And how the hell did his bound Ph.D. thesis end up on Dr. Mason’s desk? The main MIT library where the bound theses were stored did not allow them to circulate now that all Ph.D. theses were available online. If people wanted to see the originals, they had to go to the library.
Noah checked the time. It was quarter past seven. He couldn’t remember the summer hours of the main MIT library on Memorial Drive, but he assumed it would be open until at least 8:00 and possibly as late as midnight. Impulsively, he decided to visit as a way of getting out of his apartment. He knew the place well from having spent considerable time there when he was writing his thesis. What he had in mind was to find out who had borrowed his thesis and how it had been arranged.
Since it was a hot, muggy summer evening, a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis sneakers without socks sufficed. A few minutes later he was heading down Revere Street. His goal was the MBTA station at Charles Street. There were a lot of people out and about, particularly on Charles Street. When Noah restricted his life to the hospital and his apartment, it was always a minor shock to be reminded he was in the middle of a world-class city.
The subway station at Charles Street was elevated above the street at the Boston side of the Longfellow Bridge. Noah used the stairs instead of the escalator for a bit of exercise. Except for the trip to the lawyer’s office and several excursions to Whole Foods, Noah had been vegetating in his apartment since Tuesday afternoon.
The platform was crowded, particularly at the head of the stairs but less so at the far end. Still, Noah held back, knowing it was best for him to be toward the rear of the train. He was only going one stop to Kendall Square. It was for that reason that he had a view back down the stairs he’d just come up. With a minor start, he once again caught a view of the African American fellow who was on his way up on the escalator. When Noah had first emerged from his building, he’d looked for his followers but didn’t see them. He didn’t care one way or the other, as he’d become inured to their presence. If they had meant him harm, it would have already happened.
Noah studied the man as he approached. For a brief moment their eyes met. There was no sign of recognition on the part of the African American. Whoever he was, it was becoming clear to Noah that he was a professional, even if not as subtle in his technique as his colleague. When the man reached the platform, Noah toyed with the idea of approaching him and asking him if he was working for the hospital but then discarded the notion. Intuitively, he knew the man would deny trailing Noah just as he had the last time Noah spoke with him. Instead, Noah merely watched the man as he disappeared into the waiting crowd farther along the platform.
After detraining at the Kendall Square stop, Noah searched for his tail but didn’t see him, at least not immediately. It wasn’t until he was a few blocks away from the MIT Library that he saw him again when he looked over his shoulder. The man was at some distance but coming in Noah’s direction. He was clearly not in a hurry but rather moving at Noah’s moderate pace, seemingly content to keep Noah in sight. Noah shrugged, finding it mildly curious that the man’s presence no longer caused him any concern, although he was still puzzled about the situation. The hospital would only care if he was on the hospital grounds, not what he was doing elsewhere.
As Noah reached the front door of the library, he noted it was open until 11:00 P.M. so there was no need to rush. He used his hospital ID to be admitted, which worked, since there was general sharing of research facilities among several of the academic institutions in the Boston area. Once inside he went directly to the library office to talk with one of the librarians on duty. The sole person available was named Gertrude Hessen.
“You are correct,” Gertrude said in response to Noah’s question. “Bound Ph.D. theses do not circulate. It has been a policy in place since all of them have been digitized.”
Noah explained that he was a surgical resident at BMH and had been surprised to see a copy of his MIT thesis on a professor’s desk. “Is there an exception to the rule for professors?” he asked.
“Not to my knowledge,” Gertrude said. “Are you quite sure it was an original copy of your thesis?”
“There was no doubt,” Noah said. “Would you mind if I checked the thesis room?”
“Not at all,” Gertrude said. “Let me get you the key.”
A few minutes later Noah was in the subterranean stacks of the library, standing at the locked wire cage that contained all the MIT theses going back to the nineteenth century. The key was attached to a wooden paddle by a short chain. Once he was inside, the heavy steel-and-wire door swung closed on its own. The click of the lock seemed loud in the total, mausoleumlike stillness. Noah noticed that the key was needed even to get out, giving him a creepy feeling. With so much material available online, few people ventured into library stacks anymore. Noah wondered how long it would take for him to be rescued if something went wrong and he couldn’t get out of the cage, especially if Gertrude forgot she’d given out the key.
With some mild unease about his being isolated and locked in, Noah searched quickly for the section where his thesis would be located. The works were filed alphabetically by author rather than by subject matter. It didn’t take him long to find the R’s, and when he did, he was soon looking at the spines of two copies of his bound thesis. There was space for a third copy, but it was empty. Someone had managed to get the volume out of the library against the rules.
Happy to be back in the library office, Noah told Gertrude one of his bound volumes was definitely missing.
“I don’t know what to say,” Gertrude admitted with a flutter of her eyelids. “But what I will do is leave a note for the day people to investigate the matter. If you want to leave your mobile number, I can have someone get back to you.”
When Noah emerged from the library, the sun had set but it was still light. The view of Boston reflected in the Charles River was stunning from the library steps. Noah hesitated for a moment to appreciate it and then scanned the area for his tail, but he was nowhere to be seen. Somewhat surprising himself, he again felt oddly ignored, similar to how he’d felt on leaving the lawyer’s office. As lamentable as it sounded, his followers had been Noah’s main connection with the outside world since Tuesday afternoon.