Cell (31 page)

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.

MENTAL HEALTH FACILITY

HOLLYWOOD HILLS, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, JULY 7, 2014, 8:15
A.M.

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.

MENTAL HEALTH FACILITY

HOLLYWOOD HILLS, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, JULY 7, 2014, 9:05
A.M.

B
radley 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.”