Calypso Directive (26 page)

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Central records is on Level One, but the building plans also show a record room on each floor.”

R. Nicolora—
Founder One
: “What floor was Foster kept on?”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “According to Social, Foster was kept on Level Four.”

R. Nicolora—
Founder One
: “Where are Social and Physical now?”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “On Level Four, en route to the lab.”

R. Nicolora—
Founder One
: “Resources listen up. Op change as follows: Bio, proceed to Central Records on Level One. Objective: find and film Foster's medical charts. Social, deviate to the record room on Level Four. Objective: find and film Foster's medical charts. Physical, proceed to Level Four lab and retrieve samples as planned. Social, regroup with Physical upon completion of new tasking. Mission extension granted. You have eleven minutes until lights on. Coordinator, remap the timeline, and get these Resources moving.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “All resources, this is the Coordinator—request status report?”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Coordinator, Social. I'm in the Level Four Record Room. It's been cleaned out. There's nothing here.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Coordinator, Physical. Ditto for me in the Level Four Laboratory. The sample fridge is empty. All the drawers and cabinets are empty, and the instruments and lab equipment are wrapped in plastic. Looks like our friends are skipping town.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Coordinator, Bio. I'm inside the Level One Record Room. I've hit the jackpot. All the files are here, packed into boxes.

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Physical, this is Social. Meet me back at the Decontamination station. As soon as that diesel is back on line, Moderkiek will be back looking for us. The priority now is to clear Corridor E on Level One for Bio's egress.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Roger.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Bio, Coordinator. Have you found Foster's files yet?”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Negative. Still looking. The boxes complicate things. I was expecting nice, organized file drawers. But nooo . . . that would have been too easy.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Look for the box with a big ‘F' on it.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Thanks, I never would have thought of that. The boxes aren't labeled. I have to open each one . . . Shit, there are a ton of boxes.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “How are they organized?”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Each box has a sealed manila envelope and approximately thirty file folders. The folder tabs are labeled using an alphanumeric code. I don't see names anywhere. This is bad. Very, very bad. It could take me hours to figure out which records are Foster's.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “You have seven minutes.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Technical, this is Bio. I need your help.”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “Technical online, go ahead Bio.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “I'm trying to locate Foster's records, but the files are organized using an alphanumeric scheme. We have two minutes to decipher.”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “Read the folder tabs to me in order, one by one. Front to back, back to front, it doesn't matter. Just don't skip folders. Go in sequence.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Got it. P-17.F.01.11.11 . . . P-37.F.02.22.12 . . . P-37.F.03.05.12. . . .”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “Okay, that's enough. Go to the next box.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “All right, hold . . . P-21.M.17.12.11 . . . P-21.M.16.01.12 . . . P-21.M.15.09.11.”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “Stop. Check three more boxes. Tell me if you see any other alphanumeric scheme besides ‘P,' two digits, ‘M' or ‘F', two digits, two digits, two digits.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Copy, hold . . . No. The other boxes use the same system.”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “With ninety-five percent confidence, the scheme is ‘P' for Patient, followed by ID number, ‘M' male or ‘F' female, followed by day, month, year, which is the European date convention. You need to find Foster by his patient number.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Which is?”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “Standby. Searching the files Meredith Morley gave us on Foster . . . multiple hits on P-65.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Copy P-65.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Bio, Coordinator. You have four minutes.”

The file room was windowless and pitch black, except for the reddish glow from AJ's flashlight. He clenched the light between his teeth, freeing both hands for shuffling through boxes. His heart was pounding, and he was beginning to feel frantic. Nicolora was counting on him, and time was running out. What he needed now was a little luck.

The boxes were stacked six high. He had already been through three stacks and he counted at least five more. His search method was to lift the top box off the stack, set it on the ground, open the lid and check folders. He then repeated the process placing the next highest box from the stack on top of the previous one he just moved. He was reversing the stacking order, but he didn't have time to worry about that. Hopefully it wouldn't be noticed as long as when he left the room the boxes were in stacks of six.

He was rushing, and the stiff edges of the new cardboard boxes were giving him paper cuts as he worked. The most recent slice felt slippery. He held his hand under the light beam; his right index finger was bleeding. Stacking order was one thing, but blood smears on the boxes would certainly not go unnoticed.

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Shit! I cut my finger. I'm going to get blood on everything.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Do you have a tube of spray epoxy with you?”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Yes.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Good. Wipe the fresh blood off on your socks. Spray the epoxy right into the cut. One quick pulse. Don't touch anything for fifteen seconds with that hand.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Into the cut?”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Yes. A small cut is nothing. Resources have used this technique for life-threatening wounds.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Okay . . . it's done. It seems to be working.”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “
Bio
, you have two minutes.”

AJ revised his search pattern, tossing the lids off the remaining boxes so he could quickly glimpse inside. On the fourth box he found it—P-65! He lifted the box down, set it on the floor, and crouched next to it.

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “I've found it. I'm starting with the envelope.”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “No, start with the folders. You need to scan as many pages as possible.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “I see tons of folders, but only one envelope. I'm starting with the envelope.”

AJ unwound the string clasp holding the envelope flap closed. The envelope was heavier than he expected. He tilted it and shook it gently over a cupped hand, but the contents slid out en masse, like an avalanche, spilling onto the floor. He cursed under his breath.

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Bio, switch your light from red to white. The image quality from your camera-glasses is poor in the red spectrum. We want to record as much detail as possible.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Roger, switching to white light. I've emptied the contents of the envelope. It contains Foster's personal effects. I'm checking his wallet now. Credit cards, driver's license, insurance card, cash, couple of pictures . . . who is this? Brunette, pretty. Must be his girlfriend. What else . . . his mobile phone. Note, the battery has been removed. Car keys. Sunglasses.”

R. Nicolora—
Founder One
: “Bio, this is Founder One. Take his phone, forget the rest, and start scanning the damn files.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Yes, sir.”

AJ quickly shoved Foster's belongings back into the envelope and secured the string tie. Then he shifted his flashlight beam to the box of files and pulled the file with the oldest date. He opened the folder and smiled. The folder contained Foster's daily medical chart, full of hand scribbled notes, just as Nicolora had predicted. He flipped the pages of the file under the glow of his light.

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Coordinator, Bio. Are you getting this?”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Yes. The feed is good. Keep it coming.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “How am I on time?”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “You're over. Founder One is extending you. You have until my mark.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Roger. Scanning until you mark . . . that file was first in line . . . I'm assuming it was Foster's day one chart. We don't have time to scan all of these. Any requests for other dates?”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “Bio, this is Technical. Like any good story, we need a beginning, middle and end.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Roger . . . day two file scanned. Moving forward in time . . . this box has only one month's worth of charts . . . I'm closing it up and moving to the next box . . . okay, good, this box is P-65 too . . . grabbing two folders . . . the dates would be about two months in, not exactly the middle but close enough . . . scanning . . . okay, looking for the last P-65 box . . . no . . . no . . . no, damn it, where is it? . . . Bingo, I've got it . . . pulling the last file . . . this was five days ago . . . scanning. . . . Oh shit! . . . the lights just went on. They've restored power!”

C. Remy—
RS:Coordinator
: “Electrician, Coordinator. Report?”

Local Embed—
RS:Electrician
: “Clear at my location. Main power is still off. They've started the diesel generator. We are plus fifteen minutes on the timeline. What did you expect?”

R. Nicolora—
Founder One
: “All Resources, this is Founder One. Bio will be egressing with Social and Physical. Execute Exit Scenario Delta on Social's mark—Location: the Level One Record Room.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “Roger.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Roger.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Roger.”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “Roger.”

Local Embed—
RS:Electrician
: “Roger, restoring primary power and exiting.”

Admist the stack of boxes in the Level One Record Room, AJ stripped off his coveralls, revealing a paramedic uniform. The door to the record room was shut, but he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. It was time.

“We don't want to hear your excuses. The fact remains that it took your detail almost twenty minutes to restore power to the facility with the emergency generator, when it should have started automatically and immediately on the loss of primary power,” Albane yelled.

Officer Moderkiek cowered. “Yes, Madame Inspector, you're right. The response time was unacceptable, but I can show you the inspection records on the emergency generator. It passed the annual certification test just last month.”

Kalen turned his head to the side, hiding an insuppressible grin. Even though he did not speak a word of Czech, he had seen Albane in full dominatrix mode enough times to know exactly what was happening. The systematic humiliation of Officer Moderkiek was at a crescendo, and Kalen relished watching it. In thirty seconds, however, the spotlight would shift. All eyes would be on him.

Kalen slowed his pace to a half step behind the others, clearing his throat as he did. Albane looked at him and nodded. It was time. Out of Moderkiek's peripheral vision, he slipped a clear dissolvable strip onto his tongue.

“I want to see
all
the maintenance records for the emergency diesel generator,” Albane said to Moderkiek.

“Yes, Madame Inspector,” Moderkiek said as he reached to open the door to the Level One Records Room. “We maintain hard copies of all maintenance records in addition to the annual certifications.”

Albane screamed.

Moderkiek spun around.

Kalen was collapsed on the tile floor at her feet, writhing like a serpent. His legs and arms flailed in rhythmic violent contractions. A puddle of urine pooled on the floor underneath his midsection. Beneath his rapidly fluttering eyelids, his pupils were rolled back, leaving only the white of his sclera visible.

“This man is having an epileptic seizure,” Moderkiek yelled. He knelt and began to reach for Kalen's arm.

“No, don't touch him,” she ordered. “He told me what to do if this ever happened. Do not restrain him.” She pulled her mobile phone from her pocket. “I'm calling an ambulance.”

Moderkiek raised his two-way radio to his lips and called in the medical emergency to the front desk. Within minutes a small crowd of Chiarek Norse personnel had gathered around Kalen, who continued to have clonic seizures.

Nearly a minute passed before Kalen's body went still and then fell limp. His head flopped lifelessly to the side, and the gathering crowd of onlookers gasped.

Albane knelt, checked his pulse, and looking up at the circle of concerned faces said, “He is unconscious, but alive. The paramedics should be here momentarily.”

Albane remained at Kalen's side until the squeal of stretcher wheels and pounding footsteps announced the arrival of the medical team. Two men in paramedic uniforms pushed their way through the circle of people and converged on Kalen.