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.
As Albane stood, extracting herself from EMT duties, she whispered, “Mark.”