It was so filthy, he refused to sit down and tried to suspend himself in midair. As if he hadn’t been self-conscious enough, his antics made his cellmates burst out laughing, taunting him as a “fucking aristocrat.” Even the experience of obtaining toilet paper had been humiliating. The jailors literally made him beg for it.

George was a physical mess. He hadn’t showered or brushed his teeth. Neither had the three men standing next to him. Their stench was nauseating, and he imagined he might not be much better.

Bonifacio, as big and beefy a man as the fellow who had recommended him, made his way over to George. The one thing he had going for him was that he was obviously very familiar with the goings-on.

“Doing okay still?”

George nodded.

“Good. I talked with the prosecutor. The deputy DA has assigned your case to a guy I know. He can be a dick, but the judge isn’t so bad, so we might be okay. With your credit card limit, anything under seventy-five grand is good.”

“What’s the likelihood of that?”

Bonifacio shrugged. “Like I said, they got a lot of counts against you. We could be talking as much as a couple hundred Gs plus. But don’t despair, I’m pretty well connected around here.” The man smiled. From the looks of his teeth, George understood why he had such bad breath.

In keeping with his luck of late, George had to wait while the other three men were called before him. George’s nervousness mounted as none of them made bail, which suggested that the judge was not in the best of moods. When George’s name was finally called, Bonifacio and the deputy district attorney assigned to the case stood and announced their credentials. Then Bonifacio waived a prolonged reading of the charges and told the judge that his client pleaded not guilty on all counts and wanted a speedy trial to prove it.

The judge looked up, obviously surprised, and stared at George. “You don’t wish to waive your right to a preliminary hearing within ten days?”

All three of the previous prisoners had waived their right to a speedy trial in the hope that by extending the process to the maximum, the DA might reduce the charges to get the case off the books. Bonifacio had explained to George that by insisting on his right it sent a psychological message to the judge that he was innocent, a ploy that enhanced his chances of being offered bail at a lower rate. Bonifacio insisted it was a strategy he had used to great effect. George hoped he was right. Getting released on bail was George’s number one goal. His only chance to defend himself from the charges against him was to substantiate that iDoc was being sabotaged, which wouldn’t happen if he was sitting in jail. There was no plan B.

“Your Honor, my client is absolutely not guilty. We believe these charges will not survive a preliminary hearing, and we want to move quickly. We do not waive.”

The judge looked down and studied his calendar, looking for the appropriate date, while George watched, his mind spinning. His eyes anxiously scanned the room as the seconds ticked by. Then by chance, he noticed a copy of the L.A. Times sitting on the corner of the attorney’s table. Under a headline George couldn’t make out was a headshot of Zee. What the hell?

George pressed his head into the slot to get a better look. It was Zee! And from this angle George could decipher the headline, too: “Unemployed Gamer Killed in High-Speed Crash.” The subtitle read: “Yet Another Runaway Accelerator Suspected.” George’s body went numb with fear. Could Zee’s death be just an awful coincidence? He sincerely doubted it. Remorse at possibly involving Zee in something that led to his death overwhelmed him almost as much as his fear.

“George? George, you paying attention?” It was Bonifacio. He was looking at George with concern.

“Sorry,” he managed. “What?”

“Your court date is set for July eighteenth,” Bonifacio whispered. “Pay attention or you are going to irritate you know who. Jesus…”

The deputy DA was standing now and addressing the judge. “Due to the seriousness of the charges, the people urge the court to set bail in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars.”

George’s mouth dropped. Such an amount was far beyond his credit. On top of his fear and remorse was a sense of near-incapacitating anxiety that spread through him like wildfire. Was he doomed to stay in jail? How would he ever survive it? After the experience of the previous night, he didn’t know. And after what had apparently happened to Zee, George felt as a matter of survival a need to get away from the clutches of the authorities.

The judge looked up at the deputy DA. “That seems excessive, Counselor. Why so high?”

“Because of the seriousness of the charges, we believe the defendant to be a flight risk.”

Bonifacio cleared his throat. “Your Honor, Dr. Wilson is a fourth-year resident doctor at L.A. University Medical Center. He’s always been an upstanding member of the community and has never been charged with any crime, not even a speeding ticket.”

“What kind of bail were you seeking?” the judge asked Bonifacio.

“Sir, considering my client’s blemish-free record, twenty-five thousand dollars would be more than enough.”

“This was an assault on both corporate and federal government entities involving health care records, sir,” the deputy DA countered.

The judge looked at George, evaluating him, and then began scribbling on the court documents in front of him. He looked up. “Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars.”

George’s knees buckled in relief.

Bonifacio turned to him and winked. “I’ll have you out of here in an hour.”

George was released and given back all his clothing and personal items, including his cell phone. He stepped out into the bright, hot sunshine. Oh, God! What relief! But then his mind returned to Zee.

George hustled down to the street corner and found a newsstand. He bought a copy of the L.A. Times and sat on the curb to read the article. Zee’s car had apparently been going over a hundred miles per hour when it veered off the road and struck the concrete abutment of an overpass. The reporter believed it was another Toyota accelerator crash. George finished the article and sat staring into the gutter, his hands still trembling. It was definitely too much of a coincidence for the crash to have been an accident. There had been a number of such accelerator incidents in the past, sure, but what were the odds of it happening now? And if it wasn’t an accident, it was murder. George had never been a conspiracy theorist, but this was turning him into one.

As he sat on the curb, George’s mind went into high gear. He didn’t see the traffic going by or the pedestrians who eyed him as they passed. He had started thinking something else. What if Zee had been killed not by the government, an idea that had been fostered in his mind by Zee’s government paranoia, but rather by the individual or group of individuals behind the iDoc death panel conspiracy. In many respects this made more sense. After all, iDoc and Amalgamated were private entities.

George breathed out forcibly, unaware he had been holding his breath as his mind pondered this new concern. In many respects it was even scarier than worrying about the government, especially since the idea suggested he might have been safer in jail than out on the street.

Scrambling to his feet, George nervously looked around. He felt a bit of relief seeing that no one was paying him the slightest bit of attention now that he was standing. But this new line of thought evoked another worry: Maybe he shouldn’t go back to his apartment, or at least not stay there. If the authorities knew he had been involved in hacking into the iDoc servers, then there was reason to fear that the person or persons responsible for the iDoc subversion knew as well.

Dusting himself off, he hailed a cab, giving the driver his address. He decided he wasn’t going to stay there but needed some things, and reasoned that being there for a short time would be safe. After riding for a few minutes and allowing himself to calm down, he dialed Paula’s cell. If he was to learn anything more about iDoc, he needed her help. Would she? He didn’t know, but she was his only recourse.

As if expecting his call, she picked up on the first ring. “What the hell! You stood me up! I sat at that coffee shop for an hour texting you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. My day didn’t go as planned.” Understatement of the year.

“You’d better explain, and it better be good.” She was all business.

“I was arrested.”

Silence. George gave her a minute for his comment to sink in.

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst I have ever spent. I knew you were waiting, but I couldn’t call. I couldn’t text. And, on top of being arrested, I’ve been placed on administrative leave from my residency, which is the equivalent of being fired, unless I’m acquitted, which probably won’t happen, since I’m guilty as charged.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” she said.

“I was arrested for hacking into iDoc,” George said. “They grabbed me minutes after we spoke yesterday. I ended up spending the night in jail and just got out.”

“Where exactly are you, George?” she said gently.

“In a taxi. I’m heading back to my apartment.”

“What exactly are you accused of doing?”

“As I said yesterday morning, it wasn’t I who actually hacked Amalgamated. It was someone I paid to do it. A professional gamer named Zee Beauregard. You can read about him on the front page of the local section of today’s L.A. Times.” George fought back tears from a flood of emotion. He paused for a moment before continuing. “Zee said he was able to access iDoc records on the Amalgamated servers.”

“Really? You got through our firewall?”

“I didn’t. Zee did.”

Paula let out a mirthless laugh. “No wonder you were arrested! Why in heaven’s name did you do it? And why is it a story?”

George didn’t want to explain any more over the phone. “Let’s do this in person. I’m more afraid than ever that iDoc has been compromised. And I’m not referring to the hacking. I’m afraid your baby has been subverted and is now killing people.”

“George, do you know how that sounds?”

“Yes, I know. But meet with me. I’ll explain it all. It’s even more complicated than that. The federal government is also involved somehow on some level. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been arrested quite so quickly. Look, it’s truly complicated. After you hear me out, you decide if you buy any of it. But, please, let me explain it.”

“I can’t get my head around any of this, George. But for the sake of our friendship I’m willing to listen. Now, don’t take this wrong, but remember back in medical school that you had a tendency to subscribe to conspiracy theories. One time you even argued that there was no way Oswald had acted alone.”

“That was Pia’s take. I was just mouthing it for her benefit.”

“Well, regardless. When you said iDoc was in direct competition with the medical profession, I could understand why you were so negative. I mean, you come up with this great idea and instead of it being embraced by the medical profession, it gets stolen by the insurance industry. I can see where resentment might build up. That’s all I’m saying. But if you’re able to offer me some proof that iDoc has been subverted, then I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I need to know exactly what you think you’ve discovered right now, before you go spouting off to anyone else.”

“I’ll tell you everything. But only in person. I’m going to need your help, too, to be one hundred percent certain.”

She sighed and paused a moment, thinking. “Okay, let’s meet.”

“Great! How about now?”

“Okay.”

“I’m in a cab heading to my apartment, but actually I’m afraid to stay there.”

“What about your friend? Why is he in the paper?”

“Because he died.” George struggled to continue as emotion bubbled up. “He was driving on the freeway. The article says that his accelerator got stuck. It was an old Toyota. But that seems a little coincidental in light of the hack, don’t you think? When he left me he was terrified the government was coming after him.”

“Come directly to my house,” she replied with an urgency that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Now! You can stay in my guest suite. Tell the driver to drop you at Four twenty-eight Sixteenth Street. It’s north of Montana Avenue in Santa Monica. I’m not saying I’m buying all of what you’re saying, but I don’t want you to take any risk. So come now. Okay?”

“I need to get my car and a few things from home first. I’ll be careful, trust me. And I’ll make sure no one follows me to your place.”

“Okay. If you insist. But be quick!”

When George reached his apartment he asked the cabdriver to drive around the block while he looked the place over. Everything seemed quiet as usual for a Sunday morning, so he told the driver to let him out.

George warily entered the complex, nervously scanning the area as he went. All was quiet. Once inside his apartment, he grabbed the baseball bat he kept in the umbrella stand and made a quick tour of the other rooms. Then he double-checked that all the doors and windows were locked. He even checked the closets and under the bed. He knew it was paranoid, but he couldn’t help himself.

Once George was satisfied he was alone, he first put Kasey’s things, which were still spread around on his bed, back in the cardboard box and placed the box in the closet. He had been handling the mementos when the SWAT team had invaded. Then he went into the bathroom, locked the door, and took a quick, needed shower. Feeling a slight bit more like a normal human, he got out a small travel bag and rapidly tossed in some of his things. He then quickly picked up the baseball bat, despite knowing full well the security it afforded was purely psychological. After less than fifteen minutes he was ready.

47

George headed out, the duffel bag in one hand, the baseball bat in the other. He skirted the pool occupied by a single young woman whom George had never seen before supine on a float, eyes closed, baking in the sun. She didn’t stir. It was hot. Sweat was already building on George’s brow as he went through the back gate out to the carport.

Before climbing into his car he gave the neighborhood a once-over by going out to the gutter to scan the street up and down, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He had never felt as apprehensive and distrustful as he did at that very moment. As much as he hoped no one was watching him, another part of him wanted to detect a suggestion of surveillance as he would then know for sure that his fears were justified.

A couple of people on the block were washing their cars, others walking their dogs as on any normal Sunday early afternoon. One of the dog walkers seemed to take issue with George staring at him and stared back for a beat. There were a couple of black SUVs with dark tinted windows parked along the street, but that was always the case, as popular as such vehicles were in L.A. But still… he wondered.

George watched for a time, but no one seemed to take note of his presence. Even the dog walker had moved on, replaced by a couple of kids with skateboards. Birds squawked and chirped, a dog barked, a sprinkler ticked its steady beat, and nothing happened. Finally he gave up and went back to his car.

George tossed his small travel bag in the Jeep’s backseat, along with his bat, and climbed into the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition, half expecting the car to blow up in a spectacular fireball as he’d seen in a dozen movies. Instead it turned over and coughed its way into its normal purr. He put the Cherokee in gear, backed out into the street, and drove off, carefully checking in his rearview mirror. He wanted to make sure that he wasn’t followed, particularly after what had happened to Zee. He did not want to put Paula in any more danger than he had by just talking to her on his cell.

As George drove and thought about his current situation, he admitted to being a rank amateur in the intrigue arena. In reality, he had no idea what he was doing or what someone with means and know-how was capable of doing with regard to keeping a close watch on him. If such a person or organization were interested in his actions and whereabouts, they would know how to stay out of sight — and with the federal government having access to FBI and CIA tactics, anything was possible. With that thought, he started to scan the skies out of his sunroof for drone activity. As far-fetched as that seemed, he couldn’t help himself; his paranoia had taken full and total control. He certainly didn’t want to end up like Zee.

Amateur or not, George thought being careful was prudent, and settled on a simple ruse. He detoured to the medical center and entered its multistory garage. Inside, he found a place where he could observe the entrance he’d used and watched the vehicles that came in after him. After a quarter of an hour, when he didn’t see anything at all suspicious, he exited the garage onto a street different from the one by which he had entered. As he picked up speed, he was confident he was not being followed.

George stayed on local streets to Santa Monica, purposely avoiding high-speed freeways. As he got closer, he even relaxed a bit. He was looking forward to seeing Paula and hopefully enlisting her help.

When her house came into view, he pulled to the curb and stared at it. It was a gorgeous, fairly new Mediterranean-style two-story home with a tile roof and Spanish architectural details. Worth at least three million, George thought, according to what he knew about L.A. real estate. In contrast to the run-down condition of his own apartment, he considered Paula’s home a clear illustration of the relative values of an MD and MD-MBA degree. He knew he was being irrational and a tad envious, but still the difference was remarkable.

There was no driveway out front, which indicated there must be an alley around back. A moment later Paula came out the front door, appearing far too young to be the proprietor of such a house. With her hands she motioned for him to loop around back, proving he was right about an alley.

George dutifully drove to the next cross street, turned right, and then right again, into an alleyway, where he saw her standing ahead in the shade of an open garage door. She waved for him to pull his car in. He did as he was told, stopping alongside what looked to be a brand-new black Porsche 911 Carrera GT. He cut his engine and got out.

“Under the circumstances, I think it’s better that your car not be seen from the street,” she explained.

“I couldn’t agree more,” George said, grabbing his bag but leaving the bat in the car.

She came directly up to him and grabbed his arms, staring up into his face. “Are you okay?” She was clearly worried about him. “You’re trembling.”

George decided honesty was the best policy. “I’m not sure if I’m okay or not.”

“You do look exhausted.”

“That’s about how I feel. I think the current term is ‘fried.’”

“Well, come on in the house! Let’s get you relaxed. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” She let go of one of his arms but solicitously maintained a hold on the other as she lowered the garage door.

George was encouraged at his reception. He hadn’t known what to expect, being the bearer of disturbing news. He followed her into the backyard, taking in the extent of the residence. There was a pool, an attached Jacuzzi, a large terrace, and extensive manicured landscaping. Inside the house, he admired the elegant furnishings.

“This place is gorgeous,” he said, standing in the middle of a combination family room and kitchen. The pool could be seen through French doors.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I’m glad you like it. I bought it furnished, so I can’t take any credit for the decorating.” She led him through the kitchen area and into a large, well-appointed guest wing with its own sitting room and bathroom. “This is where you’ll be staying. And I imagine you could probably use a good nap, so…”

“I would rather talk first,” he interrupted. “I’m too wired to sleep.”

“Okay. We can do that,” she said. “I understand. Why don’t you drop your bag, and I’ll show you around the rest of the house to get you oriented. It has its uniqueness. Then we can talk.”

“I’d like that,” George said. For the first time since his arrest he felt safe.

Paula gave George a quick tour, which he did find entertaining and even calming, giving him a chance to organize his thoughts.

The house had one feature he didn’t expect: The previous owner of the house, a Middle Eastern businessman, had built a safe room in the basement that could be accessed rapidly from the second-floor master bedroom by a slide somewhat akin to a laundry chute. The access point started from behind a hidden wall panel and ended up in the basement just opposite the door to the safe room. Paula explained that the safe room was supposed to be able to withstand a major explosion and fire. The real estate agent had thought it was a selling point, but Paula regarded it merely as a curiosity.

“Want to try the slide?” Paula asked.

George looked into the maw of the concave, angled slide that disappeared into darkness. “I think I’ll pass,” he said.

“Come on,” Paula urged. “Let your hair down!”

On a sudden whim, George went for it. He hadn’t been on a slide since the third grade. He found it exhilarating. He even found himself capable of laughing when he and Paula ended up sprawled in a tangle of arms and legs on a mat in the darkness until Paula got a light on.

“Exactly what kind of business was the former owner in?” George asked as they glanced past a vault-like door into the safe room.

“I asked the same thing, but no one was able to tell me for certain. The rumor was that he was in the arms business and was murdered on a business trip last year.”

Paula led George back up to the kitchen. She got out some sandwiches she had made earlier and a pitcher of iced tea. They ended up sitting on the terrace under a broad awning. As soon as they were settled, Paula wanted to hear about Zee.

George told her the little he knew, which was what he had read in the L.A. Times. She pulled the story up on her iPad, and they went over the article together. “This is all very…” Paula hesitated, struggling for the right word.

“Scary,” George said.

Paula nodded. “To say the least.” She then asked about George’s night in jail.

“It was probably the worst twenty-four hours of my life,” George admitted with a shudder. He went on to describe in detail the whole experience, including the shady lawyer who finally bailed him out and his biker buddy who had the attorney’s phone number tattooed on his arm.

“What a horrid experience this whole thing has been,” Paula remarked. “But the worst part is the death of your friend. And I agree, the stuck accelerator suggested in the newspaper article seems too coincidental.”

“And too convenient,” George added.

“No doubt,” Paula agreed. She poured both of them more iced tea. “Okay, now let’s talk about iDoc. What is it you believe is going on?”

George took a deep breath and started from the beginning with Kasey, although he didn’t mention that he was engaged to the woman. He just described her as a close acquaintance and didn’t say he had awakened in bed with her corpse. Paula didn’t stop him to question the nature of the relationship, and he didn’t say. He wanted to tell her but not just yet.

George went on to explain the other unexpected deaths: Tarkington, Wong, DeAngelis, and Chesney. He told her about his connection to them and about his need to violate HIPAA rules in his investigations. “The long and short of it is that all of these people were part of the iDoc beta test and all had been recently diagnosed, whether they knew it or not, with serious and most likely terminal illnesses.”

Paula understood the implication immediately. “You’re worried that iDoc has morphed into a kind of death panel?”

“Exactly!” George admitted. “I mean, there is a very low statistical possibility all this is circumstantial, but I sincerely doubt it could be. I believe iDoc is killing people it believes are destined to be expensive to treat and who have limited life spans even with the costly treatment they require.”

Paula flushed. “Let me tell you! There was never even the thought of such a thing during the creation of iDoc. Never!”

“I believe you,” George said.

“Then how could you jump to such a conclusion?”

“I didn’t jump! It was forced on me!”

She looked at him skeptically. “It seems to me that is a rather big leap.”

“Okay. Let me back up,” George said. First he told her about the medical journal article he had read in the past about the concern that people might, in the future, hack into wireless medical devices, which were proliferating. He said that warning had stayed in the back of his mind, only to come to the fore when the deaths he had described began to take place.

“Have you any proof whatsoever?” Paula asked.

“Absolutely,” George said. He then described the lengths he had had to go to, to obtain Sal DeAngelis’s reservoir, which had been embedded under Sal’s abdominal skin.

Paula was aghast as George described going to the funeral parlor and rifling through the dead man’s clothes with the embalmed corpse lying in the coffin. “You really were motivated,” Paula said. “I can’t believe your nerve. I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

“I wanted that reservoir,” George said with emphasis. “I thought it would be key. I had to make the effort to check the body in the hospital morgue, but I’d been turned away.”

“But you ended up getting it?”

“I did.” George then described the ordeal at the salvage yard and how he finally got hold of the chip after what seemed like a futile search.

“So this reservoir is your proof?”

“Not by itself.” George went on to describe how he had been able to get Sal’s phone as well as having Kasey’s. He explained that although Kasey’s iDoc had been wiped clean, Sal’s phone hadn’t been because it had been damaged in the crash and still retained some information. That was how George learned, with Zee’s help, that Sal’s phone had received a global-dump command.

“Did that jibe with what you already knew?”

“Absolutely. When I had examined the reservoir, I could see that it was completely empty. And this was a reservoir that was supposed to last for two years or more, according to the doctor who had implanted it. Sal’s had been under his skin for only a couple of months!”

“So this is what made you hire Zee?”

“Precisely,” George said. He went on to tell Paula that when Zee hacked into Amalgamated’s servers, he found no evidence that a dump command had been issued. Yet Sal’s smartphone itself showed exactly the opposite. Nor did Zee find a dump command in any of the other records from the other patients. “But when Zee looked more carefully he saw it!”

“Saw what?” Paula asked.

“What he called the artifacts! Some minuscule evidence of an overwrite on the records. Zee sensed that the record in each case had been overwritten to delete the dump command and the recorded vital signs showing the effects of a dump command. He saw the same artifact at the same critical juncture in all five of the records seventeen minutes prior to death. It was his feeling that there had been a cover-up of the dump command coming from outside the server.”

Paula was astonished, angered, disbelieving, and intrigued all at the same time. “Okay, what does all this mean?”

“With what proof I have, which is limited to DeAngelis’s phone data, I believe that the dump command was probably a hack job, which was then covered up by another hack job by someone else.”

“That’s too complicated,” Paula said, shaking her head. “In medicine, when you have confusing symptoms, the diagnosis is usually a single disease.”

“I admit, I can’t be certain, but Zee discovered something else. When he tried to trace the hacker it led him to two ‘high-anonymity proxy servers.’ He said on the other end of these proxy servers were very likely the sources of the hacks. One, he thought, was here in Los Angeles, possibly up in the Hollywood Hills, and the other was in Maryland.”

“Maryland?”

“The server in Maryland was the one that spooked Zee. He told me the server was part of an obscure government agency called URI, standing for Universal Resource Initiative. The only thing he could learn about the organization was that it was loosely associated with the Independent Payment Advisory Board, which, if you don’t know, was set up by the Affordable Care Act to advise Medicare and Medicaid on cost control.”

Paula appeared crestfallen. “You think this is all some kind of ill-conceived cost-saving plan engineered by the feds?”

George shrugged. “I don’t know. But that was one of the things that occurred to me. Either by the feds or Amalgamated.”

Paula leaned forward, head in hands, quietly saying no over and over again. Then, suddenly, pulling herself together, she sat back up, looking directly at George. Anger had trumped dejection. “If you are right about all this, it is a terrible, terrible subversion of probably the biggest innovation in medicine to date. iDoc is going to save people, not kill them! It’s going to revolutionize medicine, democratize it, taking it from essentially ‘sick’ care to true ‘health’ care, giving everyone their own twenty-four-seven doctor who intimately knows them and has access to the latest diagnostics and treatments available.”

George didn’t respond. Paula had flushed again with a wild look in her eyes. Enraged at the thought that iDoc might have been subverted, she had launched back into her sales presentation. He did not attempt to interrupt her. He understood that she was as shocked about it as he had been. He let her vent.

“You know as well as I,” she snapped, “iDoc is going to reduce unnecessary medical procedures and break the stranglehold of medical specialists!” She stared back at George challengingly.

“I agree,” George said, trying to calm her. “I agree with everything you’ve said. But there is a problem — these five suspicious deaths. It’s a situation that has to be looked into and either confirmed and exposed or proven to be somehow circumstantial, if that is even possible with what is known.”

“Okay, okay!” Paula said, struggling to get herself under control. “How can we look into it?”

George trod lightly; this step was crucial. “Your access makes you the only one who can confirm or deny the problem. How many people are there on the iDoc programming team?”

“I don’t know… Two hundred, I guess.”

“Is there anyone in that two hundred that you trust completely? Someone who would have full access and can definitively determine if the program has been compromised?”

She shook her head. “I’m not close to any of the programmers. Thanks to Langley, none of them have been made available to me. And to be honest, the only person among the key players I don’t trust completely is Langley.”

“Why?”

“Langley has implied on several occasions that I have been getting too much credit for iDoc. I wonder if he could be involved in some twisted scenario to discredit the first iteration, then rescue it.”

“Your intuition notwithstanding, Langley probably has too much to lose to be involved in discrediting iDoc. It doesn’t comport, at least in my mind. Let me ask you this: Who, if anyone, do you totally trust at Amalgamated?”

“Thorn. He is the only person I completely trust. And I think you are right about Langley having too much to lose, but I still wouldn’t want to approach him with this. I think we should go to Thorn and tell him about what you’ve learned and what we suspect.”

George grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t know about that, Paula. And for the similar reasons I would hesitate before going to Langley. The money, power, and celebrity involved with iDoc is so off the charts that it would be difficult for the businessman in Thorn to be able to be objective.”

“You don’t know Thorn like I do. The man has character.”

George shook his head again. “When I watch Thorn, I see the quintessential businessman, more interested in the bottom line than anything else,” George said.

“I’ve known him for almost four years now, and he has been like a father to me. He’s a businessman for sure, but with integrity. I trust him implicitly.”

“Maybe I should forget my paranoia about the government, and we should go directly to the FBI and have the agency either confirm my fears or lay them to rest?”

She shook her head. “As you suggested, the government might be involved somehow. Going to Thorn would be far better. He would know how we should proceed. I’m sure that Thorn will be as furious as I am if some group is subverting iDoc.”

George remained hesitant. He admitted he didn’t know Thorn like Paula did, but something was telling him not to go to Thorn and for the reasons he’d given. “I can’t help but worry that Thorn will be influenced by what iDoc can do for Amalgamated’s bottom line more than anything else.”

“Look,” Paula said, a little put out, “we all know what iDoc will do for Amalgamated’s bottom line, but that is not the issue. Thorn above all else is a very ethical person.” A thought hit her. “I wonder if the AMA could be the guilty party. Organized medicine is going to see iDoc as competition, no question. Maybe this is all an elaborate way of discrediting it from the get-go.”

George was astonished at that suggestion. The idea hadn’t occurred to him, but he knew it wasn’t completely improbable. After all, in the late forties, it was organized medicine that thwarted Truman’s attempt to create a national health care system in the United States. Still, the idea seemed like a total shot in the dark.

“Or it could be any one of a number of other stakeholders feeding from the medical trough,” Paula continued. “Like big pharma or the American Hospital Association, both of which will stand to lose money when iDoc becomes fully operational and takes medicine from sick care to preventative care.”

George nodded. Having become relaxed and feeling safe made staying awake progressively more difficult; he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.

“You need to sleep,” Paula said, noticing George was struggling to keep his eyes open. She reached out a hand. “Come on. Time to take a nap! We can talk more later over dinner. If you are okay with it, I’ll make us a meal so we can just stay in.”

“A nap might be good,” George admitted. He took her hand and stood, feeling momentarily dizzy. “Just for an hour or so. But I would like to reach a decision about how to proceed with this iDoc situation. If it is intentional killing, it has to stop. And I have a trial I have to prepare for.”

“When is your trial scheduled?”

“Soon. July sometime. I forget the exact date, but it is not that far away.”

“I think we should approach Thorn. The more I think about it, the more I’m certain that he is the right person.” She was firmly set on the idea. “I’m sure he will at least offer you legal help.”

George’s eyes fluttered, but he was too tired to reply. He swayed, and Paula reached out to steady him.

“Come on!” she said. “You’re about to fall over.”

Paula led him back into the house via the French doors into the great room. George didn’t protest. After the heat outside, the air-conditioning felt heaven sent.

Once inside the guest bedroom, Paula closed the Bermuda shutters and pulled back the covers on the canopied king-size bed. From behind the bathroom door, she brought in a white Turkish towel robe and draped it over the foot of the bed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person need sleep quite as much as you do,” she said. “You’ve pushed yourself to your limit.”

George opened his mouth, but she put her fingers on his lips.

“Shhh. Sleep. We’ll talk in a bit.” She backed toward the door.

George sank down onto the bed. He made one last effort at conversation. “If we confirm my fears about iDoc, we’ll have to go to the media, no matter what Thorn says.”

“Enough!” Paula called from the door with exaggerated authority. “We’ll talk more after you have slept!” She flashed him a smile, then shut the door quickly to keep George from responding.

In the room’s cool, dim silence George removed his clothes. It was with extreme pleasure that he slipped in between the clean, ironed sheets. The experience was such an extraordinary difference from what he had experienced the night before that it was as if he had been magically transported to a different planet.

Just before he fell into a deep sleep, he thought how utterly stupid he had been in medical school when he failed to follow up with Paula. What was he thinking? He was finding himself more and more impressed by Paula, and for the first time since Kasey’s death he felt a kind of closeness with her that he was unsure he would ever feel again. He didn’t know if he was ready just yet for romance, nor did he know if Paula would be receptive, considering their history and his current status. As a potential felon and an unemployed resident, his career prospects were far from rosy, but he didn’t dwell on the thought. Sleep washed over him like a virtual tsunami.

48

George woke with a start. At first he didn’t know where he was, as he had slept so soundly. Then he remembered, and the whole nightmare flooded back. My God! he thought. He was facing a trial that might send him to prison for years! After the experience of one night in the holding cell, he questioned if he could live through being incarcerated for an extended period. Then there was the issue of essentially having been fired from his residency. Could it be that his radiology career and maybe even his medical career were over? His only solace was that at least for the moment he was safely hidden away in Paula Stonebrenner’s house.

Looking at the golden hue of the light coming through the Bermuda shutters, George sensed it was nearing sunset. Surprised, he grabbed his phone to see the time. He was amazed! It was almost eight o’clock in the evening. He imagined he’d been asleep for only an hour, which had been his plan. Certainly not over five hours!

George got up, wondering where Paula was and why she hadn’t awakened him for the dinner she had talked about. He was eager to find her, but instead took advantage of the beautiful and convenient shower. He had rinsed off in his own apartment, but this experience was far better.

A few minutes later he was refreshingly clean, reasonably rested, and enveloped in the oversize Turkish towel robe Paula had put out for him. He left the guest suite and found Paula in the great room overlooking the pool, using her iPad. Delicious, savory smells were coming from the kitchen area.

When Paula spotted him she broke into a wide smile. “Back from the dead, I see. I hope you’re hungry!”

“Very hungry. I’m sorry I slept so long. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You obviously needed to sleep.”

“I hope I haven’t kept you from your dinner.”

“I’ve been happy to wait for you. I’m about to throw some steaks on the barbie by the pool! Sound good?”

“Sounds heavenly.” He noticed that she had opened a bottle of wine. He picked it up and looked at the label. He didn’t recognize it, but it looked expensive. “May I?”

“Please do. For both of us. I was letting it breathe a little.”

George poured them both a glass, thinking how strange it was to savor the anticipation of what promised to be a pleasant dinner in the midst of all the tumult of the previous day and a half. There was a remarkable unreality to it all.

George watched as Paula continued her preparations for dinner, putting dressing on a salad she’d already made. Once that was done, Paula grabbed the platter with the steaks and motioned George to follow her out to the grill. He carried both glasses of wine. While she was checking the temperature of the grill she said, “You do know that Amalgamated has been in direct negotiation with CMS to use iDoc for Medicare and Medicaid?”

“I do,” George responded.

“Maybe that’s why Zee found that a federal agency was connected to the Amalgamated servers.”

“Could be,” George said. “It would be a relief if that were the case.”

Paula put the steaks on the grill, asking George how he liked his.

“Medium rare,” George said. “Can I help?”

“I think I have it under control.” She set a couple of ears of corn on the upper level of the grill, and for a while they watched the steaks sizzle and contentedly sipped their wine. When the meat was done, Paula put it back on the platter with the now-grilled ears of corn. Carrying everything between them, they went back into the house.

“I’m more and more certain that I should talk with Thorn,” Paula stated as they sat down. “Either with or without you. That’s your call.”

“With me,” George said. Even though he still had reservations about Thorn, he was happy to have a plan of action.

She smiled. “Good. Because Thorn will certainly have a lot of questions that I won’t be able to answer.” She then changed the subject. “What’s this about your being placed on administrative leave?”

“It is exactly what you think. I haven’t been technically fired, but it is as if I have been, at least in the short run.”

“What will that do to your residency, now that you’re in the last year, if you don’t get reinstated?”

“It ends it unless some other program would be willing to pick me up. Whether that might happen, I have no idea. But if I can’t finish my residency, I can’t sit for radiology boards. Simple as that.”

“And that means what for your future?”

George shrugged. He was at a loss. “Maybe I’ll have to become a vitamin salesman? Truthfully, I have no idea. I’ll have to talk with Clayton. I’m hoping he’d be my savior since he, and not the chief, is actually in charge of the residency program.”

“Thorn might be able to help as well since he and Clayton are brothers-in-law. Thorn is married to Clayton’s younger sister.”

“I once asked Clayton how he became so deeply involved with Amalgamated, and he told me. That explains a lot.”

For a few minutes they ate in silence, then suddenly Paula piped up: “Hey! I have an idea! Let’s try to let the whole problem with iDoc, Zee’s untimely death, and your radiology future slide for a few hours and just relax and enjoy ourselves. What do you say? We can’t do anything about all this mess tonight.”

George shrugged. “I’m willing to give it a try. And the wine might help. Actually, I’m surprised I am eating as well as I am. And, Paula, everything is delicious.”

“Thank you for saying so. And about the wine, I’m happy to say we have plenty.” She refilled both their glasses. Suddenly her face lit up. “David Spitz and Rachel Simmons! Remember them?”

George certainly did. They were former friends and classmates at Columbia Medical and had dated off and on. George liked them both a lot, but they were always at each other’s throats. “Of course I remember them: the Bickersons!”

Paula laughed. “Yes! Well, guess what? They’re married!”

“No way!”

“Yes! I went to their wedding in San Mateo two months ago.”

He whistled. “Will wonders never cease? I never saw that one coming.”

“I don’t think anyone did. Even they didn’t.”

They chuckled and continued talking about their common experiences with friends and professors and rotations while attending Columbia Medical School. Mostly in retrospect, they had enjoyed the four years of hard but rewarding work.

“You know,” George said, “there is something I never told you but thought about a lot, even though I gave you some grief on the subject. I always admired the way you were able to deal with both medical school and B-school at the same time. For me, the demands of medical school were more than enough.”

“Yeah, well, you worked at the blood bank and all the other jobs you held down. I didn’t have to do that. My parents supported me financially.”

“It was still impressive,” George said. He didn’t want to discuss his financial struggles, which hadn’t improved as much as he had hoped.

As the evening progressed, they both surprised themselves by relaxing, something neither expected under the circumstances. It was helped by the second bottle of wine, the food, and the environment. As they continued chatting they both were able to let go of the past and even laugh about it. Paula thought that perhaps she was a bit too forward in pursuing George. He countered that he couldn’t even explain to himself what he had seen in Pia Grazdani!

“It is embarrassing when I think about it,” he confessed. “She clearly wasn’t interested in me and, in retrospect, probably not capable of any kind of normal relationship with anyone.”

George explained that Pia had disappeared in London, and even her father, high up in the NYC Albanian Mafia, had difficulty finding out what had happened to her.

“You mean no one has heard from her since then?”

“Not a word,” George said. “Although her father called a couple of months ago, saying that he had finally come across some encouraging information and said he’d get back to me when something concrete happened, he never did. I’ve not heard anything since. I hope for her sake that he is ultimately successful in locating her.”

There was a pause as each eyed the other, wondering exactly what the other was thinking. It was Paula who broke the spell. “Maybe it’s time to clean up the dishes.”

“Good idea,” George said. They carried their dishes to the kitchen counter. For a few minutes they worked in contented silence.

“You know, I’m amazed that I feel as relaxed as I do,” George admitted.

“You’ve been a trouper, considering what you went through,” Paula said. “But you definitely need more sleep, whether you know it or not.”

“Oh, I know it,” George agreed. “I’ll be able to nod off with no problem, especially in that bed. It’s amazing! Have you ever slept in it?”

“No, not yet.” She smiled. “You know I’d been planning to go to Hawaii for a long weekend. I’m not expected back at work until Thursday. We have plenty of time to hash out our game plan. Feel free to stay here as long as you want.”

“I appreciate that,” George said sincerely. “Thank you. I don’t know where I would have gone otherwise, because I surely would not have felt comfortable staying in my apartment.”

“I’m glad I could help. Now it’s time for bed. I’m exhausted, even though I didn’t spend last night in jail.” She smiled. “If you need it, I have some Ambien.”

He shook his head. “I think I’ll be fine.”

She gave him a hug. After a moment he hugged her back. Hard. Finally, they let each other go. Paula quickly turned to the kitchen cupboards. “Okay, then! For breakfast!”

George watched while Paula pointed out where the fixings were in case he got up earlier than she did. They stood in the kitchen, awkward and quiet; both were tired but neither wanted the evening to end.

“Okay, then, good night.” She gave George’s hand a squeeze. George squeezed back.

“Good night.” George watched as she mounted the stairs to the second floor and the master bedroom. Then he headed toward the guest suite.

49

George was still exhausted, but after sleeping for five hours that afternoon he found he couldn’t fall asleep after all. He had turned off the light and gotten into bed, but as soon as he lay down, all his fears about his future returned. Although he’d been able to let his mind rest for a few hours about iDoc, Zee, his legal worries, and the fact that he was on a forced leave of absence from his residency program, in bed it was another matter. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking even though he had no answers, and, as Paula said, there wasn’t any way anything was going to be solved that night.

After an hour or so of tossing and turning, he switched the light back on. He got up, pulled on the bathrobe against the air-conditioned chill, and padded over to a built-in bookcase. Paula had stocked it with a collection of novels and nonfiction. He scanned the titles for something to read. He was not choosy, he just needed to keep his mind occupied. He pulled out a worn copy of Barbara Tuchman’s The Guns of August. He propped himself up in bed and began to read, hoping to fall asleep. But he soon realized that the book was too well written and too interesting. After several chapters he knew he needed to find something else. He was about to get up to find something else when he thought he heard a faint knocking. He listened and thought he heard it again.

Opening the door connecting to the main part of the house, he was surprised to see Paula standing there, also in a bathrobe, arm raised, about to knock again. She, too, was surprised by the sudden opening of the door. They both laughed, mildly embarrassed.

“Sorry to disturb you, but from my bedroom I can see the window to the guest room, and noticed your light was on. I didn’t know if you were asleep or not and didn’t want to wake you if you were, but since I was having trouble dropping off, I thought I’d come down and see if you were having trouble, too. If you are, I can keep you company for a bit.”

“Great! Come in!” He chuckled. “I can’t believe myself, I’m inviting you into your own guest suite!”

She followed him over to the sitting area. “You know, despite the circumstances that brought us together, I enjoyed the evening.”

“I feel the same,” he agreed.

She settled into the sofa, tucking her legs under herself. “My mind wouldn’t stop. And not just because of the iDoc situation. Tonight… Well, I wasn’t as up front as I should have been.”

George raised his eyebrows. “Go on!”

“When we were talking about our relationship in medical school, I wasn’t completely truthful about how angry you had made me.” She stared at her hands folded in her lap. “At the time it was a self-esteem issue for sure. I decided that I would never have anything to do with you socially again.”

“Paula, I’m so sorry about what happened. In retrospect, as I said, I don’t understand my own behavior. Truly.”

“I recovered to a degree over the next three years, but not completely. When you called me during the summer of your first year of residency and my first year out here, saying that we should get together, I was tempted to tell you how angry and hurt I had been and not see you. But I decided on the spur of the moment to give it a go anyway. Can you remember what we talked about?”

George thought he remembered; he had babbled on about Pia.

“For the entire evening, all you talked about was how Pia was not returning your phone calls, texts, or emails and how worried you were about her, blah, blah, blah.”

George grimaced. “Did I really do that?” He knew he did.

“You did. You carried on all evening, which brought up all the hurt from our freshman year.”

“I’m sorry, I was such an ass. But I’ve grown up a bit.” What he didn’t explain was that he had grown up because of Kasey.

The conversation went on for a while longer, with Paula finally taking the opportunity to express herself as she could not before. George was contrite and apologetic, asking Paula to understand that his behavior had stemmed somewhat from his being an addict of sorts, and the more Pia rejected him, the harder he tried to make the relationship work. Since honesty was on the table for the night, George decided to open up about Kasey.

“I never mentioned that Kasey Lynch, the first victim of the iDoc problem, was actually my fiancée,” he said softly. “She was part of the iDoc beta test when she was diagnosed with advanced, stage-three ovarian cancer.” What he still didn’t include was that he had awakened with her dead in his bed.

Paula’s mouth dropped open. “George, I’m so sorry! Here I am talking about my hurt feelings seven years ago, and you just lost your fiancée, possibly because of something I helped create!” She let out a sigh. “When did she die?”

“A few months ago.”

“Are you still grieving? Of course you are. It’s only been a few months.”

“I’ll probably always grieve. But I’ve reconciled myself to her loss, except to why it happened so precipitously. Her death is one of the reasons I have to find out exactly what is going on. Can we do that together?”

“Yes, George.” She took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

George reached out and hugged her. It was obvious to him that this time neither of them felt self-conscious about the hug. It lasted and lasted and led to a tentative kiss. The kiss led to another, and to both their surprise, the sense of attraction they had for each other since they had first met surmounted any reservations they held or the circumstances that had now brought them together.

With a certain desperation the two old friends hesitantly clung to each other, then abandoned restraint. They tore off their robes. Sinking into the canopied bed, they devoured each other, making mad, passionate love. For a few paradisiacal moments they allowed their minds and bodies to be completely absorbed in the giving and receiving of pleasure. Some time later, locked in an embrace as if afraid their coupling had been a dream and that the other was going to disappear, they fell into an exhausted, sublime sleep.

50

A muffled explosion sent a shock wave through the house, rattling the windows and waking George and Paula from their sleep. Both were momentarily stunned, particularly George, who, for the moment, as after his earlier nap, didn’t even know where he was.

An alarm sounded, with a loud, intermittent, obnoxious, grating noise throughout the house. They looked to each other, wondering if it had been an earthquake. It was almost completely dark. What little light there was came from the pool, filtering in through the Bermuda shutters.

Paula was the first to act. She leaped from the bed, her silk nightgown billowing behind her, and rushed over to a small LED security screen mounted in the wall. She quickly typed in a code.

George scrambled out of bed and joined her.

The LED screen came to life, providing the first real light in the room, and began flashing a schematic of the house. It showed a blinking light at the front door.

“The front door has been breached,” Paula croaked. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

Now actual images of the property flashed on the screen, one after another, coming from security cameras throughout the property. Paula tapped out a command and the image shifted to the front door. It had been blown wide open. Through a cloud of smoke they could make out an armed figure dressed from head to toe in black, seemingly standing guard at the entrance.

“My God!” Paula voiced. She tapped out another command. The image switched to the main stairs and then the upper hallway. Three more figures in black could be seen dashing through the hall toward the master bedroom.

The phone rang.

Paula snapped it up. “Confirmed! Break-in in progress!”

George could hear a voice on the other end saying, “Ten-four! Police on their way!”

Paula dropped the phone and turned to George. “We have to get to the safe room! Now!”

“How can we get to it?” George blurted as he scrambled to pull on a pair of pants. Being naked made him feel even more vulnerable, if that was at all possible.

Paula turned back to the security pad, and they watched as the intruders flew back out of the master bedroom and paused, as if confused about what to do next.

“They’re searching for me,” she whispered over the sound of the alarm. “Who the hell are they?”

“Lord knows! They can’t be FBI or SWAT.” He remembered that the team of men who had invaded his apartment all had their affiliations clearly blazoned on their uniforms. These people did not.

They watched as one of the men made a call on what they guessed was a cell phone.

“Follow me,” Paula said quietly. “There are back stairs to the second floor just outside the guest suite.”

“Is that the best idea? The safe room is in the basement?”

Paula nodded toward the screen. “They already checked the master bedroom. We should go there and use the hidden slide.”

George nodded his understanding.

They slipped out of the guest suite, Paula pulling George behind her as they ducked into the back stairway behind what looked like a closet door. Once there, they began creeping up the dark wooden steps. At the top, Paula came to an abrupt halt and ducked down, causing George to bump into her, nearly tripping over her crouched figure. She pointed ahead, down the second-floor hallway to a dark figure standing at the head of the main stairway, blocking their route. With no other option, they cowered in the darkness at the head of the back stairs and waited. The raucous noise of the alarm stopped as suddenly as it had started.

A whistle came from below, and the man silently sprinted down the steps in response.

“Now!” Paula whispered. She scrambled forward, urging George to follow. She hurried down the hall toward the master bedroom.

Hearing footsteps, the man who had just descended the stairs looked up, spotting them dashing past in the half light. “Stop!” he yelled.

They ignored him and kept running for the bedroom.

The man leaped up the stairs two at a time, yelling over his shoulder to his colleagues. “I have them! Master bedroom!”

George and Paula burst into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut as the man chasing them ran into it. George braced himself against the door while Paula flicked the lock.

The intruder threw his full body weight at the locked door, but it was lined with steel: another level of protection ordered by the former owner, for which George and Paula were now thankful. The man out in the hall repeatedly lunged at it, crashing into it presumably with his shoulder. It rattled but held.

The master bedroom was almost pitch-dark, with just an inkling of light coming in through the curtains covering the sliding glass doors that led to a balcony overlooking the pool area. They made their way over to the wood panel that covered the chute, with George holding on to Paula’s nightgown. Locating the handhold ingeniously camouflaged in the panel’s trim, Paula yanked open the panel to the chute. A whiff of comparatively stale, humid air wafted up from the chute in stark contrast to the highly air-conditioned air of the bedroom.

Paula grabbed George’s arm and pulled him toward the yawning maw. George hesitated. Throwing himself down a black hole willy-nilly was a scary proposition, even though he had already done it earlier. But then it wasn’t dark in the room.

“Go!” Paula commanded in a harsh voice. The man in the hall continued to pound away at the door. Boom! But now they could hear the sound of wood splintering. George realized that while the door itself might not give way, its frame was about to.

Sensing he could not hesitate another second, George launched himself feetfirst down the chute. The walls were of polished metal, and only an instant later he hit the cushioned floor of the basement. In the utter blackness he groped for a landmark. As he started to stand, Paula collided with him, knocking him forward onto his hands and knees.

“Sorry,” she managed.

“It’s okay.” He scrambled to his feet again and then began inching forward with his hands outstretched, swinging them in a tight arc in the direction of the safe room in the hope of connecting with something to orient him.

He felt Paula place her hand on the small of his back, urging him forward toward the safe room’s door. Then, for the second time that night, they were stunned. On this occasion, it was even more frightening than when the front door was blown open.

51

George and Paula were frozen in place, blinking against a blinding bright light shining directly at them. They were immediately set upon by several of the intruders, who grabbed them and bound their hands behind their backs with plastic ties. Whoever these people were, they were in a hurry. Not a word was spoken.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Paula demanded. With the anxiety of the actual chase over, her terror had morphed into rage.

The men ignored her and placed black hoods over George’s and Paula’s heads. Rapidly, they half dragged and half carried their two captives to the stairs, where they were unceremoniously hauled up to the main floor. Then, just as quickly, they were propelled out the back door, wincing in pain as their bare feet trod across the stone walkway to the alley.

Paula started to yell out but was immediately thumped on her back with a club. “You’ll lose all your teeth if you do that again,” a captor sneered.

George overheard the threat and remained silent. The next thing they knew, they were being forced into a van, pushed down to the metal floor, and covered with what felt like a heavy blanket. A moment later the door to the van was slammed shut, and they could feel the vehicle begin to move, slowly at first, along the alley. A few seconds later it lurched forward as it accelerated in the open street. Both George and Paula repositioned themselves to make breathing easier.

Their movements brought rapid retaliation. They could feel their captors above them pushing down with their boots to keep them from moving. They heard a police siren in the distance, but the blaring sound faded as the van raced in the opposite direction.

So much for the police, George thought, discouraged. They would find nothing but an empty house.

After several minutes George risked a whisper: “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I brought this on you. I tried to make sure I had not been followed.”

“They must have tracked your car with GPS,” Paula answered back just as quietly.

“Maybe so,” George said. He’d never given a thought to having been tracked wirelessly.

“Regardless, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry, too,” she added.

“Quiet!” one of the men above them snapped. The boots pressed down harder.

George was aware they were moving quickly through the city streets, which he knew had little traffic at that hour. Despite the earlier warning, George moved to try to get more comfortable, forcing Paula to do the same.

“Stay still!” one of the captors warned.

As they rode in silence George tried not to think about what was going to happen to them or why they were being abducted. Their captors seemed professional and highly trained from the way they functioned with such efficiency, without the need to talk. He wondered if they were government agents because of their lack of identity, but that didn’t make any sense, since he’d already been arrested. In fact, the only government agency that would act in this manner was the CIA. He couldn’t believe that anyone thought he and Paula were terrorists, needing rendition to some place like Guantánamo.

After what George estimated was about forty-five minutes driving on what felt like flat Los Angeles streets, they started going uphill. It was steep enough for him to feel the pull of gravity. George suspected they were traveling up one of the numerous canyons of Los Angeles. He heard no conversation between the abductors, which suggested there was no confusion as to where they were going.

Suddenly the van slowed and seemed to pull off the main road. George guessed they had left pavement as he could hear gravel crackling under the tires. Then the van stopped and George heard a muffled creaking noise that sounded like a gate being opened. He strained to listen for other sounds that might give him a better sense of where they were. The van started to move again, still on gravel. After a minute or two it stopped again. This time the engine was turned off and a few moments later the doors opened, including the ones in the back.

Immediately George sensed dry air coming into the van. It was also decidedly cooler here than at Paula’s house in Santa Monica. Putting together all the clues of drive time, uphill travel, and the change in temperature and humidity, he surmised that they could be somewhere up in the Hollywood Hills. Maybe the location to which Zee had traced one of the high-anonymity proxy servers that had something to do with overwriting the iDoc dump commands.

The blanket that had covered them was pulled away, and they were again half carried and half dragged out of the van. Outside of the vehicle, they shivered in the night air until blankets were draped over their shoulders. That act alone made them both feel more optimistic. If their abductors cared enough about their well-being, then the situation might be hopeful. They were pushed forward across the gravel drive on their tender bare feet until they eventually reached the relief of a paved sidewalk.

As he walked George could glimpse a section of the walkway through a small open space at the bottom of the hood covering his head. He could tell that a string of lights ran along the walk. He heard the howl of a coyote in the distance as they entered a lighted building and were pulled to a stop. To their surprise, their hoods were pulled off, and they were shocked to see all five of their abductors standing before them with their faces fully exposed.

Their captors were all large, powerful-appearing, racially diverse men with short haircuts that made George think of the Special Forces. All were armed with holstered sidearms. The fact that the men were allowing themselves to be seen sent a chill down George’s spine. He knew that kidnappers never showed their faces if there was a chance that the victims would be released once ransom demands were made. Since their abductors had shown themselves, George worried that there were no plans for them to be released. His mind raced through all other options and came up blank, and a bolt of terror rippled through him again.

Paula, obviously panicked, nonetheless immediately launched into a vociferous tirade. “What the hell is going on here! Who are you? Why have we been brought here? You people can’t go around kidnapping whomever the hell you damn want!”

George cringed. He was worried that she was inviting the beating that had been threatened earlier.

The men in black didn’t respond. It became apparent that they were waiting. Waiting for what? George wondered. He looked around, noting that they were in a large reception or waiting room area. The place had a definite institutional feel. Everything was white, tan, or gray. The furniture was nondescript and definitely not new, maybe from the fifties or sixties. The floor was some sort of composite material, like old-fashioned linoleum. There were a scattering of dated magazines on side tables. For illumination, there were banks of harsh, recessed fluorescent lights.

All at once a door opened and three men and three women appeared. All were middle-aged and dressed in pressed white pants and shirts. There was no talk and certainly no smiles. The ethnically diverse group comprised a couple of African Americans, a Caucasian, two Latinos, and an Asian. What that suggested, if anything, George had no idea. They shared a common trait: all were large and muscular and appeared capable of handling an unruly person, if need be.

It was immediately apparent to both George and Paula that they had been expected. There was no conversation. The men in black merely nodded to the newly arrived attendants, then disappeared back out into the night. Their mission was apparently over.

For a moment Paula watched the men leave and, recovering from the shock, she turned to the attendants and directed a slightly modified repeat of the furious attack she had unleashed on the abductors. “Where are we? Why have we been brought here? This is crazy! We’ve been kidnapped.”

The attendants were unfazed. The women pulled Paula back toward the door from which they had come.

Paula screamed, “Let go of me! I’m not going in here! What kind of freaking place is this?”

“Ma’am,” one of the women calmly responded, “you are in a private mental health rehabilitation center.”

“What! Why?” Paula demanded. She sounded more infuriated than scared. She tried to refuse to move.

The attendants were apparently accustomed to Paula’s attitude. One of the attendants took a syringe out of her pocket.

Paula’s eyes opened wide, and she quieted down. She did not want to be injected. “Okay, okay! I’ll go.” She hesitantly allowed herself to be moved forward into the facility.

“It’ll be okay, Paula!” George called after her. “Just do as they say for now!” His mind was going a mile a minute, trying desperately to figure out what was happening. Then two of the male attendants grabbed George’s arms and urged him to follow Paula.

George heard the heavy door close behind them with a concussive sound, advertising just how impenetrable it was. A resounding click indicated it was locked up tight.

Paula heard it, too, and was suddenly in a near hysteria. She tried to stop and free herself from the grasp of the attendants. “You don’t understand!” she yelled. “We’re here against our will! We’ve truly been kidnapped by those apes that brought us here! We need to call the police!”

The attendants said nothing, strengthened their grip on her arms, and nudged her forward.

She stared at their maddeningly calm faces in disbelief. “I said we’ve been kidnapped! Don’t you get it?”

The attendant with the syringe responded. “Yes, we get it. We hear that a lot. That’s what most all the people say when they first arrive.”

Paula and George were shocked into silence by the comment. Paula looked back at George questioningly. George made an expression of total confusion. They were both at a complete loss.

“Please!” the attendant said. “Be cooperative! It is for your own good. We need to get you comfortable.”

Reluctantly, Paula acquiesced.

The two were led through a large common area furnished similarly to the outer reception area. There were no signs of any other people. Then they were escorted down a long, brightly lit corridor. There was no conversation. Paula had seemingly resigned herself to the situation. They came to a door, which one of the female attendants opened with a key attached to a ring, which was in turn attached by a wire to her trousers. She motioned to Paula to go inside.

Paula hesitated and George took a step forward to look. It was a relatively small room, approximately ten feet by ten feet, and all white, with a simple bed and chair. There were no windows. George felt a nudge on his back and moved down the hall.

He could hear Paula protesting that she didn’t want to go into the room. One of the women told her that if she didn’t cooperate, she would be tranquilized. That was the last thing George heard as he was pulled to a stop outside another door beyond which was a room similar to Paula’s.

“After you,” the attendant said to George.

George stepped into the room. It had a bed and a chair and nothing else. No decorations on the blank white walls and no windows. There was a bathroom that had no door. Inside were a toilet, sink, and shower head. The shower was not enclosed and a drain was positioned in the middle of the floor. The word institutional popped into George’s mind.

On the bed were clothes that looked like hospital scrubs. They were a nondescript medium blue. There were also underwear, socks, and slippers. George looked up. In the middle of the ceiling was a small inverted dome of dark glass, which George guessed was a surveillance camera.

Another attendant stepped behind George and used a pair of clippers to cut through the plastic tie binding George’s wrists. When he looked down at his wrists he saw there were deep red indentations but no lacerations.

“Dress,” the third attendant ordered as he pointed to the clothing on the bed.

George finally spoke, attempting to keep his voice calm. “Can you tell me where we are and why we’ve been brought here?”

“You’ll know that in the morning.” The man’s voice was impassive, and he spoke as if to a child.

“I know you said you’ve heard it before, but we actually have been kidnapped.”

The attendant nodded and again pointed to the clothes on the bed. “Please, put on the clothes. And, yes, we hear all the time about being kidnapped. Almost everyone who is brought here says it and, in a way, they are right.”

“What other people?” George asked, although he could only guess. He imagined it was people with serious addiction problems whose families had resorted to forcible therapeutic intervention.

“Please, just relax. You’ll learn everything you want to know in the morning. I suggest you get some sleep in the meantime.”

George tried to ask a few more questions, but to no avail. The attendant merely repeated that George would have to wait until morning for answers. With that, the three attendants turned and left. George heard another resounding click as the heavy door was secured.

He sat on the bed and stared at the door, feeling a twinge of claustrophobia. He got up to test the knob and confirm it was locked. You never know, his brain kept telling him, it just might miraculously open. He gave the knob a twist and jiggled it. It didn’t open. He went over to the wall that he guessed was common with Paula’s room and put his ear against it, but heard nothing. He rapped on the wall. Almost immediately there came a muffled reply. George guessed the wall to be thick and soundproofed. He called out Paula’s name but heard only silence in reply.

Next, he checked the bathroom. He saw nothing he hadn’t already seen when he’d glanced into it earlier. It was remarkably utilitarian with no sharp objects he could use to harm himself. He went back into the main room and sat on the bed. His heart was still pounding from the ordeal of being kidnapped. What the hell was going on here? What other disaster could possibly await him after being arrested, thrown in jail, and now committed involuntarily to a mental health institution?

He lay back on the bed, worrying about what he had brought upon Paula. It seemed to his paranoid mind that any woman he got close to — Pia, Kasey, and now Paula — seemed to suffer some horrible consequence.

Feeling charged up as if from caffeine, he got up and paced the small room. Silently he mocked the attendant’s advice to get some sleep. There was no way in hell he would be able to fall asleep. Then he realized that there were no switches to turn off or even to lower the level of bright light in the room. He wondered if the room was meant for someone on a suicide watch. Vaguely he wondered why he even bothered to wonder. Would he really get all the answers in the morning, or were the attendants just trying to placate him with an empty promise? Then his mind switched to thoughts of whether anyone would look for him. It was another depressing question.

After a time George lay back on the bed. He closed his eyes to the room’s glare, but couldn’t turn off his mind. Could he actually be kept hidden away for an undetermined period of time? Could that really happen in this day and age? Unfortunately, he thought, it was possible. The only person he could imagine might actually look for him was the bail bondsman.

All of a sudden George felt tears well up in his eyes. Covering his face with his hands, he let himself cry for a few minutes before recovering. What pulled him out of his despair was the thought of Zee. As bad as his situation was, George had to recognize he was better off than Zee, who was dead. Or was he?

“Get a grip on yourself!” George said out loud. He stood up and started running in place. He knew he needed to get himself under control and hoped that by exhausting himself he could accomplish it. When he was adequately out of breath, he stopped running and flopped down onto the floor and did a series of twenty push-ups.

Once he was finished with the push-ups, George sat back down on the bed. His breathing was labored, but he felt more in control. He even thought he might possibly be able to relax.

52

A loud click jolted George awake. He shot up to a sitting position, shocked that he had actually fallen asleep. The door swung open and three beefy attendants came into the room. One was carrying a breakfast tray.

“What time it is?” George asked.

“Eight fifteen.”

“What about my friend? The woman?”

“She’s fine. She’s breakfasting as well.”

That was a relief, although why he believed the man, he wasn’t sure. “When am I going to learn where I am? And why, for that matter?”

“Eat. We’ll be back for you in half an hour.” They turned and left.

Great! Answers galore, George thought. He looked down at the food: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, and coffee. He was impressed, assuming it wasn’t poisoned or drugged. There was even a copy of the L.A. Times on the tray. How considerate, he thought. He drank his orange juice and picked at the food. He had no appetite. He scanned through the paper and found no mention of a kidnapping or home invasion in Santa Monica, or any follow-up on Zee’s death.

George used the toilet and washed his face, then went to the wall between his room and Paula’s and rapped on it again. There was a muffled knock in reply. He tried again to call out to her but heard nothing back. Without a clock or a watch, he didn’t know how much longer he would have to wait, but soon enough there was a knock on the door, just before it swung open again. The same three attendants stepped into the room.

“Ready?”

George ran through several smart retorts in his mind but held his tongue. He knew it was best not to aggravate his keepers. “Ready,” George agreed. He stepped into the hall with the three attendants following.

Almost simultaneously, Paula emerged from her room dressed in scrubs similar to George’s. Three matrons in white followed her almost in step.

George’s heart lifted. “Paula!”

The attendants made no move to restrict contact between them so he enveloped her in a hug. When she hugged him, he could hear the relief in her voice as she said, “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Are you okay?”

She let go of him and tried to regain her composure. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

“Same here.”

“What is going on, George?” She looked up and down the hallway and then at the attendants, who appeared to be waiting patiently.

“I have no idea. Hopefully we’re about to find out.”

“Please!” one of the female attendants said, motioning them to follow her down the hallway the way they had come when they had first arrived. “You need to get a move on. You don’t want to be late.”

George and Paula did as they were told with the other five attendants trailing behind. Having gotten away with the hug, George took Paula’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back as they exchanged a wary glance. They held hands as they walked.

“Do you know where we are?” she asked in a whisper.

“If I had to guess, I’d say somewhere in the Hollywood Hills.”

She glanced over at him. “That’s odd if you are right. But then again, what is there about all this that isn’t odd?”

They were led into a conference room, glimpsing a sign on the door: BOARDROOM. They had encountered no other people, attendants or inmates.

Inside the room was a long table with seating for five people along each side and one at each end. A whiteboard was mounted at one end of the room. A large window looked out upon a stand of dense sycamore trees. No other buildings were visible.

George and Paula were asked to sit on the opposite side of the table, facing the door. Again they did as they were told. Hoping answers were forthcoming, they were willing to be compliant. Three attendants positioned themselves at each end of the room and stood silent with folded arms.

George and Paula looked at each other, increasingly baffled. They had no idea what to expect, but at least they were being well treated, hardly like kidnapping victims who would normally be kept in total isolation without being allowed to see or talk to their captors.

After a few moments, George leaned over to Paula and whispered, “How was your night?”

“Delightful,” Paula answered sarcastically. “How was yours?”

“I liked the first half better than the second,” he said.

Paula laughed softly. She reached out and squeezed his hand under the table. “I think I preferred the first part as well.”

“What did you think of the room service?”

“Better than expected,” Paula admitted. “The whole situation defies belief. I never expected a breakfast like that, especially not with a newspaper.”

“Did you sleep?” he asked.

“Not a wink. You?”

“Surprisingly, I did. I suppose it was thanks to my previous night in jail.”

“Lucky for you,” Paula said. Regaining some of her courage, she called out to the attendants, “How long do we have to wait?”

“Not long,” came the reply.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened and three men appeared.

Both Paula’s and George’s jaws dropped in utter shock. They couldn’t have been more shocked if the president of the United States had just walked in.

53

Bradley Thorn, Lewis Langley, and Clayton Hanson entered the room and took seats opposite George and Paula. They avoided eye contact with their totally dumbfounded hostages. It was as if they were embarrassed.

Thorn set a folder on the table with particular deliberateness, adjusting it to be perfectly perpendicular to the table’s edge. He made himself comfortable in his chair and only then did he look across at George and Paula. Langley and Clayton had followed suit but without the folder. For a few pregnant moments the five people stared across the table at one another.

George felt a certain relief in seeing these men, recognizing that there had to be some reason other than death or rendition for why he and Paula had been snatched in the middle of the night. These were professional businessmen and doctors, not murderous thugs. And perhaps most important from George’s perspective, they were not representatives of some secret government organization, or at least he didn’t think they were.

Finally, Thorn cleared his throat. “I can only imagine your surprise. First off, let me apologize on behalf of all of us for the ordeal you’ve suffered, which we heard about only this morning. We can well imagine that it must have been frightening, but as you will soon learn, the situation was thought to be an emergency, and the people in charge didn’t want to take any chances. Actually there was one man in charge, and that was Mr. Gauthier, Amalgamated’s head of security.”

“What?” Paula shouted, practically leaping out of her seat. She pounded the table with both her fists. Everyone at the table jumped. “Amalgamated was responsible for our being kidnapped! You?” Her eyes drilled into Thorn’s. Her voice was shrill and angry. Several of the attendants stepped forward in case they needed to restrain Paula.

Thorn lifted his hands as if he thought he needed to protect himself. He momentarily averted his eyes from Paula’s accusatory stare. He spoke in a carefully modulated voice. “In the final analysis, yes, I am ultimately responsible. Although I should reiterate that in the urgency of the situation, the decision of how to handle it was made by Mr. Gauthier, and I, or should I say we, learned about how the operation had been carried out only after the fact.” Thorn glanced at Langley and Clayton, who both nodded in agreement.

“As head of security, this was in his domain, and he decided it was an extreme situation that needed to be turned over to professionals to whom he has access when the need arises. Ergo, the strong-armed methods that you unfortunately experienced. But still, we are all responsible. So, we again apologize.”

“But why?” Paula demanded, now with more disbelief than anger. It was apparent that she was not about to let Thorn off the hook with a mere mea culpa.

“That’s what we are here to explain,” Thorn said patiently. “We, or at least I, fully expected your deserved outrage, and I accept your anger as appropriate. We know that your being dragged here in the middle of the night with no explanation must have been unnerving, to say the least. But, again, Gauthier thought that it was best to act rapidly and—”

“Where the hell are we?” Paula interrupted with venom. “All we’ve been told is that this is some sort of a private mental health and addiction facility.”

“That is correct,” Thorn said. “It once was a top-secret military film studio. It dates back to the early forties. It was later transformed into a private treatment center for celebrities with addiction problems and for wealthy families who sought complete discretion for their children, who were often brought here, as you were, in the middle of the night. Amalgamated picked up ownership as part of a package deal for a hospital chain. Although we were initially indifferent to its ownership, subsequently we have found the facility handy for a number of functions.”

George remembered that once Zee had pierced the high-anonymity proxy servers, he had identified a server bank located somewhere in the Hollywood Hills. George wondered if those servers were in this facility behind the many closed doors.

“Where is this facility?” George asked, speaking for the first time.

“The Hollywood Hills. Laurel Canyon, to be precise. Few people are aware of its existence. Even most neighbors aren’t aware of it. We’re very secluded up here, despite being ten minutes from the Sunset Strip.” He motioned out the window. “There’s considerable wooded property with an elaborate security system, surrounded by electrified razor-wire fencing.”

George nodded, trying to keep himself calm in contrast to Paula. It seemed to George that Thorn was doing more than giving them a verbal tour of the facility. He was sending a message: Paula and George could be held in the facility and no one would know. Some of the fear that George felt before Thorn, Langley, and Clayton had walked into the conference room returned.

As if reading George’s mind, Thorn continued: “The fencing guarantees security both for people getting in and people getting out. We have a very discreet, well-trained staff who are accustomed to dealing with clients who have been brought here against their will according to dictates of their families or executors.” He nodded at the attendants.

“Okay, okay,” Paula said as she closed her eyes and seemingly counted to ten. “Just how long must we stay here? And why? What’s the emergency?”

George cringed at Paula’s tone. It seemed that he more than she was conscious of their vulnerability.

“All very good questions,” Thorn said. “The answer as to length of time is entirely up to you. We would like to get you home as soon as possible. But your leaving is going to require some assurances from you.”

“Assurances about what?” George blurted.

“In order to understand the current problem, we want to be sure we have your undivided attention.”

George and Paula exchanged a disbelieving glance in response. It didn’t seem real to George. He could tell Paula felt the same way. “Of course you have our undivided attention!” George snapped, despite his attempt to contain his emotion. “After being kidnapped in the middle of the night and terrified out of our minds! Please!”

“I’ll take that as a yes from you both.” Thorn cleared his throat again as he motioned for the attendants to leave the room. He looked at Paula and George and smiled as the attendants headed for the door. It was clear that this had been decided beforehand. Thorn fingered what appeared to George to be a small wireless electronic fob with a button on it. “They’ll be right outside if they are needed.” Thorn placed the fob on the table, to be used if necessary. George got the message.

Once the attendants were gone and the door closed, Thorn began. “I want to emphasize first that the beta test has gone much better than expected and has been an enormous success, thanks to you, Paula, for the idea in the first place, and thanks to Lewis and his team for the consummate programming effort.”

Langley nodded, appreciating the recognition.

“But,” Thorn continued, “we have hit a bump in the road. A glitch has appeared. It was not even noticed at first. In retrospect, we realize that it started several months ago, but that was only after we knew what we were looking for and had looked at it retrospectively. The glitch came to our full attention only during the previous week, and I should add it had nothing to do with iDoc’s functioning in general, nor did it have anything to do with iDoc’s acceptance as the primary-care practitioner of choice of thousands of people. iDoc continues to work far better than our most optimistic predictions. It has been fantastic. iDoc promises to be a win-win situation for patients and the country, and the world, for that matter. It will return some sense to a health care system that has always seen a dearth of primary-care doctors and a lack of emphasis on prevention.”

George’s hands, clasped in front of him, began to rub against each other and his right leg started to bounce under the table. Despite trying to rein in his emotions, he found himself progressively impatient for Thorn to get to the point.

But Thorn didn’t. He went on to say that iDoc was going to have an enormously positive effect on the health of millions and in the process would save countless billions of dollars. It would also eliminate the need for millions of doctor’s office visits and equally important ER visits, which would also save an enormous amount of money over the years. “I am certain both of you understand all this,” Thorn said, as if sensing George’s impatience. “Especially since George here played a role in giving Paula the concept in the first place.” Thorn looked directly at George. “Amalgamated would like to financially recognize your contribution, but more about that later. iDoc is a fantastic opportunity for Amalgamated since we will be billing for iDoc user access—”

Paula interrupted angrily, taking the words right out of George’s mouth. “Enough of this shit! You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know. I think you should just get to the damn point. We don’t need a lecture.”

“Patience, Paula, patience.” Thorn raised a restraining hand. “Here’s something you don’t know: negotiations with Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, or CMS, have progressed to the point where they agreed to do their own beta test with iDoc. They are very excited about our baby. ‘Your baby,’ Paula. Isn’t that how you refer to it?” He managed a smile at her with a patronizing wink. “Which means that unless there is an unforeseen problem, Medicare and Medicaid beneficiaries will eventually all have iDoc at their disposal. That’s somewhere around a hundred million people!

“And the negotiations with foreign governments, particularly European, are all going swimmingly. Added to that, we now have commitments from a number of hedge fund managers who will be injecting many hundreds of millions of dollars into Amalgamated, so that iDoc’s general release will all happen quickly and seamlessly.”

Paula interrupted again. “This all sounds well and good, but I don’t understand how it applies to George and me!”

Thorn raised his hands yet again to calm Paula. “I merely wanted to remind the two of you about all the good news on the horizon before getting back to the fly-in-the-ointment: the glitch.”

The word hung in the air.

“It first appeared with a patient at Santa Monica University Hospital. Unfortunately it was a young woman who had serious medical issues. The glitch resulted in this individual’s passing.”

George stiffened, realizing that Thorn might very well be talking about Kasey. He felt a wave of anger at hearing someone characterize Kasey’s death as a glitch. Even Thorn’s use of the laundered term passing irritated him. With effort, George held his tongue.

“The glitch subsequently appeared with patients frequenting the L.A. University Medical Center in Westwood. That’s something that you, George, noticed.”

George nodded, then suddenly added, “Calling it a glitch camouflages what it really is. It is the apparently purposeful killing of iDoc patients. People. Human beings with friends, family… loved ones.”

George’s vehemence silenced Thorn for a moment. There was a brief pause until Thorn nodded solemnly. “I admit that the glitch has been associated with unexpected death, but I wouldn’t use the term purposeful. “How many deaths did you notice at the medical center?”

“You’re asking only about the L.A. University Medical Center?” George asked.

“Yes.”

“Four.” He didn’t even want to mention Kasey’s name. It would be a disservice to her memory under the current circumstances.

Thorn looked toward Langley and Clayton. Both nodded in agreement.

“There were three more at Santa Monica University and three at Harbor University Hospital,” Langley added.

George wondered if the three at Santa Monica included Kasey but didn’t ask.

“What did your investigation of these deaths turn up?” Thorn continued. “What was the cause?”

For a moment George debated what to say. It was hard to organize his thoughts with all the emotion he was feeling.

“Your cooperation is needed, George,” Thorn prompted. “Especially if you are interested in leaving this mental health facility sooner rather than later.”

George felt Paula grip his thigh. He took a deep breath. “If you are asking about confirmed results, I’d have to restrict my impressions to Sal DeAngelis.”

“What were you able to learn? And how?”

George shifted in his chair, debated with himself how up front he should be.

“We are counting on your being honest,” Thorn said, as if reading George’s mind. “Just as we are prepared to be straightforward with you. What we have in mind,” he added, motioning first to George and Paula and then to Langley and Clayton, “is for all of us to be on the same side.”

George looked from one man to the other, trying to gauge their sincerity. All three stared back, unblinking. Clayton in particular had hardly spoken since he walked in the door. George had no idea what he was thinking.

George cleared his throat. He glanced at Paula.

She nodded to him and gave his thigh another squeeze.

“I thought the drug reservoir in all of these people had played a role. I made the effort to find the reservoir that had been embedded in DeAngelis’s abdomen.”

“How did you manage that?” Thorn asked.

“It wasn’t easy. First I tried to obtain it at the morgue, where I saw Clayton apparently doing the same.”

Thorn and Clayton exchanged a glance.

Clayton spoke for the first time. “I did go to the morgue for that reason but didn’t find the reservoir.”

Thorn nodded and looked back at George. “Go on.”

“Well, I didn’t know it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I then tried to retrieve it from the corpse at a funeral home. That’s when I realized that it had already been removed. And since I had seen several people searching DeAngelis’s apartment, I assumed everyone was looking without success. So, I figured maybe DeAngelis had succeeded in cutting it out of himself while driving to the medical center. I located the crash vehicle at a salvage yard and was able to find the reservoir inside the car.”

“You found it?” Thorn asked nervously. He exchanged a quick glance with his colleagues.

“I did. With a lot of effort.”

“Did you examine it?” Thorn asked.

“Of course. I used a dissecting microscope. The reservoir was completely empty, which I thought very disturbing, since it was supposed to have lasted for several years. Not two months.”

“What did you deduce from the empty reservoir?”

George looked directly at Thorn, thinking the executive was being deliberately obtuse. “I was worried that it had been a deliberate event and that—”

Thorn interrupted. “What do you mean by ‘a deliberate event’? Let’s call a spade a spade. You thought his death was a homicide?”

“Yes,” George said, nodding. The cat was now out of the bag. “And I set out to prove it.”

“And how did you do that?”

“I had gotten hold of DeAngelis’s broken smartphone and had an IT-savvy friend of mine see if he could determine if the phone had received a message to do a global dump, meaning emptying the reservoir all at once. My friend confirmed that to be the case. The phone had jammed from the force of the crash, meaning its memory hadn’t been remotely wiped clean by iDoc. An unaltered record of iDoc issuing a mass dump is in my possession.”

Thorn looked to Langley with a frown. Langley squirmed.

“I knew then that Sal’s death had been deliberate, not a malfunction of either the reservoir or the smartphone. I then encouraged my friend, Zee Beauregard, to try to hack into the iDoc servers to see if he could find the command to do the dump. I was worried about that type of thing after reading an article describing the potential problem of hackers breaking into wireless health care devices.”

“You had your friend do this even though you and he knew that hacking into iDoc servers was a serious crime?”

“Of course!” George snapped irritably. “But the circumstances warranted the risk!”

Thorn held up his hand. “Please. I commend both your reasoning and your persistence.”

Langley was impatient now; the discussion was getting into his bailiwick. “What did this Zee fellow find?”

“At first everything seemed normal. There was no evidence of a global-dump command, meaning that Sal’s smartphone had been hacked. But then Zee noticed something that he called an artifact. The presence of this artifact indicated to him that there had been an overwrite of the record. He reasoned that there probably had been a dump command, but it had been overwritten. He found the same artifact in all five of the cases I was looking into. It wasn’t an easy thing to spot on its own, but the fact that it appeared exactly seventeen minutes before the death of each of the five patients helped him identify it.”

George noticed Thorn glaring at Langley, who glanced away. George sensed that Langley had been responsible for the overwrite and had essentially screwed up, which was why Zee discovered it.

With an exasperated expression, Thorn turned back to George. “Okay, you suspected a homicide. What were your thoughts up to this point?”

George hesitated.

“Please,” Thorn persisted.

“I thought that someone or some group at Amalgamated had decided to use iDoc to save money.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I was worried that someone had been using iDoc as a kind of ‘death panel’ and then overwriting the commands to get rid of the evidence.”

Thorn and Langley nodded.

“Again,” Thorn said, “I must commend you on your reasoning and work, but… at the same time, I have to tell you that you are wrong.”

George looked at Thorn, puzzled.

“I’ll let Lewis explain what really happened.”

George and Paula leaned forward, their anger and fear momentarily forgotten.

54

It was Langley’s turn to clear his throat. “First and foremost,” he began, lowering his voice as if concerned about being overheard, even though the attendants had left the room, “I have to go back to basics. I must be certain that both of you really know what it means for a program to be heuristic.”

George and Paula exchanged a glance. To both of them it seemed a strange way for Langley to start.

“Of course I do, Lewis,” Paula replied. “I’ve been selling that feature to God knows how many people!”

“I’m mostly interested in Dr. Wilson’s answer. But still, selling heuristic and understanding heuristic can be two different things.” He turned to George.

“I have an idea, but I’m not entirely sure I could define it.”

“In its original meaning, ‘heuristic’ denoted a speculative concept that could serve as a guide in the solution of a problem, or a teaching method by which learning takes place through discoveries made by the student himself.”

George and Paula looked at each other for a moment with confusion. Neither understood what Langley was saying. George, in particular, under the circumstances, found Langley’s comments bizarre.

“In computer programming,” Langley continued, “‘heuristic’ means a problem-solving technique that can be described as the ability to take advantage of previous solutions. What I mean is that the application incorporates information and solutions in its database to apply them in future problems, which it had not been originally programmed to solve.” Langley focused on George to see if he was grasping it.

George nodded. It seemed like an awfully complicated way to say that a computer program could learn.

“It was important from the outset that the iDoc algorithm be written to enable it to take advantage of previous cases that it had encountered and to do it quickly. The initial alpha trials gave us an idea of the number of situations that would need a flesh-and-blood medical specialist as backup. To fulfill this need we created what we call the ‘control room.’ The control room is—”

“Paula actually has taken me on a visit to the control room,” George interrupted, hoping Langley would get to the point more quickly.

Langley smiled. “Good. At the outset of the beta test iDoc referred relatively often to the control room for answers, but that number dropped very quickly, meaning iDoc was functioning as planned in a heuristic fashion. In other words, there was a rapid reduction in the number of situations that iDoc didn’t feel capable of handling on its own, demonstrating that it was indeed learning, and learning at a phenomenal rate.” Langley stared at Paula and George, waiting for an acknowledgment that they were keeping up with him.

They both nodded.

“Now, to understand the glitch that occurred, you must know that the algorithm upon which iDoc is based includes a number of subjective issues such as pain and suffering associated with various medical treatments and even with some supposedly preventive testing. Even something simple, like the inability to sleep or eat normally, has been incorporated into iDoc if it is a frequent side effect. What we are essentially talking about here are quality-of-life issues, which are hard to quantify to include for the purposes of digitization. Nonetheless, we tried to incorporate them because we feel strongly that they need to be considered much more in health care decision making than has been done in fee-for-service medicine. And let me mention another variable: cost. The iDoc algorithm is responsibly aware that health care is already taking too big a bite from the GDP and that costs have to come down in order to ensure that health care can be distributed equitably. Am I making sense here?”

Both George and Paula nodded. The phrase it’s not rocket science went through George’s mind.

Langley cleared his throat again. “So here is the truth. No one knowingly used iDoc to kill anyone. The fact that a small number of patients died because of iDoc was a surprise to all of us. What happened was that the iDoc algorithm decided on its own to eliminate certain individuals after taking into consideration the pain and suffering associated with the specific cancer treatments they were facing, the predicted outcome of treatments, and cost consequences. There was no outside interference. In other words, there were no ‘bad guys.’ iDoc made its decision dispassionately with the evidence it already had in terms of the illnesses involved, the treatments available, the suffering that the patients would have to endure, and the cost. And that is basically it.”

There was a prolonged silence. The only sound penetrating the room was the chirping of birds outside the window.

Paula was the first to speak. She was decidedly less angry. “How long has this glitch been known?”

“A week,” Langley answered. “I first received evidence the same day that Amalgamated gave the presentation to potential investors.”

“And what actions have you taken?” Paula asked.

“As soon as we determined what had happened,” Langley continued, “we put an immediate end to what George has termed global dumping commands. Then we wanted to know how it had happened. Our first concern was the same as Dr. Wilson’s, namely the existence of a rogue hacker. But that was immediately ruled out when it became obvious that the dump commands had come from iDoc itself, meaning it was the algorithm that had made the determinations and given the orders.”

“And then what did you do?” Paula asked, taking the words right out of George’s mouth.

“Like I said, we stopped iDoc’s ability to issue dumping commands.”

“The selection of these types of patients… was that also stopped?” George asked.

“No. Because we want to look at the cohort of people that iDoc would have terminated along with how iDoc reached its decision, so that we as programmers could in a sense learn from iDoc: a heuristic event in reverse.”

“How many more patients were there besides the four that George discovered?” Paula asked.

“There were eight others, for a total of twelve,” Langley admitted. “There was one more associated with L.A. University Medical Center that Dr. Wilson was not aware of, four associated with Santa Monica University Hospital, and three with Harbor University Hospital.”

“Did all of these result in deaths?” Paula inquired. She sounded like an attorney taking a deposition.

“Yes.”

“Has iDoc identified anyone as fitting the criteria for a global dump since you stopped such a command from being issued?”

“Yes, there have been three of those. Two at L.A. University Medical Center and one at Santa Monica University Hospital.”

“So, these three people are still alive?”

“Yes, but they are about to undergo very difficult treatments that will severely impact their quality of life with little chance of slowing their respective diseases.”

George interrupted. “I assume iDoc has also identified a group of candidates that would fit the global dump profile that do not have an embedded reservoir to do its dirty work, were it allowed.”

Langley was silent a moment. His eyes flicked toward Thorn. “Yes.”

“How many of those has it identified?”

“I don’t have that exact information available. I can get it for you, though.”

“But that is a good question,” Thorn admitted.

George nodded, then moved on. “Was Zee correct in his assumption that the records of the four cases I investigated had been overwritten to cover up the dump commands?”

“Yes. We did that,” Langley admitted.

“Why did you wipe the patients’ smartphones clean of all data and try to do so with DeAngelis’s phone as well?” George demanded.

“That has been standard procedure since the outset of the beta test. We wipe a phone clean immediately upon confirmation of death. That has nothing to do with the dump commands. It has to do with privacy issues that—”

Thorn interrupted. “Lewis is correct. There was no attempted cover-up with the smartphones. Our damage control was limited to the overwrite of the global-dump commands and their physiological consequences on the servers. And that was to prevent anyone at Amalgamated or our iDoc subsidiary from discovering the glitch. Only the three of us, plus one other individual at Amalgamated, were aware of what happened. Our intent was, and is, to prevent the media from learning what had happened. We know that such information would ignite a media frenzy. Remember what happened when Sarah Palin brought up the subject of ‘death panels.’ And that was only about discussing end-of-life choices with elderly patients. We feel that iDoc is so potentially beneficial to the country and the world that this unfortunate glitch should not derail it. When iDoc’s benefits are known to the world in terms of democratizing medicine and truly focusing on prevention, then dealing with the issue of this glitch can be accomplished without ‘throwing the baby out with the bathwater.’”

Thorn stopped and took a deep breath. Everyone was silent, absorbing Thorn’s impassioned defense of iDoc.

George was the first to speak. “iDoc is going to be good for Amalgamated as well.”

“Absolutely!” Thorn agreed without hesitation. “I want you and Paula to understand that the glitch does not represent any kind of conspiracy on the part of Amalgamated. There was no Amalgamated ‘death panel.’ Nor will there ever be. Frankly, to be perfectly honest, we do not need it.”

“Why didn’t you come directly to George and me instead of snatching us in the middle of the night?” Paula demanded, some of her anger returning. “We could have been seriously injured.”

“I apologize for that. As I mentioned earlier, that decision was made by Butch Gauthier, our security chief. Don’t worry, I’ll be having a word with him very soon. Unfortunately it was one of those situations where the right hand didn’t know what the left hand was doing. The professionals who snatched you had no idea who you were, just that you were dangerous. I understand how you both feel. And for good reason. But keep in mind, the situation was deemed an emergency, which had to be contained as soon as possible. That said, we apologize again.”

Langley and Clayton nodded their heads in agreement.

“In view of what you two have had to endure, we here would like to say that we are prepared to make it up to you if you’re willing to cooperate.”

“What the hell do you mean by ‘cooperate’?” George demanded.

“‘Cooperation’ means that you recognize the glitch for what it was. The deaths of the patients involved are regrettable, as they had no say in the decision. That’s completely contrary to informed consent. But also remember that all of those people were terminal in the very near future and facing considerable pain and suffering with the treatments available, and therefore a very low quality of life.”

George and Paula exchanged a glance of disbelief.

“And if we don’t, as you say, cooperate, what then?” George asked.

Thorn sighed audibly. “That will necessitate a prolonged stay at this rather pleasant facility with no opportunities for outside communication until it is deemed possible for Amalgamated to deal with whatever revelations and accusations you might feel appropriate. In other words, we need to cover our behinds.” He offered a crooked smile along with his attempt at humor.

“Do you think you can actually get away with keeping us locked up?” Paula asked.

“Yes, of course. If pressed, we can manufacture evidence for addiction problems that require treatment. Something in that vein,” he said with a flip of his hand.

“People will look for us!” Paula said with disbelief.

“We’ll deal with that. Although we know that neither one of you will be missed by your employers for a few days.” Thorn glanced at George. “Well, for you, George, it’s a bit longer than a few days, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s a usual source of questions apart from local family or intimate relationships, which neither of you have.”

Paula looked at George as if to say, This is crazy.

George turned to Langley. “You’ve described the glitch that killed the patients as a spontaneous creation by the algorithm. And you also stated that it has only been temporarily blocked rather than removed.”

Langley nodded in the affirmative but Thorn interrupted.

“Let me anticipate your concerns. As I mentioned earlier, Amalgamated is in direct negotiations with CMS to provide iDoc to all Medicare and Medicaid beneficiaries. Part of their due diligence is to allow the URI, or Universal Resource Initiative, to monitor the test. URI is a clandestine agency under the aegis of the IPAB, or Independent Payment Advisory Board, which is in turn mandated by the Affordable Care Act. While the URI was performing their due diligence, they detected the glitch almost the same time as we did.”

George remembered that Zee had stated that one of the high-anonymity proxy servers was located in Maryland. It was the government association that had spooked Zee.

“Among other things,” Thorn continued, “the URI has been tasked with looking into the rationing of medical care in the last months of life, particularly for Medicare.”

Paula and George’s faces reflected their horror.

Noting their reactions, Thorn said, “Some kind of limitation or rationing has to be considered to control runaway costs. Most industrialized countries already ration medical care at the end of life, but it is, on occasion, associated with favoritism if not out-and-out corruption. The fact that iDoc made an unexpected venture into a form of rationing was looked upon by the URI with interest. They like the fact that it is totally and completely nondiscriminatory. They have specifically asked us not to rectify the glitch but merely to block the global-dump command. In short, they do not want to terminate the people selected, but they want them selected, perhaps to put them on a different track, which has yet to be specified.

“So to answer your question,” Thorn went on, looking directly at George, “the glitch has not been removed, in the sense that it is still collating the data. It is still selecting people according to its logic, but not terminating them.”

George and Paula exchanged yet another glance, a bit overwhelmed by what they had been hearing.

“Listen,” Thorn continued, “as I said, Amalgamated and the rest of the health insurance industry do not need ‘death panels.’ It is the country and the world that need some rational approach to end-of-life care. Amalgamated will not promote any particular methodology. If the government wants it as part of the Medicare-iDoc package, then that is the government’s decision, not ours.”

Thorn looked down the table at Clayton, who took the cue. “Cooperation on your part will bring other benefits, George,” Clayton said. “I will have you reinstated as a fourth-year resident. The charges of HIPAA violations will be dropped immediately. I’m sure you’re aware that a number of health care professionals have been convicted of similar violations and are now in prison.”

“Likewise, the hacking charges against you will also be dropped,” Thorn added. “You will also be given stock in Amalgamated to compensate you for having the initial conceptual idea for iDoc. And you, Paula, will be given additional stock added to your already sizable holding.”

George leveled a gaze at Thorn. “That sounds like a bribe.”

“Think of it as appropriate compensation. There will be time in the future for both of you to voice your feelings about the iDoc algorithm, but only after iDoc has been given its final FDA approval and has been at least distributed nationally.

“George, your second contribution is that you have underlined our need to correct iDoc sooner rather than later, saving iDoc from a media frenzy that might have put off its adoption for years. Amalgamated owes you a vote of thanks.”

George and Paula both appeared shell-shocked.

“Now,” Thorn said, “if you don’t have any more questions, we will let you discuss the situation in private. Then you can let us know how you feel about what has been said.”

George wasn’t done. “I do have another question. Was Amalgamated responsible for my friend Zee’s death?”

55

Thank you for asking,” Thorn replied. “I meant to bring up the issue earlier, as we were certain you assumed that we were, but we weren’t, at least not directly. What happened was we hired professionals to monitor you, to find out exactly what you knew or suspected, then Zee Beauregard entered the picture. We assumed he was helping you, especially when he managed to break into our iDoc servers. When he suddenly bolted early Saturday morning, we knew we had to follow him and bring him here along with you. He was trailed as he drove north, and we would have picked him up when he stopped. Unfortunately, that was not the way things worked out. Somehow he realized that he was being followed, and he apparently panicked. He pushed his car to unsafe speeds. I was told that it was an old vehicle. We believe he just lost control of the car and hit the concrete abutment of an overpass.”

“Why did the media report that he had a stuck accelerator?”

“No idea. You’d have to ask them. We guess it was because of his vehicle’s make and age and the fact that he was traveling over a hundred miles per hour, and it was the kind of accusation that would sell papers and up TV ratings. But, again, that’s just a guess.”

“You were going to have me picked up Saturday morning?” George asked.

“I was told that that had been the plan. But unfortunately when a backup team returned to your apartment, you had been arrested for hacking. That put us in a tailspin. We were very concerned you were going to tell the police, alerting the media in the process and putting the whole iDoc program in jeopardy, after all. But then things began to look up when you got out of jail so quickly, eventually leading us to Paula’s house.”

“How did you follow me to Paula’s house?”

“We personally didn’t follow you. The professionals did.”

“I thought I was being careful.”

“Well, they are, by definition, professionals. I assume they merely tracked your cell by GPS. Either that or they put a GPS tracker on your car.”

George looked at Paula, who raised her eyebrows as if to say “I told you so.”

“Now, if there are no more questions…” Thorn looked back and forth between Paula and George, waiting.

At first neither Paula nor George moved. Then Paula piped up: “When the, quote, ‘professionals’ invaded my house, they blew my front door off its hinges. What do you plan to do about that?”

“Already taken care of. The door is back on, restored to normal, as is the security system.”

Thorn waited a few beats before adding, “Well, then, the ball is in your court. We will leave you two alone to discuss the situation. But remember, we believe that now is not the time for the general public to hear about the ‘glitch’ issue. The public is not ready for the debate about resource allocation, and iDoc should not be made a hostage to it. That’s why you two must agree not to expose iDoc’s problem, at least in the short term, until iDoc is introduced on a national scale and included with Medicare and Medicaid. At that point, the government and Amalgamated will respect your input.”

Paula had another question. “How long do we have to make up our minds?”

Thorn shrugged. “As long as it takes. Let’s just say as soon as possible. If you have any additional questions just let the attendants know. There’s a large common room where you’ll be allowed to spend most of your time. And a dining room where you will take your meals. Nights will be spent in the rooms you occupied last night. You will not be bothered. At the moment you are the only…” He searched for the right word, finally adding, “Guests.” He rose from his chair. Langley and Clayton followed.

“We hope to hear from you both soon,” Thorn said with a forced smile.

With that Thorn, Langley, and Clayton filed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

George and Paula eyed each other, mouths agape.

“That was one of the weirdest experiences I’ve ever had,” George said, shaking his head.

“Agreed,” Paula responded. “I don’t know what I expected but that certainly wasn’t it. I don’t know whether to be thankful or mad or both. Hell, they could have just phoned us rather than sending in the goon squad.”

A minute later the door opened and several of the attendants reappeared. They motioned for George and Paula to follow them to the common room.

56

George and Paula cast their eyes around the large, very institutional-looking common room, which was furnished with several aged couches and a smattering of club chairs that faced an old TV set. The TV was tuned to a morning game show. In addition, there were four game tables and two bookcases, with a collection of dated books — mostly old Reader’s Digest condensed editions — and magazines and board games. To complete the functional decor, the windows were barred.

Standing off to the side, near the entrance to the room, were four of the original six attendants, keeping an eye on their charges. On the other side of the entrance was the hallway leading back toward the conference room, and farther on, in the same direction, were the rooms where George and Paula had spent the night.

Paula and George were not watching TV but left it on to cover their muted conversation. They were settled into a couple of the chairs, as far away from the attendants as possible.

Paula was still incensed. “I cannot believe that they are treating us like this, holding us captive in this fifties-style mental institution.”

“The whole affair defies imagination,” George stated. “But I have to say that right now I’m feeling a lot better and a lot more relieved than I expected I’d be feeling.”

“I guess I have to agree.”

“I wonder if there are any other inmates or patients here despite what Thorn said.” George looked back toward a glass-fronted nurses’ station. Inside was a desk, where one of the attendants was doing paperwork.

“If there are other people, then they must be in isolation,” Paula said, her eyes following George’s as they took in their surroundings for the hundredth time.

“Okay,” George said, turning to face Paula. “We have had time to recover from our shock at seeing Thorn, Langley, and Clayton. We have to talk! What’s your gut reaction to Thorn’s lecture?”

Paula shook her head. “I haven’t had time to completely internalize it. I still feel so shell-shocked about the whole affair that it’s hard to think clearly. All at once I have much more of an appreciation of post-traumatic stress.”

“Me, too. But we have to make an effort. I imagine they expect to hear from us fairly soon.”

“You’re probably right.” She reached out and touched his hand reassuringly. “Listen! I don’t know how I feel about it all, but at least there are some compelling aspects to their offer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the part about needing some kind of rationing of health care for the last months of life. Ironically it has always existed, but behind the scenes. I mean, the demand for health care, or should I say sick care, is near infinite. Rationing has always been around in this country. And I must say it’s been unfair, since it has been based on ability to pay or celebrity status. People with money and power have always gotten the health care they needed or desired. I don’t know for sure, but maybe Mickey Mantle’s liver transplant is a case in point. Possibly the same for Steve Jobs’s.”

“Are you buying Thorn’s premise to let sleeping dogs lie?”

Paula shrugged. “I’m not buying anything. I’m just thinking out loud. I was blown away by Langley’s explanation that iDoc actions were responsible for the deaths. Like you, I thought for sure it had to be hackers. It never occurred to me that it came from the iDoc algorithm itself. I mean, I did know about all the subjective aspects Langley mentioned regarding cost control and quality of life that had been taken into consideration when the iDoc program was designed, but I never would have made the leap to think that iDoc would be analyzing these considerations and making the decision that it’s best to get rid of people. Yet rationing has always been around. Maybe there is something to letting an algorithm, which is completely nondiscriminating, handle the matter. What could be more fair?”

“It sounds like you have made up your mind.”

“No, but I have to say, talking about it does help. When I think about the individual cases, I mean, there is no way that they should have been murdered, because that is what happened. Yet at the same time they may not have wanted to be tortured with any more drugs that wouldn’t have cured them and might have had horrific side effects. Maybe there is a place for assisted suicide or at the very least for expanded hospice care.”

George nodded. He could see Paula’s point. “I have to admit that I have never given much thought to the issue.”

“Well, maybe it is an issue that can no longer be swept under the rug.”

George ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Health care is changing so fast with Washington mandating private health insurance. What the government should have done is make health care a function of government alongside education and defense, like medicine for everyone.”

“That was never going to happen,” Paula said. “That unfortunately got mislabeled as ‘socialized’ medicine way back when none of our politicians had enough courage to take it on.”

“Well, we doctors should have been for it, but we were too afraid of losing control of the profession, which now is going to happen via the digital revolution. Maybe we deserve it, having tried to support the fee-for-service paradigm for so long.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Paula said. “Doctors certainly have been dragging their feet about informational technology in general. It is just another reason why iDoc is going to be a huge plus.”

“It’s not going to be a huge plus if, as you say, it murders people.”

“Let’s put that behind us for a few minutes,” Paula said. “I’m inclined to do as they wish. I committed the last three years to developing iDoc. Maybe you should feel the same, since it was your germ of an idea that started it all.” With raised eyebrows she looked over at him and studied his face.

George was taken aback. “I hope you are not suggesting that you and I bear some of the responsibility for these deaths.”

“Hardly. But I am beginning to think that they are, as Thorn has suggested, an unfortunate consequence or growing pain of a new and improved system that is going to have an enormous positive effect on the health of the public. A few people die in all sorts of medical studies, particularly drug trials. As long as the unintended killing has stopped, I think I can live with keeping quiet about this glitch, at least in the short run. What about you?”

George sighed. “You know, I have a real problem because one of these murdered souls was someone I loved, and another was one I cared about as a friend. That makes it hard to think of them as unfortunate ‘growing pains’ or statistics. What would I have paid to have had six more months with my fiancée. But maybe she would have wanted to avoid the pain and suffering. Still, I would much rather that the decision had been hers and not an algorithm’s…. Jeez!” George lifted his hands in a gesture of frustration and confusion.

“These issues are a thousand times more troublesome when they are imbued with emotion. I can understand. And I’m sorry.” She touched his hand again, this time leaving her hand resting on his.

George glanced at the attendants, then leaned closer to Paula. “Thorn also said that the government doesn’t want the glitch to go away.”

“But the killing has stopped.”

“But it is only a click away if the glitch, as they euphemistically call it, remains.”

Paula removed her hand from George’s. “I see your point.”

“This Independent Payment Advisory Board is a scary behind-the-scenes organization. Its members are appointed, not elected, and this Universal Resource Initiative is even more of an enigma.”

“Agreed. But Thorn said that what the government does with the glitch is an open question and that our input will be respected.”

“True. But the secrecy worries me. And when you get down to it, the federal government is going to do what the federal government wants to do. If our input doesn’t line up with their intentions, who do you think wins?”

“Well, we can agree not to let it remain a secret. Meanwhile, I think we should get out of this place. We can tell Thorn that we agree in principle to what he’s asking, meaning we won’t go running off to the media. That will get us out of here, and we can continue talking at my place, which will be a hell of a lot more pleasant.”

“Do you think Thorn will buy it?”

“I do! I’m taking him at his word. We have no other choice if we want to walk out of here.”

“Letting the glitch persist makes me feel I have taken the first step on a slippery slope. It’s like the beginning of herding up the weakest among us for a future cull.”

“That may be, but as long as no more people are murdered, we can afford to continue thinking about it. I have to get the hell out of here. And you need to finish your residency instead of going to prison.”

“Okay!” George said. “Okay!”

“Okay what?” Paula asked.

“Okay, I guess it is worth a try. I hope I can make it sound convincing.”

“All we are promising is not to go to the media right now. We can sound convincing because that is exactly what we are doing, and for the moment at least, it’s all they’re asking.”

57

Just when Paula and George were beginning to despair that Thorn might not return that day after they had sent word that they had agreed to his offer and wished to see him, he walked into the common room. They had returned there following their lunch. They had been the only people in the dining room, and the isolation of the place, its pervading silence, and its vintage fifties decor were beginning to wear on them.

Thorn dismissed the attendants and brought a chair over to where Paula and George were sitting.

“I must tell you that I was ecstatic to hear the good news!” Thorn said. He was clearly pleased that his speech had had the desired result.

As George and Paula had decided prior to Thorn’s arrival, Paula spoke while George stayed silent. It had been her idea because she knew Thorn best and was also more confident she and George were making the right decision. She didn’t waste words: “We have talked it over and agree that the iDoc program should not be held up by the glitch, which we understand would occur if the media happened to get ahold of the story. So we will not be alerting the media, or anyone else, for that matter, despite, should we say, our continued misgivings.”

“I’m pleased to hear this,” Thorn said with a contented smile. “Can I ask what your misgivings are, specifically?”

Paula glanced briefly at George in the hope that he would indeed stay silent and let her answer. “Our biggest concern is that the glitch has not been eliminated, or should we say dismantled, from the iDoc program.”

Thorn looked at George. “I trust that these are your feelings as well.”

George nodded.

Paula added, “We would also like to impress upon you our desire to be included in the ongoing discussions vis-à-vis CMS’s response.”

“Excellent! I can assure you of that. In fact, we welcome your input.” Thorn turned back to George. “I want to be absolutely certain that Ms. Stonebrenner is speaking for you.”

George nodded. “She is.”

“Excellent,” Thorn repeated, slapping his thighs. “I consider this welcome news, as you can well imagine. Now, you can leave this facility, but we feel it would be best if neither of you goes back to your work routines for, let’s say, at least a week. I would also prefer that you stay together during the upcoming week so that you can continue your discussions. We would be happy to put you up in a hotel.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Paula said. “Our plan is to stay in Santa Monica.”

“You wouldn’t prefer, say, the Four Seasons in Maui?”

Paula turned to George with a questioning expression. The idea had some merits.

He shrugged. “I think Santa Monica will be just fine.” He was not interested in becoming beholden to Amalgamated, which he thought would be the case if they accepted a paid vacation in Hawaii.

“Excellent,” Thorn said yet again. He turned to George. “Just so you are aware, I’ll be telling Clayton to reinstate you at the medical center. As for the stock options, I will bring them up at our next board meeting.”

“I think I’ll pass on the options,” George said.

Thorn gave him a look, suggesting that was not what he wanted to hear. “I will put in the request just the same,” he said, standing. “I will make the arrangements for you folks to leave. If you change your minds about Maui, let us know.”

Thorn stuck out his hand to Paula, who took it and shook. He then did the same with George, saying in the process: “Once again, let me apologize to you both for last night.”

Both Paula and George just nodded.

58

As promised, in less than an hour two attendants accompanied Paula and George out to a waiting black SUV. Two muscular-appearing men in black suits and short, military haircuts were in the front seat. Although Paula and George didn’t recognize the men from the previous night, they decided that they were of the same ilk, “professionals.”

As they left the facility, George was surprised to see how close they were to Laurel Canyon Boulevard. There was no sign identifying the place.

The drive home was a quiet one. Paula and George didn’t want their conversation to be overheard by their drivers, and the drivers did not speak to them or each other. The SUV pulled to the curb in front of Paula’s house, and George and Paula stepped out, still wearing the blue institutional clothing they had been given. Paula said thank you to the drivers, but there was no response.

Paula and George watched the vehicle pull away.

“They certainly aren’t going to win any personality contest,” Paula said.

“My sense is that their seriousness was a message.”

“How do you mean?”

“Thorn is letting us know that the people who used the strong-arm tactics on us last night are still in their employ.”

Paula nodded. “I bet you’re right.” She steered George to a door on the side of the house and retrieved a key from a lockbox hidden under a fake rock. They went inside.

The first thing that Paula wanted to do was inspect the front door. As it had appeared from the street, it was back on its hinges and no worse for wear. They went to the guest room and saw the unmade bed was just as they had left it.

Paula turned to George. “You can stay here in the guest room or upstairs with me. Your choice.”

“Maybe we should see how the evening progresses. This has been one hell of a stressful experience.”

“Excellent idea.”

They went upstairs to check out the second level and saw that the panel hiding the chute down to the basement was still ajar. Paula went to close it, but George stopped her. “That was one scary ride in the dark,” George said. “Maybe we should try it again.”

Paula smiled. “Another good idea!”

Like a couple of kids they slid down the chute and ended up in a tangle on the floor. It made both of them laugh, and it relieved a certain lingering tension.

Back in the kitchen area, Paula opened the refrigerator, glancing at the contents. “Not a lot in here,” she said. “What do you think we should do for dinner?”

“We could go out.”

“I think I’d rather eat in. I feel asocial. Would you mind?”

“Not at all! In fact, I’d prefer it.”

“It just means I have to go to the store.”

“I could come and help.”

“No need. You stay and relax. You could even take a swim if you’d like.”

“Actually, I need to pop over to my apartment. Since I’ll be staying here for the rest of the week, I need some clothes and all. While you’re at the store, it would be a good time for me to do it.”

“Perfect. You get your stuff while I go to the market. What would you like to eat?”

“Whatever,” George said. “As long as it is with you, I don’t care.”

Paula smiled at the compliment. “I’m not the world’s best chef. Would you mind a repeat of steaks and salad?”

“I’d be thrilled.”

“Great! Why don’t we get it out of the way right now. I’ll head off to the store, and you go back to your apartment.” She took a garage-door remote out of one of the kitchen drawers and handed it to him. “But do me a favor! Don’t be long. The idea of being alone in this house gives me the creeps.”

“I’ll make it fast.” He gave her a quick, reassuring hug and was out the door.

Before climbing behind the wheel of his Jeep, George checked the car for a GPS device. He even checked under the hood. Nothing. With the same concerns in mind about covert surveillance, he purposely left his cell phone on the edge of the garage sink. Only then did he back his car out into the alley and head toward his apartment. As he navigated L.A.’s notorious rush-hour traffic, he couldn’t help repeatedly checking around him, including the rearview mirror, to see if he was being followed. He suspected that, after this bizarre experience, paranoia was going to be his close companion for a long time coming.

At his apartment George changed out of the institutional scrubs and immediately felt better. He started organizing what he wanted to bring to Paula’s, but when he went to his closet for an overnight bag, he took down the box of Kasey’s things instead. He found her phone at the bottom. It still had a residual charge, and he turned it on and stared at the iDoc icon. It made him think about the slippery-slope issue in a very personal way. Could he really trust the Universal Resource Initiative or its parent, the Independent Payment Advisory Board, not to take advantage of “the glitch”? George thought not. It was too convenient, too tempting, too financially rewarding, and ironically, on one level, too sensible and objective to be ignored.

Carefully putting the things back in the box, he returned it to the closet and pulled out his overnight bag. Later, as he hurried out to the Jeep, he glanced at his watch. It was getting late. He had a few stops to make before he drove back to Paula’s, and he wanted to be there way before dark.

59

As planned, George arrived back in Santa Monica almost a half hour before sunset. He pulled into Paula’s garage alongside the Porsche, lowering the door behind him, and retrieved his phone from the edge of the sink. Inside the house, he found Paula wearing a white Turkish towel robe. She looked completely revived.

“Welcome back!” She approached him, happily smiling, pointing out a selection of fresh fruit and still unshelved groceries on the countertop. “I was very efficient while you were away, getting groceries, as you can see, and even taking a short nap before a long and very luxurious bath.” She ran her hand across his back and gave him a hug. “I feel like a different person.”

“You look wonderful,” he said. He held up his duffel bag. “I was successful as well.”

She looked him over. “I see you changed your clothes. Did you get a chance to take a shower back at your apartment?”

“No. I didn’t want to stick around there any longer than I had to.”

“Well, I think you should, to wash off that vile mental institution. It will feel great. You go up to the master bath or into the guest suite, whatever your druthers, and indulge! I’m going to do a little more work here on dinner. We can eat as soon as you finish.”

“I think I’ll head into the guest suite,” George said. Handling Kasey’s things had affected him negatively on some level, more deeply than he had expected.

George did enjoy the shower. He stood motionless under the warm, massaging spray for a good ten minutes. Putting on his robe, he started back toward the kitchen. He certainly felt better than he had in several days.

Paula had the dinner completely under control. Even the barbecue was ready.

“Well, how about I open the wine?” he offered, holding up the bottle she had already selected.

“Yes! Do!”

Five minutes later they were sitting outside, watching the grill as evening turned into night. George sipped his wine. What a life! For the moment he couldn’t imagine being more relaxed. Over the last forty-eight hours his life had been a roller coaster, but at the moment he was at the pinnacle.

They ate inside and the conversation was very relaxed. The atmosphere gave them both a chance to think over and address in detail everything that had surfaced during the bizarre meeting with Thorn, Langley, and Clayton. Both agreed it would be to society’s detriment if iDoc’s adoption was held up. And with the help of the wine, they relived the scary abduction episode. To their surprise they were able to laugh about aspects of it now that they were safe and sound, even though they were still indignant and angry over being victimized.

After dinner they started to talk about medical costs and how it was probably the biggest problem facing health care. Those costs had to come down if there was ever going to be an equitable distribution of service. They knew iDoc would help tremendously. George said the Affordable Care Act was more about improving access than lowering costs, and an unintended consequence, in his opinion, was that it would inflate costs more than anyone expected. That discussion brought them back to the need for rationing in the last months of life.

“I realize now that rationing will have to be considered,” Paula said. “Do you agree?”

“I’m not so sure,” George replied.

“The more I think about it, the more I understand Amalgamated’s position as voiced by Thorn,” she admitted.

“Exactly what do you mean?” George said, eyeing her over a bite of salad.

“I feel better about the glitch as long as it only collects data that might be helpful in the future.”

George listened but didn’t respond.

Paula became aware that he had gone quiet. She studied him. “Is our thinking in sync?”

George shook his head.

“What’s changed?”

“I took out Kasey’s cell phone when I was back in my apartment. It made me wish I could have had a bit more time with her to tell her how much she meant to me. It made me question what she would have chosen.”

“George, the killing has stopped.”

“For now,” he replied. “If the glitch had been completely removed, I probably would feel differently. The fact that the application that killed Kasey is still functioning and that government-appointed officials are considering iDoc makes me feel extremely uneasy.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “There has to be an open debate to let people know what iDoc is capable of.”

Paula nodded slowly.

“Paula, can you really live with covering up a series of what most people would agree were murders?”

“I don’t know, George, when you put it in those terms.” She sat still for a moment, staring down at the table. Finally she looked up at him. “If you can’t live with it, I can’t, either.”

George was impressed and even flattered by her reaction. “I appreciate that.”

She smiled and picked up his empty wineglass. “Let me refill these and we’ll have a toast!”

“Sounds like a plan.”

George watched Paula go over to the kitchen counter, where the wine bottle stood. He exhaled forcibly, closing his eyes. He was exhausted after no sleep whatsoever Saturday night and very interrupted sleep Sunday night, but he was glad he had voiced his concerns. Having done so made him even more certain how he felt. The decision had been building all afternoon and had come to a head when he had held Kasey’s cell phone. He didn’t fully realize it at the time, but he did now.

Paula came back with full glasses and handed one to George. They clinked glasses and Paula said, “To our current decision.”

“To our decision,” George corrected. “I am not going to change my mind.”

“Okay, then, to our current final decision.” She smiled.

George nodded and they drank.

“When do you think we should tell Thorn?” Paula asked.

“Not for a while. If he calls, we’ll just say we are still debating the pros and the cons. We can certainly get away with that for the rest of the week.”

“And then what?”

“Eventually we’ll have to come clean. But I don’t want to do it until we have our backs covered.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t allow ourselves to be so vulnerable again. Simple as that.”

“You’re right.” She held her glass up. “By the way, what do you think of this wine?”

The wine was a deep ruby color. George nodded appreciatively. “I think it’s fine. But I’m not much of an authority.”

“You don’t have to be an authority to recognize this is rather exceptional. It’s called Cheval Blanc. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

George smiled appreciatively. “It is delicious.” He took another mouthful, holding it in his mouth. He was hardly a wine connoisseur, but it tasted great. They continued making small talk until Paula asked exactly how they should “cover their backs.”

“I have some ideas,” George said. He looked at her. “How about you? What do you think we should do?”

“I imagine that between the two of us we can come up with something.”

George nodded in agreement as he tried to suppress a yawn.

“Tired?”

“Yes. Exhausted.”

“Do you know where you want to sleep?”

“I think tonight the guest room would be best. There is no way I’d be very entertaining.”

“No pressure. Especially since I’m tired, too, despite my nap.”

George let out another yawn.

“Why don’t you head into the guest room while I put the kitchen in some sort of order.”

“I can help.”

“Fine, but let’s finish our wine first. It would be a crime to waste it.”

She emptied the bottle into their glasses, and they finished it off. George struggled to his feet as Paula collected their plates. He helped carry some dishes into the kitchen, wobbling in the process. Paula noticed.

“Perhaps you should sit down while I finish. I’m not going to do much, I just want the place to look decent in the morning when we come in for breakfast.”

George nodded as he barely made it to the couch. A moment later his head was resting against the sofa’s back, and his mouth was slack and ajar. His legs were splayed out in front of him. He was breathing deeply, snoring slightly.

Paula finished with the kitchen and approached him, giving George’s shoulder a shake. She said, “Wouldn’t you rather lie down on your bed? It’s more comfortable than being sprawled on the sofa.”

But George didn’t move. He was out.

Paula tried again. Same result. She shrugged and walked down the hall to the study.

She picked up her landline and dialed out. “Bradley? It’s me. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

Thorn’s voice was thick with sleep. “I didn’t expect to hear from you for a few days.”

“I didn’t think I would be calling so soon, either, but unfortunately George won’t go along. Your whole complicated ruse didn’t work.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. What a waste, the whole damn charade. The break-in, the smoke machine, the police sirens! Let’s end it now. George is intent on covering his back, as he put it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think he wants to tell the world what happened. Have Gauthier pick him up. Tonight.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Will there be any trouble?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Rohypnol. Double dose in his wine. He’s going to be out of it for a while, but I want Gauthier to pick him up now. I’m feeling guilty.”

“Guilty? That was not part of the plan.”

“I know, but he’s actually a terrific guy, maybe too idealistic for me in the long run. Now, don’t get jealous or anything! There’s no way he could come between you and me. But tell Gauthier to be careful and handle him with kid gloves.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. George’s car. Have someone pick it up and drive it back to his apartment.” She moved to hang up, then paused. “Oh, Bradley? Make sure Gauthier knocks this time.”

Thorn laughed before disconnecting.