“Did you get to see Ashanti?”
“Hell no! I just saw the inside of the Shapiro network operations center and a couple of pages of her Shapiro electronic medical record.”
“And you are warning me about HIPAA violations,” Lynn said wryly.
“Hey, I didn’t hack the system. The Russian dude logged in legit.”
“You merely asked him, and he agreed.”
“I buttered him up a bit,” Michael admitted. “I gave him a Beats headset and told him I’d be willing to share my Jay-Z music file. I figured he had admin status with the network and could check out Ashanti sometime. I never expected him to invite me into the place on the spot.”
“Did you get his name? God! He could be so useful.”
“Vladimir Malaklov. I also got his e-mail and mobile number.”
“Fabulous! But wasn’t he concerned about security issues?”
“Didn’t seem to be. My guess is that he knows that security inside the institute is lax. I mean, I saw a video cam in the ceiling outside the NOC, but it didn’t bother him when we walked under it. Maybe he knows no one is watching the feed. And he said he has never seen another person in the network operations center the whole time he has been here.”
“Strange,” Lynn said. “I had the feeling that security was important for the Shapiro. That was what they implied during our tour, and the place is built like a bank vault.” She glanced at the massive but squat granite structure with not a window in sight from where they were standing.
“Maybe security was big in the beginning, but since there haven’t been any problems over the eight or so years it has been in operation, they’ve let things slide. Even security for the outside door isn’t much. Thumbprint touchscreen access. That technology is really out of date.”
“So how did you learn she has multiple myeloma?”
“Vladimir brought up her home page, and I got to click on her health status and then vital signs and complications. I would have liked to look further, but I knew I’d be pushing my luck. I did take a screen shot of her complications page.”
“Let me see it!”
Michael pulled out his phone again and brought up the image. Lynn tried to examine it. “It’s a bit hard to read out here.”
“It’s better indoors,” Michael agreed.
“I can’t believe you managed this,” Lynn repeated.
“Her home page had Cluster 4-B 32.”
“I see. What does it mean?”
“Not a clue. The home page also says drozitumab plus four active. I didn’t know what the hell drozitumab was but looked it up last night. Drozitumab is a human monoclonal antibody used to treat cancer.”
“Maybe that is what they are using to treat her multiple myeloma.”
“I doubt it,” Michael said. “In the articles I read, it was developed for a type of muscle cancer.”
“Then I don’t know what it refers to,” Lynn said. She handed the phone back to Michael. “But tell me: didn’t this Vladimir have any concerns about patient confidentiality?”
“No. My sense is that he knows zip about our HIPAA rules. They probably don’t have anything like that in Russia. He doesn’t even have a secure user name or password that anyone who knows a few details about him couldn’t figure out. His user name is his e-mail address, and his password is his mobile number combined with his family name.”
“You amaze me. You sure you weren’t trained by the CIA?”
“You could have done the same thing. I’m telling you: he wasn’t concerned about security. I was standing there in full view of what he was doing while he typed in his user name and password. He didn’t give a shit.”
“So Ashanti is still in a coma,” Lynn said as she started walking again.
“Must be ’cuz she’s still in the Shapiro,” Michael said, falling in beside her.
“You didn’t learn anything about her coma, looking at her EMR? What a missed opportunity.”
“I’m telling you, I didn’t want to push him or my luck on the first go-around.”
“I’m not criticizing. It’s amazing you learned what you did.”
“I was surprised myself,” Michael admitted. “And I’m planning on hitting him up again.”
As they approached the door to the clinic building, Lynn asked, “What about the photo of Ashanti’s anesthesia record? Did you find it?”
“I did,” Michael said. “It was in my photo folder on my desktop. As I said, it looked a lot like Carl’s, but I want to print them both out so that I can really compare.”
“I’m eager to see it when you do.”
“I’ll think about it,” Michael teased.
They walked through the mostly deserted clinic. The only people they saw were housekeeping, polishing the floor and wiping down the chairs with antiseptic.
When Lynn and Michael crossed the connecting pedestrian bridge and entered the hospital proper from the clinic building, they were immediately enveloped in a crowd. Although the clinic was still closed, the hospital itself was a different story. Another busy day was already in the making.
As Michael headed toward the cafeteria, Lynn went in the opposite direction, toward the elevators. Michael was the first to notice their cross-purposes, and he turned, caught up to Lynn, and pulled her to a stop. People jostled them as they stood in the middle of the main hospital corridor. “I thought we were going to the cafeteria,” he said. He had to speak louder than usual over the general din.
“We need to check on Carl first,” Lynn said. “This is the best time. The shift will be changing, and they will be less likely to question our presence.”
“Good point,” Michael conceded. “But your blood sugar? You sure you can hang in there?”
“I’ll be fine,” Lynn assured him. “Come on!”
They started toward the elevators. It was difficult to stay together. Lynn talked to him over her shoulder. “Even with the shift changing in the ICU, someone might say something to us. If they do, let’s use the anesthesia explanation you came up with yesterday. I thought it was brilliant. But to lend it more credibility, we should put on scrubs and look the part.”
“Now, that’s slick,” Michael agreed. Instead of joining the throng waiting for an elevator, they went to the stairs. In the surgical lounge they separated.
As Lynn entered the women’s locker room, it was still well before seven, yet it was a busy place. Most of the women donning scrubs were nurses just coming on duty. The surgeons scheduled for seven-thirty cases wouldn’t arrive until around seven-fifteen, after making rounds on their post-op patients. Lynn found an empty visitors’ locker, and as she began to unbutton her blouse, the intercom crackled to life from a ceiling-mounted speaker. Since everyone had mobile phones, it wasn’t used much. The voice belonged to the head nurse out at the main desk in the OR: “Dr. Sandra Wykoff! This is Geraldine Montgomery. Are you in the changing area?”
“I am,” Dr. Wykoff said, talking loudly and directing her voice up toward the ceiling. As a courtesy, the buzz of voices coming from the other women in the room quieted.
Lynn turned around. The name provided instant recognition. Sandra Wykoff had been the anesthesiologist on Carl’s case. Lynn stared at the woman, who was no more than five or six feet away. She was petite, a good six inches shorter than Lynn, with small, sharp features and mousy hair, who nonetheless projected an intensity of purpose. Her bare arms were thin but muscular, making Lynn think she kept herself in shape, something that Lynn did as well. It was Lynn’s immediate impression that Sandra Wykoff was not someone easily intimidated despite her short stature.
“Dr. Wykoff,” Geraldine continued over the intercom, “you must have your mobile ringer turned off. I have Dorothy Wiggens from Same-Day Surgery Admitting on the other line. They have been trying to contact you.”