Part 6 (1/2)
”Hey,” Aaron said, ”don't get c.o.c.ky. This was just the first play of a long game. Marina gets the ball next.”
Marina was sleeping in her hotel room when a phone woke her up. She had two cell phones: her regular gray one and a special one just for this a.s.signment. The latter was flas.h.i.+ng, which meant only one person could be calling.
”Mr. Woods,” she said in a rich, Russian accent. ”I was hoping to hear from you, but not at one in the morning. Is there a problem?”
”I need money.” His voice was so broken it was hard to understand.
”I gave you money.”
”I spent it. I need more, five grand in cash, tomorrow.”
”Do you think I'm an ATM machine?” Marina said coldly. ”You'll have to work for your next paycheck.”
”I'll steal a couple of files from the lab tomorrow.”
”No. I'm not paying for sc.r.a.ps. There is only one deal I'm willing to discuss at this hour, and it pays fifty thousand American dollars, not five. We're going to conduct business like professionals. If you succeed, more and bigger deals will follow.”
Woods paused. ”What do you want?”
”The complete case history of every patient, living or dead.”
He gasped. ”Are you crazy?”
”It won't be hard,” she said. ”I'm sure you have all the information in your laboratory computers. Just copy the files to a flash drive and smuggle it out.”
”I could go to prison for that!”
”I'm offering you complete financial freedom. You'll be able to settle all your debts and start your life again with a clean slate. At the same time you'll help the good people of Russia. Of course there are risks, but the rewards are much greater for you and for us.”
”I... have to think about this.”
”Do you want the money or not?” Marina said angrily. ”There are others who are willing to do the same job, probably better than you, for less. I have no reason to be patient, and frankly, your att.i.tude irritates me. I like men who make decisions, not boys who whimper like dogs.”
”That's not fair.”
”I need your answer right now, Mr. Woods, or this relations.h.i.+p will end. I want to sleep.”
Woods remained silent.
The door of the hotel room opened and Aaron walked in. Marina waved for him to be quiet. He pointed at the phone, and she nodded emphatically. He grinned.
”Others?” Woods said.
”Yes,” she said. ”I will get what I want with or without your help. Now, I can have the cash ready for you tomorrow. Used money, non-consecutive serial numbers, untraceable. Will that be satisfactory?”
He went silent again.
”I'm going to hang up now.”
He mumbled.
”Excuse me?” she said.
”I'll do it for seventy grand.”
”Fine, but don't disappoint me. If the goods don't meet my expectations or you call the police, you will be marked for death as an enemy of the Russian people. Do you understand?”
”Yes,” he said softly.
”There is a diner across the street from your hotel called the Honey Spoon Restaurant. Meet me there at seven PM tomorrow. Good night.” She closed her phone.
Aaron kissed her on the lips. ”Sounds like you got him.”
”Was there ever any doubt?” She kissed him back. ”Let's celebrate our success.”
”It's very late.”
”So what? We can sleep in tomorrow-” She pulled him down onto the bed with her. ”-while Woods does our work for us.”
Chapter Five.
Timothy Smythe rubbed his tired eyes. He had spent the morning studying medical reports in his office, and the words were starting to blur together. He had hoped to find some clue everybody else had missed, but he had failed miserably so far. PRooFS was proving to be a diabolical foe. Meanwhile, every hour that pa.s.sed meant more innocent lives lost, and n.o.body could find the cause. Every conceivable theory had been tested, discarded, tested again, and discarded again.
He stretched his stiff arms. He tried to exercise every day, but he had missed plenty of days lately and that really bothered him. There was no good excuse for getting soft. He decided to take a vigorous jog around the hospital campus right now, before eating lunch. The activity would get his blood moving and provide some fresh energy. It wasn't like he was accomplis.h.i.+ng anything useful in his office.
He took a jogging suit from his footlocker, which he kept in his office. While the footlocker was open, his gaze settled on his Army combat fatigues. He hadn't worn them in almost a year, and he might never again. The sense of loss was so painful he had to close the lid. It's not fair, he thought. I was just doing my duty.
After putting on the jogging suit, he walked out through the laboratory to reach the front door. He pa.s.sed several technicians along the way and nodded to each politely. He came to the a.n.a.lysis station where Mark Woods usually worked, but the chair was empty.
”Where is Woods?” Smythe asked.
”In the medical library,” a nearby female technician replied.
”Why?”
She shrugged.
The ”medical library” was actually a supply closet that had been converted into a small data center. Smythe sometimes used the computers to perform research. They contained a vast collection of medical journals in electronic form along with cla.s.sified reference material. Copies of all the patient files were also kept there.
Smythe was vaguely suspicious. Why would a mere technician need to do computer research?
He went to the library and found the door closed. He opened it without knocking.
Woods was seated in front of one of the computers, and he looked up with a startled, fearful expression. Smythe had known enough guilty men to recognize the look. Woods was up to something.