Dan and Joseph Cellini exchanged a long, deep stare. Dan looked away first, but not until he had seen a flicker of recognition in Cellini's eyes. A look of recognition indicating Cellini understood Dan was anything but just a lawyer.
Dan pulled the tattered t-shirt from the plastic bag. He shed the loose-hanging gown and stuck his head through the neck hole of his shirt.
“I will let you know when I find the guys you are looking for,” Dan replied. “As for a financial settlement, I am a little pinched at the moment.”
Joseph Cellini nodded at his side kick. Mr. Neckless stepped forward and grabbed Dan's shoulder. Dan stepped to the side, raised his right hand and trapped the big mitt against his own shoulder. In one fluid motion he brought his other hand over the arm he now controlled. He felt the bones, muscles, and tendons tighten. Mr. Neckless groaned and Dan drove him to the floor using his shoulder as the fulcrum. Dan looked over at Cellini.
“Let me see what I can find.”
“I'm in town through this weekend. Before I head back, I want names and addresses and a way to get reimbursed. I don't care where the money comes from.”
“I'll put you on the list.” As the words rolled around in his concussed mind, Dan saw a potential solution to half his problems.
â
Dan muttered to himself as he walked through the sea of chairs and benches in the emergency waiting room.
The mafia. There goes another rule.
His head pulsated and he sat down in a worn brown chair just as the sliding glass doors to the emergency room opened. Dan watched as a team of paramedics pushed an accident victim across the tile floor on a large stretcher. Blood-soaked sheets dripped from a plethora of braces and tubes, the human subject hiding beneath the pile of life-saving paraphernalia. Dan made a phone call, spoke quietly for a minute, nodded several times, and then hung up.
As the commotion in the emergency waiting room quieted, Dan rubbed his temples and stood again, testing his internal gyroscope. Satisfied with his condition, he went outside, put one foot on a wooden bench, and made another call. Sue answered on the third ring.
“Where are you? You OK?” Dan asked.
“Yeah. Good thing I wasn't working late last night. I am here in the hospital. In the surgical waiting area on the north side of the first floor. I tried to get in to see you but the nurse's station wouldn't budge on visiting hours.”
“I'm surprised that stopped you.”
“It didn't. But the Alexandria police officer near the elevator in the hall was a little more persistent about honoring visiting hours.”
“Apparently they only allow family members and
family members.
”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it. How did the office building look?”
“It needs some remodeling. It was all over the news. A dozen fire trucks and enough rescue equipment for a mass shooting. They shut down the block.”
“How about the second floor?”
“Seemed OK. I figure the bullet-proof glass and all that other jazz you claim you have probably helped.”
“Maybe. But nothing is bomb-proof. The bomb wasn't trying to take out the building. It was targeted and I was the intended victim. Very likely a cell phone detonated device. They were most certainly watching from outside.”
“What is our next move?”
“Get your car. Drive around the block a few times and see if anyone is following you. I will meet you in the circle in front of the emergency room entrance. It's going to be a quick pickup. Just throw open the door and keep your foot off the brake.”
“Dukes of Hazard style?”
“No, they slid over the hood.”
“Where are we going?”
“To see a doctor.”
“But you're already at the hospital.”
“I am at the wrong one.”
â
Sue pulled into the Yorktown Shopping Center parking lot at the intersection of the Gallows Road and Route 50. The morning crowd of prescription fillers snaked down the aisle in the CVS next to the Staples and the half-dozen little restaurants crammed into the nooks and crannies of the sprawling concrete layout. Dan pointed at the small fire lane in front of a Thai restaurant.
“Drop me off here and keep moving. Take laps around the parking lot until you see me at the curb.”
“Will do.”
Dan exited the car as rain began to fall. He disappeared around the corner near an ice cream shop and returned a few minutes later. He stood at the curb and scanned his environment.
Sue pulled over. Dan opened the door and handed a bouquet of flowers to his driver.
“You shouldn't have.”
“I didn't. They aren't for you.”
“You could have humored me for a minute.”
“I'm trying to keep you alive.”
“Can't do both?”
Dan patted the plastic CVS bag in his lap. “I did get you a few things. Toothbrush. Change of underwear.”
“Nothing screams flattery like drugstore gifts.”
A few blocks south of Gallows road, Dan directed Sue to turn into a narrow entrance next to a three-story concrete parking garage on the premises of Fairfax Hospital. A gate arm blocked the entrance and Sue stopped the car and read the sign through the windshield. “It says âPhysician Parking Only.'”
“I know.”
Sue watched as Dan jumped out of the car and pushed the gate arm into the air. The bright yellow fiberglass deterrent rose without protest. Dan waved Sue through the entrance and then jumped back in the car.
“I get the feeling you've done that before.”
“Once or twice. The gate has been broken for years. Lucky they haven't fixed it.”
“I'm not sure I want to know how you know that.”
“I'm not sure I want to tell you.”
Sue pulled into the middle aisle of the parking garage and parked between a Mercedes Benz and a Lexus. They both got out of the car and Dan grabbed the flowers and the plastic shopping bag. He pulled out a new plain blue t-shirt and a pair of dark gray cargo pants with myriad pocketsâthe finest clothes CVS offeredâand quickly dressed in the parking garage between the cars. He balled up his tattered, blood stained, odorous, bombed-out attire and threw it in the trunk.
“Is the car safe here?” Sue asked.
“They don't require a parking permit. You need a badge to get the through the gate.”
“Unless you know the gate is broken.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to share what you have in mind?”
“Just follow my lead. Hold my arm. Put those flowers in your other hand. Smile and nod at the security guard as we go in.”
A taxi cab with an expectant mother and panicked husband pulled into the semi-circle drive in front of the red brick building as Dan and Sue walked through the large automatic doors. The security guard at the podium on the right nodded to Sue who smiled and nodded back. Dan never looked over.
“Tight security.”
“They don't really check IDs once the sun is up.”
“Something to do with vampires?”
“Probably labor union rules.”
They veered left through the waiting room, sofas stuffed with families. Pacing husbands wearing tracks in the floor.
Dan walked directly across the room and picked-up the courtesy phone on the far wall. “We're here,” he said into the phone, followed by “thanks.”
Minutes later, a blonde woman in light green scrubs approached Dan and Sue loitering near the coffee stand in the corner of the lobby. Her shoulder length blonde hair framed her high cheekbones. Stethoscopes hung around her neck. Her white doctor's coat fell to her knees. The toes of her clogs were stained with some unidentifiable liquid in the process of drying.
The doctor never broke pace as she approached, opening her arms as Dan stepped forward to meet her. Sue noted the duration of the hug, the intimacy of the bodies, and women's intuition told her everything she needed to know. “What have you gotten yourself into?” the doctor asked, stepping back to eye Dan and then Sue.
“It has to do with Conner,” Dan said, shamelessly tugging heart strings.
Dan stared into the doctor's face as she provided her initial medical assessment of the man she once loved. “Cut over the eye. Bruises. Multiple smaller lacerations.”
“Got in a fight and survived a bombing,” Dan replied.
“Some things never change.”
“Indeed. You still look beautiful.”
The doctor turned and extended her hand in the direction of Sue. “April Cathright.”
“Nice to meet you. I think these flowers are for you,” Sue said, transferring ownership.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome. You look young to be a doctor.”
“And you look young to be dating a forty-year-old man.”
Dr. Cathright glanced over at Dan to see him wince.
“Ouch,” he replied.
“We're not dating. I work for him. Sort of an internship,” Sue said.
“It all starts somewhere. But that's a conversation for later. Let's go. Follow me.”
Sue and Dan followed Dr. Cathright as her heels stepped on the pink path in the gray tile floor. At the door of a secure elevator, the doctor swiped her badge, waved at the closed circuit camera in the corner of the ceiling, and pressed the button for the fourth floor. A minute later, the party of three stepped onto the labor and delivery floor of Fairfax Hospital. Two pregnant women in matching flowered gowns waddled by, grunting through a conversation about contractions and breathing methods.
Dr. Cathright walked her guests past the first nurses' station and turned down a short hall. Her ID badge ushered them through another set of security doors and past a dual set of cameras, one on each wall. Down another hall, her magical pass provided access to yet a longer hallway where unoccupied gurneys and wheelchairs lined the right side.
“Should I be leaving breadcrumbs?” Sue asked.
“Wouldn't help. Even if you knew how to get out, you can't without a badge,” Dan replied.
At the end of the hall, Dr. Cathright stopped at a pair of locked swinging doors. She stepped to the wall, punched a five-digit code into a panel, and the large doors swung inward. Another hall, an additional door, and a final swipe of the badge left the three standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a small foyer. Three identical doors lined each side of the wall. An open bathroom was in the corner, providing a glimpse of a shower and toilet in the reflection of a dimly lit mirror. Dr. Cathright went to the door on the far left, pushed a combination of numbers on the lock, and pushed the door open.
“Here we are. Welcome.”
Sue approached the open door cautiously, not sure what to expect. She popped her head in first, determined it was safe, and then entered. There was a full-size bed, a metal desk with two chairs, and a reclining lounge chair. On the far side of the room, a wall-mounted TV with a DVD player clung to faded yellow paint. The computer on the metal desk was on, the screen illuminated with graphs and charts, moving and flashing in different colors.
“There isn't much space in here, but we can share what we have.”
“Come again?” Sue asked.
Before Dr. Cathright could answer, the screen on her computer began flashing red. The small black pager clipped to her waist simultaneously erupted in a mind-melting array of notes.
“That's my patient. I gotta go. Emergency C-section. I will be back in an hour or so, provided there are no complications.”
“We'll be here,” Dan said, finding a seat in the recliner. “Before you leave can you log me into the computer network? I need medical records and Internet access.”
“My user name is my first initial and last name. My password is my date of birth, followed by my zip code. If you can remember them, the computer is all yours.”
Dan winked. “Thanks.”
Dr. April Cathright flashed her own magnificent pearly whites, flipped a strand of hair behind her ear, and then left.
Sue sat on the edge of the bed. “What the hell are we doing here?”
“It's safe. In fact, outside of a safe house with armed guards, a security system, and maybe a few dogs on the perimeter, this is one of the safest locations on the East Coast. Multiple security doors, multiple cameras, multiple guards and numerous safeguards.”
“I noticed. Where are we exactly?”
“You are in one of the call rooms for the OB/GYN doctors on duty at Fairfax Hospital. This labor and delivery ward is the fifth busiest in the country. But most people don't even know these physician call rooms exist. And if you do know they exist, you wouldn't know how to find them. There are no signs pointing you in this direction. You can't exit the floor without a badge. Not without setting off alarms and generating a very serious response.”
“What's up with the security?”
“Prevents kidnapping.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. A newborn was taken from this building a few years ago. After that, the hospital wisely decided they would do whatever was necessary to ensure there would not be a repeat incident. Now all babies have RFID chips attached to their umbilical cord. Scanners monitor their locations at all times. On top of that, all the locks and doors limit the movement of adults. Eyes on the infants. Eyes on those who could take them. Pretty brilliant, really.”
“There are no windows in these rooms.”
“Even safer. Good for sleeping. Emergency rooms and labor and delivery wards are always open. They are staffed twenty-four hours a day including Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanza. These medical professionals don't sleep regular hours. They drop, sleep for two hours, then wake up and perform surgery.”
“Never thought about it. So we are locked in a room in the middle of the hospital?”
“I wouldn't say we are locked in. We are here voluntarily.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“It's safe. That is my main concern. For you.”
Sue smirked. “So, who is Doctor April Cathright?”
“She is a friend.”
“More than a friend, I imagine.”
“In a previous life.”
“It is only a previous life if you leave it behind. We are here. For her, maybe it's not a previous life.”
Dan grunted and moved to the chair in front of the computer. He patted the empty seat next to him and Sue moved from the bed.
“What are we doing?”
“Checking on a few things.”
Dan minimized the flashing lights associated with heartbeats and contractions and then clicked on the icon for the Fairfax Inova network. He nailed Dr. Cathright's birthday on his third attempt. “Here we are.”
“What are we looking for?”
“An airplane.”
“What kind?”
“Jet. Landed at Manassas Regional Airport on May the fifth of this year. Cinco de Mayo.
“What is the tail number?”
“I don't have one. I didn't have the money to buy that information. The asking price was ten grand. I was hoping I could find the information myself. After all, finding information is an intricate part of my job description.”
“Don't take this the wrong way, but I am not sure which you are burning through fasterâmoney or friends.”
“I am running out of both.”
Sue nodded, her eyebrows furled.
Dan continued. “OK. Pay attention. Maybe you'll learn something about public information channels. Who knows, I may be able to write down a truthful tidbit on your internship evaluation form for once.”
“Funny.”
“The thing about looking for planes is that they are all registered. Like automobiles and boats. Systematically, the government does a good job of keeping track of these.”
“Probably because people have to pay taxes on them.”
“Exactly. For planes, they also need to have registration information for things like filing flight plans, as well as for less glamorous undertakings such as sifting through the wreckage of downed aircraft. All planes are registered. All parts are registered to that plane. All parts are tracked back to the manufacturer, the day they were created, and who was working the assembly line that day. Zero defect tolerance.”
“Imagine the possibilities if they made everything so carefully.”
“The FAA website maintains information on every airport in the country. All flight plans. So all we have to do is go to the FAA page for Manassas Regional Airport and search for jets that landed at the airport on May the fifth.”
“Why are we interested in jets that landed?”
“Because that's what the barber said.”
“But of course,” Sue responded, watching Dan type.
Dan pointed to the screen. “Here are the flight plans for all the airplanes that landed that day. Forty-two in total. Most of them small personal aircraft. A lot of Cessna. None of them were jets.”
“It would be easier with a tail number.”
“Don't get distracted by what we don't have.”
“OK, we
have
nothing, if you like the sound of that better.”
“I am undeterred. In fact, if this plane really had CIA personnel on board, as the barber indicated, I would imagine they don't have to file a flight plan.”
“Probably not.”
“But they do need gas. And they do house the plane somewhere. So there is a chance the plan resides on site at the airport. All planes must be registered with an airstrip and all the planes maintained on airport premises have paperwork filed with the FAA.”
“People can find out anything these days.”
“If you are willing to get dirty,” Dan added.
“Most people already are dirty.”
“Now you're coming around to my side.” Dan put his finger on the screen. “There are 120 aircraft registered at Manassas Regional Airport.”