Noah had no problem with tradition and liked it to a degree. There was something reassuring about it as a direct connection with the hospital’s venerable past. Delivering copies of the resident evaluation report to Dr. Hernandez and Dr. Cantor was easy. Their offices were right there in the administration area, and Noah handed copies to their secretaries, who were literally around the corner from the surgical residency program office. It was the last two heavyweights that required a certain amount of effort because their offices were in the swanky Franklin Building.
Noah looked at his watch as he crossed the pedestrian bridge. It was a little after 3:00, so he was confident that he wouldn’t run into Wild Bill at his office, since he’d still be in surgery, having been scheduled for three big cases. Even though he was a remarkably fast surgeon who relied on his fellow to open and close, Noah was relatively certain he’d still be occupied.
As he walked, Noah thought about Ava and how he hadn’t seen her that morning, nor even her name on the surgical schedule, suggesting that she was not working that day. On Saturday night, after he’d left the hospital later than 9:00 P.M., Noah had again detoured through Louisburg Square, even though he had tried to talk himself out of doing it. En route he’d argued with himself whether he would have the courage to ring her bell if he saw a light in her study, but he needn’t have bothered. There’d been no light in the study or in any other window, suggesting she was again out of town, most likely back in Washington. With a heavy heart, yet rationalizing that it was for the best, Noah had continued on to his drab apartment. At least he didn’t have the impression he’d been followed, making him feel as if his paranoia was under control.
Dr. Mason’s office was on the eighth floor and Dr. Hiroshi’s was on the sixth. To speed up the process and get Dr. Mason’s delivery out of the way sooner rather than later, he took the elevator to the eighth floor with the idea of then using the stairs to get down to the sixth. Entering Dr. Mason’s posh, mahogany-clad domain, Noah headed directly for his secretary, Miss Lancaster. She was somewhere in her fifties, with an impressive ash-blond chignon piled on her head. She had an imperious manner that caused her to treat surgical residents like hired help. Noah had had to deal with her in the past and had never found it pleasant.
As Noah approached, Miss Lancaster was on the phone, angrily dealing with someone who apparently wished to see Dr. Mason as soon as possible. “I’m sorry, but Dr. Mason is a busy man,” Miss Lancaster scolded. “No, he will not call you back.”
Noah held up the resident evaluation report, which he knew that Miss Lancaster surely recognized, as it was a monthly tradition and had a distinctive red cover. The secretary looked at Noah over the top of her reading glasses. There was no recognition or any semblance of graciousness. Instead, she merely nodded irritably toward the open door into Dr. Mason’s inner sanctum and then gestured with her free hand as if shooing away a pest. She didn’t interrupt her conversation with what Noah assumed was a desperate patient, most likely dealing with a recent diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. “Have your doctor call me,” Miss Lancaster snapped into the phone. “But first make sure that the CT scans are sent so Dr. Mason can review them before speaking with your doctor.”
Feeling considerable empathy for the patient, Noah resisted the temptation to say something appropriately harsh to Miss Lancaster. She was treating the caller outrageously. After having recently filled out all the evaluations of the residents, he wished there was a mechanism for doing the same with staff secretaries.
Dr. Mason’s corner office appeared to Noah the way he imagined the office of a CEO of a major international corporation would look, as a reflection of the amount of money the man brought to the hospital. It was ridiculously large, commanded an impressive view of Boston Harbor, and was also paneled in mahogany. The furniture in the sitting area was upholstered in a soft, premium leather. Covering the walls were a profusion of framed diplomas, both earned and honorary. The desk size matched the renowned surgeon’s ego.
For a second Noah debated where to put the resident evaluation report as he noticed correspondence waiting Dr. Mason’s signature on the table in front of the couch. Still, Noah decided to put his report front and center on the desk, but as he approached with the report outstretched something caught his eye. Lying on the desk off to the side was a bound Ph.D. thesis. Noah did a double take. To his shock, he thought he recognized it. It looked like his!
Noah dropped the evaluation report on the desk’s blotter, and then after a glance over his shoulder to make sure Miss Lancaster was still preoccupied with her phone conversation, he reached out and snapped up the bound thesis. A second later he confirmed it was indeed as he suspected: Genetic Control of the Rate of Binary Fission in Escherichia Coli by Noah Rothauser. Someone, presumably Dr. Mason, had inserted a number of Post-it bookmarks.
After another fleeting glance in Miss Lancaster’s direction, Noah opened the bookmarked pages. They marked various tables of data. One table in particular made Noah’s heart leap in his chest. For a brief second he thought about taking the thesis to get it out of Dr. Mason’s hands, but immediately he decided against the idea. Miss Lancaster’s eagle eye would undoubtedly see him carrying it, as it would be difficult to conceal. The only way possible would be to hold it under his white coat, but that would be awkward and most likely wouldn’t work. And even if he succeeded in getting it by her, she’d remember it had been sitting on the desk when Noah had visited. Reluctantly, Noah replaced the thesis, convinced that taking it would only serve to call attention to it and probably make things worse.
28
TUESDAY, AUGUST 8, 1:13 P.M.
“Dr. Rothauser?” the OR intercom announced. “This is Janet Spaulding. I just got a call from Dr. Hernandez. He wants to know how long you might be. He would like you to meet with him as soon as possible.”
Noah straightened up suddenly, as if a bolt of electricity had descended his spine. Once again he was being summoned to the principal’s office, and it made his heart race. It had been two weeks to the day that he’d been texted to see Dr. Hernandez out of the blue. Although that meeting had gone well, Noah had no idea why the chief wanted to see him yet again, but it couldn’t be good news. It was certainly out of the ordinary for such a request to come through the OR intercom. “Tell him I’m finishing up now and I’ll be available in a half-hour or so. Where does he want to meet?”
“His departmental office,” Janet said.