To be absolutely sure, Charles waited until twenty of seven before starting the van. Switching on the lights, he drove around the back side of the building and down the service ramp, backing up against the receiving dock. Getting out of the van, he climbed the stairs next to the platform and rang the bell. While he waited for a response, he felt the first waves of doubt about what he was doing. He knew that the next few minutes would be crucial. For the first time in his life Charles was counting on inefficiency.
A small speaker above the bell crackled to life. On top of the TV camera mounted above the receiving door, a minute red light linked on. “Yes?” asked a voice.
“Dr. Martel here!” said Charles, waving into the camera. “I’ve got to pick up some equipment.”
A few minutes later the metal receiving door squeaked, then began a slow rise, exposing an unadorned, cement receiving area. A long row of newly arrived cardboard boxes were stacked neatly to the left. In the rear of the area, an inner door opened, and Chester Willis, one of the two evening guards, stepped out. He was a seventy-two-year-old black who’d retired from a city job and taken the job at the Weinburger, saying that he could watch TV at home, but at the Weinburger he got paid for it. Charles knew the real reason the man worked was to help a grandchild through medical school.
Charles had made it a habit over the years to work late into the evenings, at least before Chuck had become a day student at Northeastern, and as a consequence, Charles had become friends with the night security officers.
“You workin’ nights again?” asked Chester.
“Forced to,” said Charles. “We’re collaborating with a group at M.I.T. and I’ve got to move over some of my equipment. I don’t trust anybody else to do it.”
“Don’t blame you,” said Chester.
Charles breathed a sigh of relief. Security did not know he’d been fired.
Taking the larger of two dollies from receiving, Charles returned to his lab. He was pleased to find it untouched since his departure, particularly the locked cabinet with his books and chemicals. Working feverishly, Charles dismantled most of his equipment and began loading it onto the dolly. It took him eight trips, with some help from Chester and Giovanni, to transport what he wanted from the lab down to receiving, storing it in the middle of the room.
The last thing he brought down from the lab was the vial of Michelle’s antigen which he’d stored in the refrigerator. He packed it carefully in ice within an insulated box. He had no idea of its chemical stability and did not want to take any chances.
It was after nine when everything was ready. Chester raised the outside door, then helped Charles pack the equipment and chemicals into the van.
Before he left, Charles had one more task. Returning to his lab he located a prep razor used for animal surgery. With the razor and a bar of hand soap he went to the lavatory and removed his day-and-a-half stubble. He also combed his hair, straightened his tie, and tucked his shirt properly into his pants. After he’d finished he examined himself in the full-length mirror. Surprisingly, he looked quite normal. On the way back to the receiving area, he stepped into the main coatroom and picked up a long white laboratory coat.
When he got back outside, he buzzed once more and thanked the two security men over the intercom for their help. Climbing into the cab, he admitted that he felt a twinge of guilt at having taken advantage of his two old friends.
The drive over to Pediatric Hospital was accomplished with ease. There was virtually no traffic and the frigid weather had driven most people indoors. When he arrived at the hospital he faced a dilemma. Considering the value of the equipment jammed in the van, he was reluctant to leave the vehicle on the street. Yet pulling it into the parking garage would make a quick exit an impossibility. After debating for a moment, he decided on the garage. If he were robbed, the whole plan would disintegrate. All he had to do was make sure a quick exit was not a necessity.
Charles parked within view of the attendant’s booth and double-checked all the doors to be absolutely certain they were locked. Having purposefully left his sheepskin jacket in the van, he put on the long white coat. It afforded little protection from the cold so he ran across to the hospital, entering through the busy emergency room.
Pausing at the check-in desk, Charles interrupted a harried clerk to ask what floor radiology was on. The clerk told him it was on Anderson 2. Charles thanked him and pushed through the double doors into the hospital proper. He passed a security guard and nodded. The guard smiled back.
Radiology was practically deserted. There seemed to be only one technician on duty and she was busy with a backlog of sprained wrists and chest films from the packed emergency room. Charles went directly to the secretarial area and obtained an X-ray request form and letterhead from the department of radiology. Sitting down at one of the desks, he filled in the form: Michelle Martel, aged 12; diagnosis, leukemia; study requested: abdominal flat plate. From the stationery he selected one of the names of the radiologists and used it to sign the request form.
Back in the main corridor, Charles unlocked the wheel stops on one of the many gurneys parked along the wall and pulled it out into the hall. From a nearby linen closet he obtained two fresh sheets, a pillow, and a pillow case. Working quickly, he made up the gurney, then pushed it past the room manned by the single technician. He waited for the patient elevator, and when it came, he pushed the gurney in and pressed 6.
Watching the floor indicator jump from number to number, he experienced his second wave of doubt. So far everything had gone according to plan, but he admitted that what he’d done to that point was the easy part. The hard part was going to begin when he arrived on Anderson 6.
The elevator stopped and the door folded open. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the gurney out into the quiet hall; visiting hours were long over and, as in most pediatric hospitals, the patients had been put to bed. The first obstacle was the nurses’ station. At that moment there was only one nurse, whose cap could just be seen over the counter top. Charles moved ahead, aware for the first time of the minor cacophony of squeaks emitted by the gurney’s wheels. He tried altering the speed in hopes it would reduce the noise but without success. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the nurse. She didn’t move. Charles passed the station and the intensity of the light diminished as he entered the long hall.
“Excuse me,” called the nurse, her voice shattering the stillness like breaking glass.
Charles felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot into his system, making his fingertips tingle. He turned and the nurse had stood up, leaning on the counter.
“Can I help you?” asked the nurse.
Charles fumbled for the form. “Just coming to pick up a patient for an X-ray,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm.
“No X-rays have been ordered,” said the nurse curiously. Charles noticed she’d looked down at the desk and he could hear pages of a book being flipped over.
“An emergency film,” said Charles, beginning to panic.
“But there’s nothing in the order book and nothing was said at report.”
“Here’s the request,” said Charles, abandoning the gurney and approaching the nurse. “It was phoned in by Dr. Keitzman to Dr. Larainen.”
She took the form and read it quickly. She shook her head, obviously confused. “Someone should have phoned us.”
“I agree,” said Charles. “It happens all the time, though.”
“Well, I’ll say something. I’ll ask the day people what happened.”
“Good idea,” said Charles, turning back to the gurney. His hands were moist. He wasn’t trained for this kind of work.