“The question is: Is there anything else of an ethical nature that you would like to reveal to the board? This current problem with your thesis surprised all of us coming out of the blue, and we don’t like surprises, especially involving our super chief, who we are considering offering a staff position.”
Noah stared back at the program director with his mind in a sudden turmoil. He wanted to say a lot, but how could he? He wanted to explain how difficult it was to be caught in a standoff with an industry he despised and a woman he thought he loved. The truth was that he was caught between the past and the future, between old-school ethics and the new reality of an ever-expanding technological and connected world where the real and the virtual were fusing.
“Well?” Dr. Cantor persisted.
“I don’t know,” Noah said, stumbling over his words.
“Dr. Rothauser!” Dr. Cantor said sharply. “That is hardly the answer we are looking for. What do you mean you don’t know?”
Noah audibly sighed, sounding like a balloon deflating. “Maybe I should sit down,” he said. Suddenly his legs felt weak. He pulled out the director’s chair directly in front of him and sat heavily. After a deep breath, he looked up, noticing that Dr. Mason was staring at him as intently as the others but with a slight smile of anticipation. Noah was painfully aware that time was passing, and each second was making the situation worse. He should have said “no” immediately and be done with it, but he couldn’t. The question had caught him completely unawares, upsetting the unsteady balance he’d been trying to maintain in his mind, sending it into tumult.
“Dr. Rothauser!” Dr. Cantor snapped. “Explain yourself!”
Noah cleared his throat as he struggled to regain control as an idea emerged from the fog of his addled brain. “This thesis situation surprised me as well,” he said haltingly but gaining confidence, “and it awakened an old fear that has dogged me since I was a teenager that something unexpected would happen to prevent me from becoming the best academic surgeon my abilities would allow. I had never thought about what I did with my thesis as an ethical issue, but now I can see that it could be considered as such, and I apologize for not having cleared the air on my own accord. But with that thought in mind, there is something else that is more clearly an ethical issue that I believe I should reveal to clear the air.”
“By all means,” Dr. Cantor said hesitantly with building concern and dismay. He’d never expected a positive answer to what he thought was a pro forma question.
“Once I bought a paper off the Internet, and after doctoring it, I presented it as my own work. I knew it wasn’t right, but it was in the very beginning of my freshman year of college, and I was under a lot of pressure to perform.”
Dr. Cantor’s face, which had hardened considerably from expecting the worst, suddenly softened. He was ostensibly relieved by Noah’s benign mea culpa. “That’s it?” he questioned with relief. “Early in your college career you bought a paper online?”
“That’s correct,” Noah admitted. “Others were doing it, too, but I know that is no excuse.”
After a quick reassuring glance at his colleagues, whom he judged were as relieved as he, Dr. Cantor assumed a knowing yet condescending smile. “Thank you for your forthrightness, Dr. Rothauser. Although we surely cannot condone plagiarism on any level, I believe we can all relate to the competitiveness we all had to experience early in our lengthy education.” He again glanced at his fellow board members to make sure he was speaking for them. Dr. Hiroshi nodded his head in obvious agreement.
“Any other issues besides this freshman-year paper, Dr. Rothauser?” Dr. Cantor asked, redirecting his attention at Noah.
“That’s the extent of it,” Noah said.
“Okay, fine!” Dr. Cantor said. With a satisfied expression, he sat back, extended his arms, and pressed his palms against the table. “It is good to clear the air. Thank you and welcome back! I know I can say with support of my colleagues, your services have been sorely missed.”
“Thank you, Dr. Cantor,” Noah said as he got unsteadily to his feet. For a split second, he allowed his eyes to dart in Dr. Mason’s direction. He could immediately tell that his erstwhile antagonist didn’t share Dr. Cantor’s contentment, yet under the circumstances he stayed thankfully silent.
Without another word or even a glance back at the residency program directors, Noah headed for the door on rubbery legs. He felt as if he had dodged a speeding train but needed to do something to control the anxiety that Dr. Cantor’s unexpected and open-ended ethical question had unleashed. Luckily, he had just the right antidote. He’d head up to the operating room as he planned and dive back into work.
3:10 P.M.
An eight-ton, intimidating, black Lenco BearCat armored truck with BOSTON POLICE stenciled on its rear panel lurched up onto the curb on School Street in downtown Boston and screeched to a halt. To the shock of several dozen tourists milling about the plaza in front of the refurbished, Old City Hall building, six heavily armed Boston Police SWAT officers, some carrying Colt CAR-15 submachine guns, leaped from the vehicle in a highly rehearsed and synchronized fashion and ran toward the entrance of the ornamental Victorian building. Despite the August heat, they were in long-sleeved black combat gear with military helmets and ballistic vests festooned with additional ammunition clips, flash bang grenades, and Tasers. All but one member of the team were wearing black balaclavas, making them even more sinister.
There was no hesitation or conversation among the group. There didn’t need to be. The operation had been planned to the T, with each knowing their position and exactly what was expected. The first officer to reach the building’s outer door pulled it open as the others dashed within. He followed immediately on their tail.