“Thank you for sharing that with me, Wu. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, thank you. My mouth is just so dry. Arranging for the teleconference is just the beginning. When we talk, you’ll see a bit more. A bit more of why I am here.”
“Yes. And how do you know Ford Stevens anyway?” Chris asked, as he watched Wu take another set of pills for the pain.
“The Stevens family lived near us in our apartment in Beijing. Ford is my age, age 29. He might be 30 now, sometimes I forget his birthdate. Anyway, when we were both teenagers, we did everything together. The Stevens family lived there for five years. We rode bikes, played ball, laughed, and chased girls. We explored the city and countryside together. You know, ah,… teenager stuff. His family was wonderful to me. His father was like the father I never had. My father died when I was young.”
“Oh, I understand. Your relationship goes back awhile,” Chris commented.
“One time when we were white water rafting, north of Beijing in the mountains, Mr. Stevens brought the whole family and me out for the day. I was quite scared of the water at the time, and fell out,” Wu explained.
“Out of the raft?”
“Yeah, out of the raft. It was my first time being on a raft, and also first time wearing a life jacket. Wasn’t aware you have to attach the strap. I rode the river water without a lifejacket on, fell out, and started to drown. We all ended up in a circular motion in the river, called a whirlpool. The family in rafts, and me in the water,” Wu shared.
“Wow that kills people sometimes back at home. In the U.S.”
“It nearly killed me. I had banged my head on a rock or something, and was face down in the water. Ford jumped in and pulled me to safety on the shore,” coughing a bit more, “It was something I will never forget.”
“The whirlpool almost got you. Well… he sounds like quite a guy,” Chris said.
The meeting room door opened, and Vic told Chris and Wu that they were going to use the video teleconference system down the hall, in the Ambassador’s Meeting Room. Since he was at the Embassy in Beijing, Vic made arrangements for a window between DIA Headquarters and them, beginning in a few minutes.
“Vic, this is Captain Wu Lee. Wu, please meet FBI Supervisory Special Agent Vic.”
“Ha ya doin,” said Vic, as he extended his hand.
“Hello, Supervisory Special Agent Vic.”
They stood up and walked towards the doorway. Wu stopped in his tracks, and turned to face Chris. “Ford is quite a guy. I owe him. I owe him my life, which is related to why I am here.”
Emily cleared her throat quietly. “Guys, I have known Ford Stevens for years. I trust him completely. And no, he does not know what I do for a living. He only knows of my cover job at the IMF, and that’s it,” Emily defended herself.
“Do you know Wu Lee then?” Robert asked, somewhat suspiciously.
“You’re so gormless. Yes, Robert, I do know Wu Lee,” Emily answered sternly. “He is Ford’s best friend. I have never met him.”
“I’m sorry, Emily. No harmful intent in the question. Just wanted to ask. This is all going so quick,” Robert said, as meaningful as he could.
Mark wondered what other types of connections there were, and perhaps things they were missing. He looked at the computer, and then off at the wall.
“Robert, did you say you could check that cell phone’s email? Lee’s email?” Mark asked.
“Yup, sure can. Let me pull it up,” replied Robert, sitting at the keyboard, but looking up at the wall screen.
More scrolling through databases and numbers until he found the Wu Lee cell again. He was able to see the apps, calls placed and length, and emails. It was like he had the phone in his hand.
“What was that email right there, that one right there above your cursor?” Mark noticed, pointing up to the screen with his finger.
“It’s a Yahoo account. Looks like… ah… a medical report of some type. It’s from a nurse at a hospital,” Emily said.
Mark looked at it closely. “We have a medical doctor downstairs on the watch desk in the Operations Center. I’m pretty sure she is from the National Center for Medical Intelligence…from over at Fort Detrick, Maryland. How about we get her up here?” Mark said, calling downstairs to ask. He leaned over the table, grabbed the black land line phone and placed the call.
Dr. Erin Clifton, M.D. was upstairs in minutes, and assigned to the Headquarters for national security reasons just like this. The National Center for Medical Intelligence was part of DIA, and they monitored, tracked, and assessed a full range of global health events that could negatively impact the health of the country. Dr. Clifton was part of the Maryland team and on assignment to Headquarters as the medical expert in forward leaning, medical intelligence. The Center’s plethora of missions revolved around producing intelligence products on topics such as infectious disease and health threats, pandemic warning, military medical capabilities, and biosafety. They also dabbled in topics such as force health protection, which covered infectious disease risk assessment, environmental health risk assessment, and a blood safety index. This evening, though, Dr. Erin Clifton, was there do an analysis of foreign medical records discovered by a DIA team.
No traditional long white lab coat in sight, but wearing a blue business suit and sporting larger than usually seen, DKNY brand silver eye glasses, Dr. Clifton jumped into the subject and took a good look at the medical report. She scrolled through it, shook her head in agreement, and took off her glasses. Putting the glasses back on, she shared her opinion.
“My assessment of this patient is very difficult to ascertain because of the written language barrier. Certainly, I could provide way more of an opinion if this report were in English, but, as it turns out, these images…these scans, are universal in any language,” Dr. Clifton said.
“We can easily get them translated later or tomorrow, Doc. In the meantime, can you interpret what the scans say? Is that possible?” Mark asked.
“Yes, I can read them. Unfortunately, I can see that this patient is not doing well. This gentleman has extensive pancreatic cancer and is most definitely terminal. You can see from these CT scans… here. And here. Has this gentleman passed yet?” Dr. Clifton asked, “… because if not, it’s coming soon. Just a matter of two months, or less. He’s functioning now, but in about six weeks or so he’ll be in a bed.”
“Sod off! No, actually, we think he’s still flying as a pilot. In China,” Emily said.
“He is? A pilot?” Dr. Clifton asked, surprised. “Not for long. Like I just said, he’s not going to make it past two or three months. Also depends on when these images were taken last. You know, currency of the scan. Can’t see a date. Was it this morning, was a month ago? You have to consider that. If you get it translated, the date will be in there.”
She looked at the screen again and explained the numbers on one of the pages.
“See this here… and here,” pointing with her pen to the screen, “this is a prescription for pain killers. Pills… ah, this patient is feeling the pain of the cancer, and the medical team gave him a prescription. Pills aren’t going to cut it, though. Can’t believe it’s not morphine… most patients here in the States get an intravenous drip and are bedridden. They are also jaundice, ah, you know, their skin and eyes take on a yellow tone. He also won’t be hungry….won’t be eating. If this cancer has spread, like most cancers do, and it hits his brain, his balance and gait will be also off. His speech slurred. Just not himself at all. ”