Pulling The Dragon's Tail (8 page)

“Look”, she said, trying to find a middle
ground. “I’m not here to debate the merits of CLUES. My point is
that he managed to evade tough security, communicate and control
others, and create enough dissension and chaos that we have spent
the last forty minutes trying to figure him out. We’ll need to do
more of that teamwork that you spoke so proudly about, director.
We’ll work diligently with the patient, reassess the data, and have
a full report for you upon your return.”

“Well,” sighed Martinez, “that’s a highly
unusual request. But given the bizarre circumstances…” A cocktail
on the eighteenth green sounded so good. “Just work with the
treatment team, and I trust that you
all
will arrive at a
workable solution.”

That was all the wiggle room Campbell needed.
She’d be confronted by him upon his return, but by then her plan
would have been completed. Being duplicitous was not usually in her
repertoire, but perhaps it was in her grandfather’s. She was almost
out of the woods, but just before she breathed a sigh of relief,
she glanced over at Keagan who was feverishly pouring over the
records.

“Aha!” Keagan grinned fiendishly. “Security is
now reporting that Dr. Devereaux was sent an electronic message
from Nate Kristopher!”

Jentry shot a nervous glance at Dr.
Devereaux.

Martinez’s holographic image sat bolt upright.
“What? How did he do that? Campbell, when were you going to tell us
this
piece of information?”

She drew in a deep breath. “I can’t reveal
anything at this time.”
Damn you, Keagan!

Martinez softened, “Campbell, we all know you
have the professional right to do that. But it’s been many years
since you’ve invoked the doctor-patient privilege of total
confidentiality. I don’t understand why you’re choosing to utilize
it now. We’d all substantially benefit from knowing the contents of
that electronic message.”

Good old Martinez, playing the guilt card
like he hits a golf ball, hacking and slicing.
Trying to remain
calm, she replied, “Pablo…Director Martinez, I respectfully refuse
to reveal that information because it may unduly harm my patient.
Again, let me deal with him first.”

“He’s no longer your patient!” burst out
Keagan.

“Simmer down, Keagan.” Martinez held his hand
up, his silent brown eyes penetrating the virtual space with
impatience. “Campbell, I’m giving you one more chance.”

She licked her dry lips, folded her arms, and
responded with a stony silence.

“Campbell, I…you give me no choice.” Then he
turned to Dr. Saxby, the most computer literate among them. As a
new psychobiologist, he had been thriving under Dr. Devereaux’s
tutelage.

“Dr. Saxby,” the director said, nodding ever so
slightly.

Campbell suddenly became enraged as she realized
the director’s plan.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she growled.

Director Martinez ignored her and continued
speaking to Saxby, “Bring up the e-message sent by patient
Kristopher to Dr. Devereaux.”

Saxby gave her a helpless look, as if to say
‘what else can I do.’ He was caught in the middle, just like
referees in the Robotic Football League. No matter what he did, he
was going to be squashed by both sides in this political match. At
least the RFL referees came equipped with protective gear.

Campbell’s heart raced as Saxby pushed a few
keys, invading her private mailbox area after an authorization code
and an iris screen were accepted. “CLUES,” he said weakly, “please
play the message sent to Dr. Devereaux at 8:59 this morning. Source
of transmission: Room 1024.”

“Unable to comply with that request.”

Saxby repeated the request and got the same
response. “Computer, I mean, CLUES, what is the reason the message
cannot be played?”

“The message sent from room 1024 has an
encryption code.”

Campbell let out a sigh.
Mr. Kristopher
really knows his security protocols
.

Saxby looked over to Martinez, who responded,
“Well, search for the encryption key! Get on with it!”

“CLUES,” Saxby stated, “find the key to the
encryption code and decipher it. Then override and play it.”

Again the computer responded, “Unable to comply
with that request.”

Saxby blinked in disbelief. “Um, Pablo, I mean,
Director, you’re not going to believe this. But when CLUES
attempted to disable the encryption, the whole file deleted itself,
audio, video, everything!”

“Well, go find the backup file!” bellowed
Martinez.

Campbell forced back a grin, fondly patting her
hand-held computer. Nobody asked if she had saved the message
somewhere else.
The last thing I want to do is explain to my
colleagues that Mitchell Hilliard was my grandfather.

“For that, sir”, replied Saxby, “I’ll need to
physically go to IS and work with them to accomplish that
task”.

“Then do it!” Martinez growled, and Saxby
scurried out of the room.

An awkward silence and nervous looks again
pervaded the room.

“What do you think of his executive functioning
now?” said Campbell, a slight smile emerging.

“Be careful, Campbell, about reaching any
conclusions about Mr. Kristopher prior to all the evidence,” the
director admonished.

“But I’m trying to get you more evidence with
some in-depth psychotherapy.”

“CLUES has all the evidence it needs except for
the contents of that email. You’re really going to rely on
one-to-one sessions with a delusional patient? Will you even let
CLUES evaluate those sessions?”

“Yes,” Campbell said mockingly, “God, excuse me,
CLUES, will be a part of the session, but I’ll be there too with my
twenty-two years of professional experience.”

Martinez responded, “By the end of the day I’m
quite certain that the record will remain unblemished, once CLUES
gets all, and I mean all, relevant information. The only anomaly
perhaps may be the resourcefulness of a psychotic and delusional
patient. He’s computer savvy and somehow got lucky. Let’s not even
think of reporting an anomaly on CLUES to the Federal Institute of
Mental Health. Ugh, the paperwork!”

Dr. Devereaux’s impatience continued to grow.
“So whose interest are we here to serve, the reputation of CLUES or
our patient?”

“Come on Campbell. Of course we’re here to serve
the best interest of the patient. But CLUES is a very important
element in the treatment process. Look at it this way. The
End-Date; that’s debatable. When, and how, even if, it will occur.
What kind of environmental catastrophes await, what to do to
prepare, how to delay it from occurring. What I am trying to say is
that the End-Date is controversial. There is no controversy with
CLUES. It merits an outstanding record of accuracy.”

“Somehow that’s not reassuring,
sir.
We’ll search for the truth about each person’s psychiatric
condition unless we have to doubt CLUES. Taking care of our Big
Brother computer system is more important than Mr. Kristopher!” she
said with increasing exasperation. Taking the side of the patient
without the specter of CLUES looking over her shoulder somehow felt
refreshing. She was a knight fighting a noble battle against a
superior enemy. But she hoped she was not just tilting at
windmills.

“Campbell, I don’t understand your antipathy
toward CLUES.”

“I don’t hate it. But you’re attacking me for
even suggesting the possibility that CLUES could be mistaken.”

“
And
,” bellowed the director,
“I don’t think it’s appropriate to suggest that CLUES could be
mistaken.”

“Oh, yes,” Campbell said sarcastically, “Ugh,
the paperwork!”

“I’ll ignore that,” he said pointedly. “When we
get that file back, the CLUES diagnosis for Mr. Kristopher will be
proven correct.” He tried hard to maintain composure, but his
breathing was becoming labored.

Other staff members maintained an awed silence
as the two heavyweights continued to slug it out. The match went
back and forth between age-old tradition and artificial
intelligence.

“So the damn computer system’s infallible!”
Devereaux charged. ”Have you lost your mind, Pablo?”

“Have you lost yours, Campbell?”

She opened her mouth, thought otherwise, and
finally leaned back in her chair. Sweat threatened to play havoc
with her mascara and her clothing sensors picked up increased body
temperature, excess cortisol secretion, and elevated blood pressure
readings.

“No,” she said with some conciliation in her
voice, “I think I’m finally finding mine.”

“Look, Campbell. We’ll sit down and talk when I
return the beginning of next week. We all have to find a way to get
back to one big happy family. I take pride in running this clinic
with that kind of atmosphere.”

“Well, Director Martinez,” she dead-panned. “One
of your happy employees had a melt-down in front of our favorite
patient. Do you wanna have CLUES lead the interview or are you up
to it?”

Keagan glowered at her. Then he sat up straight
and stiffly in his chair.

“Yes,” said Martinez wearily, turning his
attention toward Keagan. Hitting a crisp drive straight down the
middle of the fairway with his state of the art golf club was going
to have to wait a few moments longer “Let’s review the video file
and hear your explanation, Keagan.”

Everyone but Keagan winced as they heard his
diatribe replayed.

“You know that verbal abuse of a patient can
lead to dismissal.” Campbell intoned.

Keagan didn’t squirm. “Everything has a context
to it. At that point, our unit was in chaos. None of us had any
idea what this pathet…patient,” He took a deep breath, paused and
resolved to choose his words more carefully. “What this patient was
capable of doing. I drew on my
twenty-six
years of
psychiatric experience with patients like this, and then I made a
judgment call, that’s all.”

While Keagan was attempting to justify his
behavior, Dr. Devereaux began to ponder the day’s events. She could
no longer deny that something was wrong with the state of the
world, at least her world. The past two hours had been shocking and
confusing. What else lay ahead?

She suddenly remembered the RVT computer was
still in her hip pocket. Leaning back in her chair, she stretched
and yawned as nonchalantly as possible. Placing the RVT in her lap,
she accessed an experimental diagnostic program. The registry for
violent thoughts had not been used outside of a few direct court
proceedings. Since returning from a murder investigation on the
Moon colony, Dr. Devereaux had steadily worked on improving the
RVT’s measurements of a variety of biochemical markers and
electrical impulses in the brain. Her confidence level in the
accuracy of the RVT was enhanced as it became more adept at ruling
out false positives. However, the wireless, portable unit was still
very experimental; using it was not condoned at the Ellis Clinic.
Moving deftly through the program, she recalled a maxim of Dr.
Chun’s, one of her medical school professors: “The truth will set
you free. But it comes at a cost.”

She casually placed the RVT computer on the
table in front of her. No one paid attention to her moves as all
eyes remained transfixed on Keagan. Slowly, she turned the lens
toward Keagan until his image was in the viewfinder.

One thing Dr. Chun had not told her was
how
steep the cost was of discovering the truth. Her
psychiatric mission to the Moon colony taught her the full extent
of that. Did she really want to pay the price again?

Her finger hovered delicately over the ‘enter’
key. Memories of the Moon colony odyssey flashed through her mind.
What has gotten me this far is striving for knowledge and truth.
Regardless of the consequences, I can’t live any other way
.

With the impetus of that last thought, she
determinedly pushed the key. Microwave emissions surreptitiously
leaped across the room, and measured the electrical and biochemical
activity of the man on the other end of the viewfinder.

Keagan concluded his defense. “Again my
intention was to entice him out by getting him enraged. Religious
discourse, based on his religious ideation, I hoped would insult
him enough to come out. So yes, okay, I insulted him, but for
protection of the whole unit.”

Campbell rolled her eyes in disgust over his
blatant rationalizations. But she knew she must stay focused on the
data gathering experiment. “Keagan, for the record, you need to
state your personal feelings about this patient. Quite honestly I
doubt you can remain impartial when Mr. Kristopher’s religion is
anathema to your well-known beliefs. Do you need a Bible to swear
on?” she goaded.

Outside the storm increased. Lightning and
thunder raged in their ancient choreographed dance. Wind gusts
pummeled the large windows. Raindrops performed a staccato rhythm,
competing for attention with the storm going on in the conference
room.

“Stop acting like a damned prosecuting attorney,
Campbell,” implored Martinez.

Keagan glared at her. Briefly he noticed the RVT
computer, with its novel green light, blinking at him. He paused
and stared at the gathering storm clouds passing over Manhattan. A
thunderclap shook the room, startling everyone except him, whose
gaze remained fixed outward, jaw firm as a rock.

“Mr. Kristopher is entitled to his religious
beliefs.” He chewed on every word, haltingly, forcing them out a
word at a time. “In no way am I biased against this man, and I have
no other ulterior motives for doing what I did. Satisfied?” Then he
added in a postscript, “I intend this man
no harm
.”

Glancing down, her screen read, “POTENTIAL
DANGER DETECTED: HOMOCIDAL RAGE.”

For a moment Campbell stared, transfixed at the
readout. Fearing others may notice it she hastily shut off the
monitor. Wiping her sweaty palms on her blouse, she noticed she had
been holding her breath.