Last Surgeon (16 page)

“Yes, I know I can’t see them, that’s why I’m here.”

“No, by ‘can’t see them’ I mean not
authorized
to see them. Do not have the proper permission-that kind of can’t see them.”

“But aren’t the records in our system?”

“Well of course they are,” he said, as though she had just asked if air was necessary to breathe. “They’re in our system assuming they’re not more than ten years old, and my dwindling staff and I haven’t keyed them in manually yet. Manual data entry, if you didn’t already know, is very error prone. Which is why DISTRACTIONS ARE DEADLY, or did you not read the sign.” He pointed behind them, where a handwritten sign taped to the door read precisely that: distractions are deadly. “But despite our archaic methods of record management, we have what is known as a firewall. Ever heard of it?”

“Computer security,” Nick said.

“Who’s the boy genius?” Mollender quipped.

“Dr. Nick Garrity,” Jillian said, no longer bothering to disguise her growing irritation. “So what can I do to get access to the files?”

“Well, you could go get a job there. I hear they’re hiring.”

“Cute,” Jillian countered. “Now I understand all those employee-of-the-month awards on that empty wall over there.”

She found herself purposely leaning over Mollender’s desk, getting into his personal space. The man really was pathetic. She had never hit a person before, but the Mole was inspiring such thoughts.

“What else can we do?” Nick asked.

“It’s a firewall, sir,” Mollender reiterated. “That means no access unless authorized. So unless in your spare time you or Ms. Nurse here are hobbyist computer hackers, you’re S.O.L.”

“S.O.L.?” Jillian asked.

“And I thought you medical types were acronym happy. That means shit out of luck.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Mollender,” Nick said.

Jillian shot Nick a confused look. Leaning in close, Nick whispered a single word into Jillian’s ear.

“Reggie,” he said.

The follow-up appointment for Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson Collins was on a Friday, three days after their initial tour. They picked up the S-Class Mercedes at the rental agency at the last possible minute, and Nick took on the payment. At four hundred dollars per day, plus tax, he could not allow Junie to rent the car again. But he did admit to Jillian that he was going to miss driving it. Beneath a somber sky, he guided the machine to a butter-smooth stop on the brick driveway in front of the Singh Medical Spa and Cosmetic Surgery Center.

“I’m terrified, Nick. I’m not sure I can pull this off.”

Nick himself was so distracted and anxious about what was to ensue at the medi-spa that at first he did not even respond.

“Hello? Are you with me, Nick?”

“I’m here,” Nick said, gently patting her knee. “I was just going over the plan in my head. We’ll do great. I promise.”

Nick put the car in park, but kept the engine idling.

“Check the bag again,” he said.

“I did that just before we left.”

“We only have one crack at this, Jill. Check it again. I mean,
please
check it again. Dammit, I’m sorry. I am really crazed that we’re doing this. I have no idea what will happen to us if we get caught, but I suspect whatever it is will involve the suspension of our licenses to practice. We can back out now if you want.”

Jillian thought about it.

“I would give up everything to find Belle’s killer. If we’re right about the Singh Center somehow being connected to her death, what choice do I really have?”

Nick simply nodded. He felt the same way about Umberto. The debt he owed the man could never truly be repaid. There were times since the nightmare of the explosion when he found himself wishing that Umberto hadn’t raced back that morning to save his life. But over the years since his involvement with Junie and Helping Hands and EMDR, those instances had all but vanished. And now there was Jillian. Everything that was good in his life, everything that lay ahead for him, he could link to his friendship with the Dominican. If something sinister had happened to Umberto that could be connected to Paresh Singh, then getting to the bottom of it was worth any risk.

Jillian must have sensed Nick’s growing concern because she took hold of his hand and looked deep into his eyes.

“We’ll be okay, Doc. Besides, I loaded up on Pepto before we left and then did something I almost never do. I took a beta-blocker to combat all this adrenaline and keep my heart from exploding out of my chest.”

Their anxiety was understandable, but their plan had a decent chance of working, despite Junie’s objections to it for being overly risky. The entire scheme hinged on getting Jillian alone with the computer in Paresh Singh’s office. For better or worse, almost everything depended on Nick being able to sell a bogus injury, severe enough to frighten Daintry Calnan and have her make her boss come to his aid.

Reggie estimated they would need Jillian to be alone in Singh’s office for five minutes. Nick’s acting job would be a delicate one. Daintry had to be upset enough to call Singh down to the lobby, but not so frightened that she dialed 911. Nick had no desire to be calling Don Reese begging for another favor. If things came to that, all hope of penetrating Paresh Singh’s computer would be lost.

Jillian unzipped her bag and peeked inside. She sifted through the contents, mostly cosmetics, before extracting the small, two-gig USB key Reggie had given her earlier.

“It’s here,” she announced. “What’s on this thing again?”

Nick tried to recall Reggie’s exact words, but when he was unable to do so he opted to read them. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out the folded piece of paper containing the instructions the teen had printed out.

“It’s called a rootkit,” Nick said. “It’s used to disguise the fact that a computer system has been compromised. Remember, all you have to do is plug that USB key into the USB port you locate somewhere on the computer and double click the program icon on the screen to launch it.”

“Sounds simple enough. Put the key in the port and double click the icon.”

“Best laid plans,” Nick muttered to himself.

Unfortunately, he spoke loud enough for Jillian to hear and she shot him a distressed, panicky look.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. We’ll be fine,” Nick said, though his words failed to reassure himself.

Nick reread Reggie’s detailed instructions one last time. For Jillian’s benefit, as well as his own, he tried to summarize the technical aspects of the plan.

“I guess what’s on here will install some sort of backdoor access, allowing Reggie to create, as he wrote here, a VPN-a virtual private network tunnel-into the system through a proxy server.”

“I don’t know anything about VPNs and proxy servers. You really trust him with this, Nick? I mean, most kids his age spend their free time shooting hoops, not hacking computer systems.”

“Actually, he does that, too. Pretty well, to tell you the truth. But I trust him. If he says it will work, all we have to do is our part. Okay, then, we’re ready. Let’s sync our watches.”

It was imperative that Jillian know exactly when Nick planned on initiating his diversion. She had to be ready to move the instant Paresh left her alone in his office. Being even a minute off schedule could result in failure… or worse.

“You just sell it,” Jillian said. “If I get my chance, I’ll do my part. That’s a promise.”

“I’ve had this injury for years and my knee still really does lock from time to time. I’ll sell it, no problem. Are you ready, Mrs. Collins?”

“Ready, Mr. Collins.”

Nick eased the Benz around to the spacious, partially filled parking lot at the rear of the building.

“To luck,” Nick said, touching her lips with his, but not forcefully enough to disrupt her perfectly applied makeup.

Delicious.

He exited the Mercedes and walked around to her door.

“You look beautiful,” he said as she stepped out of the car.

Jillian’s ruby lips flashed a movie star smile worthy of any red carpet, but Nick could feel the tension in her grasp and see it in her eyes.

The rear of the Singh building was nearly identical to the front. Their figures reflected handsomely in the eleven-foot windows that ran the width of the structure. The security desk was to the right, just on the other side of the glass, but there was no sign of the militialike guard-a definite break, provided the man stayed away.

They felt the sudden drop in temperature from the air-conditioning as they stepped into the resplendent marble foyer.

Daintry, austere behind her marble desk, rose to greet them. “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Collins,” she said, taking first Jillian’s hand, then Nick’s.

Her grip, like everything else about her, seemed rehearsed and controlled.

“Thank you for fitting us in the way you have,” Nick replied, reminding himself not to lose sight for a moment of the fact that the woman had things to hide.

As was the case with their previous visit to the spa, it surprised and slightly embarrassed him that acting rich and arrogant wasn’t totally unpleasant.

“Dr. Singh is upstairs in his office. He shouldn’t be long.”

“No security man today?”

“Garth? No, he’s here, but at the moment he’s off making rounds.”

“I’m impressed that you take security so seriously.”

Careful
, Nick warned himself.
You may look the part and even act the part for short spurts, but this woman is used to the real deal. Mess with her and she’ll sniff you out as a fraud in a heartbeat.

Nick took Jillian by the waist and guided her over to a towering work of art that filled half of the rear wall.

“Ready to roll?” he whispered.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I confess I’m glad I won’t be here to watch.”

“You’ve still got the tough job. But there is one encouraging sign.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“My knee is actually starting to ache.”

Nick and Jillian spent the first ten minutes of their second visit to the medi-spa fidgeting in the sitting area to the right of the receptionist’s desk.

“I do apologize for the delay,” Daintry said, seeming genuinely concerned. “I’ll ring the doctor and see if he’ll be much longer. I know that he is very eager to meet you both. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, Nick heard the chime of one of the elevators as it arrived at the lobby level. The polished brass doors glided open and out stepped Paresh Singh. The surgeon, slightly built with a thin mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles, was singularly unimposing, except for his eyes, which were piercing and dark, and his smallish hands, expertly manicured and featuring a number of rings that were probably worth more than Nick claimed on last year’s tax return. He was no more than five-foot-seven, and although his jet-black hair was razor cut, and his suit finely tailored, Nick found it a stretch to believe that the man was world renowned and the master of this glass-and-steel palace.

“So,” Singh said, after the formalities of introduction, his accent clipped British with a modest amount of Indian. “I apologize for the delay and hope that Daintry has taken good care of you. She has been with me since the beginning, and I would be absolutely lost without her.”

“She’s been wonderful,” Nick said. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“Dr. Singh,” Daintry said, “as you requested, I’ve had the solarium prepared for Mrs. Collins’s private meeting.”

Nick and Jillian immediately exchanged sideways glances. They had seen the solarium on their tour-plants, sculptures, and waterfalls, but no computer. All Nick could do was shrug. The plus of having the security guard off on rounds had just been trumped by this latest turn. Why had he thought for even a moment that their plan would come off without a hitch? But this hitch was potentially fatal.

Jillian meeting with Singh in some Luddite heaven, devoid of the one thing they needed, was certainly not part of their strategy. If Nick’s SUD score had been hovering around a six, it just shot up close to an eight:
Freaking out. The beginning of alienation.

He calmed himself with thoughts of a Buddhist quote from a college philosophy course that had stuck with him throughout the years:
There are two mistakes one can make on the road to truth-not going all the way, and not starting.
Now, he decided a third mistake needed to be added: Not possessing a backup plan.

Jillian, perhaps sensing his panic, stepped in for the save.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “I hope the solarium is equipped with a computer. I wanted to show you pictures of movie stars and models with the sort of features we would like me to have, and I’ll need Internet access for that.”

“Most understandable,” Paresh Singh answered. “We can just convene in my office.”

Bless you, Mrs. Collins
.

“That would be perfect,” Nick said. “I’ll be waiting here with Daintry. Take as long as you need.”

He glanced down at his watch, and, unseen by the others, Jillian checked hers. Precisely ten minutes until showtime.

Jillian air kissed Nick near the cheek and then, spinning around, accompanied Singh toward the elevator.

“I’m so looking forward to getting to know you,” Jillian said as they walked away.

Nick mentally ticked off one minute for Singh and Jillian to settle into his office. He had no doubt she would come up with the names for the surgeon to check out online. He knew she was nervous-probably as nervous as he was-but she was handling matters with incredible cool.

Praying that the security guard stayed away just a little longer, he made several laps around the massive center fountain, on occasion making eye contact with Daintry, smiling warmly whenever he did. Anxious husband. Nick checked his watch again. Five minutes down. He vowed to keep from looking too many times.

The succeeding minutes were an eternity. Finally, it was time. Nick made one last stroll around the fountain, until it was directly between him and Daintry. Then he shouted out and dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

“Are you all right?” Singh’s receptionist called out, rushing around to him. “What happened?”

“Oh, dammit. It’s my knee. It’s locked. It’s happened before, but not for a while.”

Do it, but don’t overdo it
, he was thinking as she knelt beside him.

He kept his left leg bent at a forty-five degree angle and rolled from side to side.

“What can I do?” Daintry asked, genuinely upset.

“There’s loose cartilage floating in my knee,” he said, groaning every few words. “A piece has gotten caught.”

“You didn’t slip or anything?”

Nick nearly smiled, imagining her wondering when she’d have to call their lawyer.

“No, no. I didn’t slip. Dammit, but this hurts.”

“I’ll call nine-one-one.”

“No!” Nick responded. “Like I said, this happens every few months. You can do what needs to be done, Daintry. Believe me, you can. Just take my foot and point the toes upward while you gradually turn the whole leg to the right, pulling it toward you as you keep pressure toward the floor.”

Daintry paled at the notion, and clearly could not visualize the instructions, which Nick was making as complicated as he dared.

“I… don’t feel comfortable with things like this,” she said.

Okay
, he decided,
it’s time
.

“Dr. Singh can do this. It will only take him a minute.” Nick moaned and writhed from side to side for emphasis. “Please hurry and call him. This is killing me… Oh, shit!… I’m sorry I cursed, but this really hurts. Man, I should have had it fixed.”

“I’ll call Dr. Singh.”

Atta girl
.

Nick remained moaning on the floor behind the fountain as she raced back to her desk. He managed a glance at his watch. Jillian had to be ready.

“He’ll be right down,” Daintry said before she had even returned to him.

Nick imagined Jillian speeding into the sequence that Reggie had taught her. Three minutes to find the USB port, plug in the key, locate the rootkit application, and double click it. From there, the installation process should only take a minute.

To his left, the elevator chimed and, in seconds, Paresh Singh was kneeling at his side.

“I understand your trick knee has locked,” he said, totally calm. “Are you in much pain?”

Nick groaned the answer and mumbled something that required repeating. The trick now was not to make things too easy.

“It usually pops back pretty easily,” he managed.

“Wouldn’t you rather we called nine-one-one?”

Singh didn’t say the word “liability,” but Nick could tell he was thinking it.

“Please,” he begged. “People help me with this all the time. Just pronate my foot and slowly straighten the leg and the cartilage will pop out of the joint space. I guarantee it will work. If it doesn’t you can call the rescue squad.”

Singh sighed, clearly still weighing his options and the risks. Finally, he stood and took Nick’s foot in both his hands. No sooner had he begun to move the leg than Nick cried out and the knee straightened.

“Bless you, Dr. Singh,” Nick gasped. “Bless you.”

“That was easier than I expected,” Singh said. “Can you stand?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Give me your arm, please. You’re a wizard.”

In moments, Nick was on his feet, testing the knee.

At that instant, the elevator chime sounded. It was everything Nick could do to keep from cheering.

“Not the knee again,” Jillian said, squeezing his hand twice to say the job was done. “Jeff, we’re going to Dr. Gavryck right now. You could have been really hurt.”

“But did you and the doctor finish? He did an incredible job unlocking this knee.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jillian said. “The rest of our session, I’m afraid, will have to wait. Daintry, I’ll call to reschedule.”

“That would be fine,” the woman said, still pale. “Call me as soon as you have matters straightened out.”

Jillian Collins took her husband by the arm and helped him to the door.

“Don’t count on it, Daintry,” she whispered.