HARMED_First Do No Harm_ Book 1 Read online

  “Don’t make me laugh, Jack,” said Claire, wincing with pain.

  “Sorry, honey. Can I get you anything?” said Jack.

  “Yes, a husband who doesn’t feel he needs to keep me laughing all the time,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

  “OK, meet the new me. I will be boring and serious. No more joking. No more…well, me,” said Jack, making her wince yet again.

  “Quit it, Jack. Don’t make me get up and hit you with my chest tube sucker thingy. I’ll do it, so help me.”

  “Hey, who’s ‘so,’ and why should he help you?”

  “See, you can’t stop it, can you?”

  The dialogue was interrupted when Quentin, standing at the entry into the small cubicle, cleared her throat.

  “Hi, Susan, come in,” said Claire, a big smile on her face.

  “Well, you got some color back,” said Quentin. “And you found your smile, too.” She approached and shook Claire’s hand. “You were so ghostly pale last night.”

  “Amazing what a little hemoglobin can do for your complexion,” said Jack. “Sorry, baby,” he said, and then turning to Susan, he whispered, “I’m not supposed to make her laugh; it hurts her.”

  “I don’t think you can do it, Jack. You’re a stand-up comedian masquerading as a cardiologist,” said Quentin. “I mean that in a good way.”

  “Thank you, ladies and germs. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses, and if you liked the show, I’ll be appearing at the Holiday Inn in Cincinnati, Ohio, next Thursday,” said Jack, holding up a banana as a microphone.

  “So, what did you find out, Susan?” asked Claire, her head shaking slowly, and her tone now more serious.

  “Well, no fingerprints on the tracking gadget left on Jack’s car or at your home. We’re waiting on ballistics from the bullet extracted from your chest. The police officer killed on duty had a large gash—”

  Claire gasped. “What?”

  “I hadn’t told her about that,” said Jack, turning to Claire. “I was waiting until you were stronger. The officer outside on the driveway was murdered. I went out to talk to him because I couldn’t sleep. I found him dead in the car. That’s when I called nine-one-one and got the baseball bat.”

  “Good thing you did, Jack,” said Quentin. “These people are professional assassins. We’re still looking for them, but they’re long gone. We have no clue as to who they were or where they went.”

  “Wow. Professionals. When will all this be over?” said Claire.

  “Soon, baby. Really soon,” said Jack.

  “When you leave here, we got you two a hotel room out of town and police protection there, too. The two rooms surrounding your room are occupied by on-duty cops who will watch over you,” said Quentin.

  Jack looked at Claire and then nodded. “Susan, did Herb talk to you about Mike?”

  “No, not really. Talk to me about what?”

  “Herb and I believe Mike may be involved with all this,” said Jack.

  “What? Mike has been helping us. Why would you say such a thing?” said Quentin, astonishment in her voice.

  “Herb wanted to gather more evidence against Mike before telling you and bringing him in for interrogation. I believe Herb was killed by Mike because of it,” said Jack.

  Quentin gasped and held her breath a moment. “Mike was with me when Herb died. He was at my side. He helped me hold Herb and tried to save his life. What you’re saying is impossible. It makes no sense.”

  With dogged persistence, Jack continued. “What about the gun used for the hospital murders? Why hadn’t he found out about it until Rupert died? Herb found out that Mike hadn’t accessed the FBI database at all. He was telling us the gun was not in the system but had done nothing at all to check on it.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” said Quentin. “You’re crazy if you believe any of that.” She dropped a card she was holding on the hospital table in front of Claire and exited the cubicle.

  Jack and Claire looked at one another, unsure as to what to do.

  “Let her go, Jack. She needs time. This is too much for her to accept right now. She’ll come around,” said Claire.

  Jack nodded.

  Claire took the card on the table, opened it, and gave a wan smile. “Hope you get well soon!” read the caption on the card, under the cartoon of a mouse sick in a hospital bed, with its little leg in a cast.

  “Cute,” said Claire, passing the card to Jack.

  “Yeah, cute,” said Jack, his face dour. He bit his lower lip.

  A nurse arrived to take Claire’s vital signs and then left again.

  Claire spoke first. “Where do we go from here?”

  “A lot has happened over the last several weeks, and we need to think of a unifying theory to explain it all. These incidents aren’t just happenstance. How can we explain this whole scenario?” Jack was intrigued. He considered this as a diagnostic dilemma, a patient with multiple, seemingly unrelated complaints for whom the physician has to put it all together, deriving one unifying diagnosis.

  “OK, talk it through,” said Claire. “What do you think happened?”

  “The evidence is strong that Rupert was involved. It also indicates Agent Mike Ganz is most likely involved. They are two different people with different backgrounds, and somehow they seem to be intertwined in this catastrophic series of events. What would bring them together?”

  “Money,” exclaimed Claire, without much thought.

  “I agree. So where would they get money out of this?”

  Claire thought a long moment. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t, either. What are the possibilities?”

  “We know the hospital is involved, and people are getting murdered because of it. The research lab has to be part of this whole scheme.” Claire remained pensive.

  “I think you’re right.”

  “The research people come up with a drug that somehow makes them money, but it involves murdering people,” continued Claire.

  “But why is an FBI agent involved at all?” said Jack. “That’s a puzzler. Why would an FBI agent become involved?” Jack paced a moment. “FBI is involved when state lines are crossed, otherwise the local or state law-enforcement agencies are drawn in.”

  “So, something involving multiple states brought in Mike,” said Claire. “Mike sees the opportunity to make some dough and takes over the project?”

  “Killing people was a necessary part of the experimentation?” asked Jack.

  “Or maybe an undesirable side effect.”

  “A side effect would lead to discontinuation of the experiment or drastic change in protocol to avoid the deaths. This experiment seems to be about killing people.”

  Claire shook her head. “But why? Why would a prestigious research guru turn killer like that?”

  Jack paced again. “That may be Major Rooner’s connection. Remember how the military was involved? Rooner came out here and met with Rupert. That must mean there is a military application for the experiment. In the military, you look for ways to kill people.”

  “In wars, not in Evansville,” said Claire, wrinkles forming on her forehead.

  “Imagine a killing machine. A medication that is probably administered by inhalation. Rat Poison. In the lab, there was an aerosolizing device.”

  “How would this whole thing work to benefit the military?”

  “If Rat Poison is aerosolized into the air inside tiny bubbles and a soldier breathes it in, at the appropriate time, the bubbles can be disintegrated remotely. The soldier becomes acutely paranoid and agitated with a particularly strong drive to kill anyone in sight. Just one heavily armed soldier could cause destruction of an entire platoon, given enough ammo and a target-rich environment.”

  “Sounds about right.” Claire nodded her head slowly. “What about the other man? What was his name? Akrim?”

  “I’m not sure how he fits in to all this,” said Jack. “He’s supposed to be a businessman, but I suppose his
business could be killing people. This Rat Poison would be a desirable tool in the hands of terrorists.”

  ”Do you think John found out about the deadly scheme and was neutralized to keep him quiet?” asked Claire, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

  “I’m sure of it. That explains why he wanted to talk to me at the end of the soccer game.”

  “Your theory makes sense. Rupert gave the patient a gun and the aerosolized drug. He then waited for John to arrive at the bedside and remotely burst the bubbles inside the poor man, who got paranoid and started shooting.”

  “Was Rupert killed or did he just have a car accident?” asked Jack, interrupting a long period of silence.

  “I’m sure he was murdered,” said Claire. “The accident was probably a manifestation of the Rat Poison. If you get the drug while driving, in your paranoid agitated state, you’ll probably want to kill others by using the car as a weapon. The police had a warrant for Rupert’s arrest. They were going to interrogate him that day. So his accomplices killed him off to avoid complications and possible condemning testimony.”

  “I think you’re right!”

  “Some of the patients just had a cardiac arrest,” continued Claire. “They didn’t become paranoid and agitated at first.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Jack, sitting on Claire’s bed. “I believe that was the early experience with the drug or an exaggerated response in some individuals.” Jack looked into Claire’s moist eyes. “For instance, Herb just collapsed and had seizures and extremely rapid heartbeats. That’s probably an exaggerated response, maybe a double dose.”

  “So, how is Mike Ganz involved?” said Claire. “And how do we get Susan to see the truth about him? We need foolproof evidence.”

  Jack stood up again. “I’m not sure how that piece fits yet. I imagine Mike met Rupert. Maybe Rupert calls the FBI initially to see if there is a potential role for this drug. Sell it to the good guys. The local FBI agency would probably be a good place to start. Mike sees the potential financial gains and approaches the US military. They say, ‘OK, give us more evidence of what it can do.’ Rupert and Mike go out testing the drug. Killing people to prove their drug is worth buying.” Jack bit his lower lip. “On the other hand, maybe the military says, ‘No, thanks,’ and they go to the other side. I bet you Akrim is a terrorist or something like that. As such, he sure would want it. Money keeps coming in for further research and improvement in the weapon-manufacturing devices. And here we are now.”

  “So where do we go from here?” said Claire.

  “I think Rupert has to have some documents about this whole thing,” said Jack. “He was a documentation fanatic. John told me so several times. If he did, where would he keep them safe? Mike went through his belongings at the hospital. His home was ransacked, I bet, looking for documents. I bet you Rupert has important files hidden in his cabin.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Claire. “I remember he invited us and all the new cardiology fellows to a Fourth of July picnic there a couple of years ago. Do you remember where the cabin is?”

  “No, but the GPS does,” said Jack. “I marked an away point when we were there, and it’s still in the GPS database. I can drive to it by following the pink line, all the way to the front door.”

  “You’re such a geek,” said Claire with a feeble laugh, causing her to wince in pain.

  Jack got up and grabbed his jacket. He was anxious to check out his new idea. “See you later. I’ll call you.”

  “Be careful.”

  And he was gone.

  CHAPTER 50

  The trip to the cabin was uneventful. The day was clear with practically no wind. Moderate temperatures were typical for early October. As he drove out of the city and into the country, a feeling of peace overcame Jack. He got off the highway and entered a smaller thoroughfare that eventually led to a lesser side road. From there, the GPS led him to a path, which was paved only for a while. As he penetrated deeper and deeper into the woodlands, Jack found himself on a dirt lane lined with trees, meandering through the forest. The leaves had started to turn into beautiful brilliant colors of autumn. The sunlight pierced through the foliage, giving the area a serene glow. As he approached the log home, Jack glanced around, looking for anyone who might later identify him on this clandestine mission. Nobody was in sight, but potential hideouts abounded. It was quite feasible that Rupert would have someone, perhaps a neighbor farmer, minding his infrequently visited cabin. Meeting this someone today would be less than ideal.

  He arrived at the cabin, parked the car, and surveyed the area. Swirling dust clouds kicked up by the moving vehicle were uncontestable proof that he had arrived in the country. Jack walked to the front door, looking side to side and behind as he went, still paranoid that he might be spotted. The front door was locked. Well, no surprise there. He looked under the welcome mat. No key. He looked around for a logical area to hide a key. None stood out. Jack walked around the log home and entered the back porch. This looked out onto a winding stream with a waterfall, the perfect picture of serenity and tranquility. The back door was also locked. A large rustic square wooden box on the porch contained logs for the fireplace. This would make a perfect place to hide a key. Despite a thorough search, none was discovered. Imitating his moves earlier, Jack walked around the porch, assessing what would make a good place to hide a key. Beautifully decorated pots with plants, rocking chairs, and even a hammock on the porch were all potentially capable of hiding treasures.

  An abrupt loud noise from behind startled Jack, causing his heart rate to suddenly quicken and his hands to quiver. A sinking feeling rose up in his chest. Jack felt his face drain of blood. All his muscles tensed. What the hell was that? he thought. Shaking all over, Jack turned to the location of the clatter. It was a raccoon that had just pushed over a garbage can. The animal fled the area, likewise disturbed by the sudden clang. The mystery of the clamor solved, his nerves began to relax. Jack took a deep breath. The search for an entry to the cabin resumed. Where do you keep the key? mused Jack. You must have one hidden somewhere! He continued his search for a long while, though the hidden key spot, if there was one, was ever elusive.

  Discouraged that he made the trip for nothing, Jack started to walk back to the car. Doing so, he recalled there was another porch upstairs, off the master bedroom, yet another vantage point to admire the strikingly beautiful meandering brook and waterfall.

  Jack took off his jacket and placed it over one of the rocking chairs on the downstairs porch. He climbed up a nearby large oak until he reached a limb that reached near the upstairs veranda. Stretching his right arm as far as he could, he placed his fingertips in close proximity to the edge of the balcony. Before attempting the transfer, Jack spied in all directions, looking for potential witnesses. He smiled. No human souls for miles. Or so it seemed. He took a deep breath and jumped. With all his might, Jack held on to the railing to the balcony and got his knee onto the ledge of the woodwork. From there, it took little effort for him to climb onto the upstairs porch. He took a few seconds to admire and enjoy the awesome view and collect himself.

  He took another deep breath and walked to the sliding door leading into the master bedroom. Darn it. The door was locked as well. Jack tried with all his strength to slide the door open but to no avail. He looked at the locking mechanism through the glass door, but he soon gave up. To the right of the doorway was a small window. He would try that next. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when the window gave to his pushing. He slid the window open and entered the master bathroom.

  Jack spent twenty minutes snooping around inside the cabin. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he hoped he would recognize it when he saw it. Nothing visible. He thought about moving things and potentially finding a hidden closet. He looked at his watch dispiritedly. A strong gut feeling that he had been wrong about the whole thing began to creep up. This cabin is too far to come out and hide important things, he thought, disheartened. He would snoop for fif
teen more minutes and then call it all a useless trip and colossal waste of time. After a few more minutes of further searching, Jack saw a large, beautiful painting of a civil-war scene hanging on the master bedroom wall. Horses, soldiers carrying old-looking muskets, and cannons abounded in the colorful display. Why are you the only thing here that’s a bit crooked? he wondered. He looked all around and again realized what he had surmised—all other paintings were hanging perfectly straight. I bet Rupert got a level out to hang all these paintings and pictures. He smirked. But you’re a tiny bit misaligned. Why? Jack walked closer to the painting of the civil war and looked behind it. There it is! The painting served as the door to a hidden safe. He slid the painting to the side, exposing the recessed miniature cloaked vault.

  “Oh, please be unlocked,” said Jack. It was not. The strong, thick metal door would not give an inch. “What is your secret code?” The combination to the locking mechanism involved three rows of numbers, two digits each, totaling six digits. He stared at it for a long moment pensively. He noticed the numbers as he found them and made a mental note: first row, fifty-two; second row, twenty-seven; third row, twenty-three. He tried twelve, thirty-four, fifty-six. No go. Then backward. Locked.

  I wonder how I can find out what his birth date was? Or his wife’s measurements? Jack smiled. Rupert didn’t have a wife. Mistress, then. Another grin.

  Staring at the combination lock, he had an idea. He removed his cell phone from his pocket and, staring at the keypad, figured out which numbers corresponded to the word “LABRAT,” Rupert’s license-plate number.

  “‘LA’ is fifty-two, ‘BR’ is twenty-seven, and ‘AT’ is twenty-eight. OK, let’s try it. Don’t let me down!” said Jack to no one in the room. As he started to turn the dials, he grinned. He knew he was right on. The dial had initially displayed fifty-two on the top row, twenty-seven on the middle, and twenty-three for the bottom. The only number that was off was the third row—twenty-three instead of twenty-eight. Jack did that, too, in similar circumstances. Only one number to remember and change. Jack turned the dials accordingly and paused shortly to compose himself. He took a deep breath and tried the door. “Voila!” The lock gave way, and the door opened with little effort. “Come to Papa!”