The Protocol: A Prescription to Die (16 page)

Chapter 41

The man put away his camera, he had taken more than one hundred shots of Teague talking to a man, installing the electronics, and then working in his car. He didn’t know a lot about Teague, but what he had witnessed was definitely impressive. He had only seen electronics like the ones Teague was using once before, and he didn’t think the NSA shared its gadgetry.

He connected his camera to the laptop sitting on the passenger seat, and uploaded all of the pictures he’d taken to a secure location in DC. Next he picked up his phone and sent a text message.

“Uploaded pix of T. Next?”

Although he wasn’t expecting an immediate response, his phone dinged almost instantly.

“Hold. Say nothing.”

“BN?” he responded.

“Tell her nothing.”

The man looked up as a bright red Mini Cooper drove by. The driver turned and looked at him.

Teague.

Chapter 42

Eat and Andy watched the video feeds from his mother’s room, and from the funeral home. Everything seemed quiet. The stereo was on, and they were both sitting on the couch listening to random music queued up by Mother. Andy was comfortably sprawled out with her head resting on Eat’s leg.

“I don’t think these videos will win any awards for plot.”

“Directing sucks too,” said Eat as he put his flip-flopped feet onto the coffee table.

Andy hit his leg.

“Would your mother let you put your shoes on the table?”

Eat wiggled his feet until the flip-flops fell off onto the floor.

“Better?”

Andy lifted her head. Her attention moved from Eat’s feet and onto the television screen.

“Someone is in your mom’s room.”

Eat moved his mouse pointer over to the video and double-clicked. It expanded to fill the entire television screen.

Andy was right.

Someone had entered his mother’s room. The chronometer on the video feed indicated the date and time. It was 10:33 pm. His mother was sound asleep and doing a great job imitating a garden tractor that was misfiring on half of its cylinders. Her face was towards the door. The nightlight she kept on provided enough light to allow her to walk to her bathroom without tripping if the urge arose during the night. It also provided enough ambient light so the images sent from the camera Eat installed, was perfect.

Andy sat up straight and leaned towards the television. They both watched the video not knowing who was in the room, or why someone was there at all. Eat turned up the volume.

The man was dressed in medical scrubs and was carrying a duffle bag. He sat down on the chair next to the window, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a clip board. Eat saw him flip a few pages, and then stop. He folded the top pages over and ran his finger across the remaining page.

“Betty Lou Teague,” said the man.

He wasn’t trying to be the least bit quiet.

“He has a weird lisp,” noticed Andy.

Eat double-checked the video settings to ensure everything was being digitized and saved.

It was.

The man gently moved the covers off of his mother’s arm, reached over and lifted it closer to his lap. He gently turned her wristband, read it, and looked back at the clipboard he’d placed on the floor.

“Houston, we have a match.”

“What is he doing?” asked Eat but not expecting an answer.

The man pulled out a package from his bag. It was a small rectangular tub with cellophane sealed at its top. He pinched a corner and ripped it open to expose the contents. It made a tearing sound as it opened. His mother remained motionless, but her snoring had stopped. From Eat’s vantage point, it looked like plastic tubing and needles.

“If I had to guess, he’s preparing an IV,” said Andy.

The man then took a small vial and syringe from his bag. He held it up to the light, inserted the syringe into the vial, and pulled back the plunger. When it was apparently filled to the level he needed, he withdrew the needle and tapped it.

“Nighty, night, old hag. We don’t want you to wake up while I do this,” he said to Eat’s sleeping mother as he pushed the needle into her arm and pushed the plunger.

“He’s giving her some sort of sedative. He doesn’t want her to wake up while he’s working.”

“Son of a bitch. He called her an old hag.”

There was nothing anyone could do though. Eat and Andy were twenty minutes away, and Joey was off for the night.

“Why is he’s putting in an IV port?”

Andy and Eat watched has he wrapped the tourniquet around her arm, thumped it to find the vein, and then inserted the needle.

“He’s good,” Andy confirmed.

Eat looked at her. Shocked.

“Well, he is. It doesn’t mean he’s up to any good. He just knows how to put in a port.”

Eat’s attention was back to his mother’s room; watching the man, making sure he didn’t do anything else.

“Looks like he’s wrapping up.”

The man put the equipment he didn’t use back in his bag, and disposed of the used starting needle into the sharps box next to the restroom. He then took his phone out and brushed his finger against the screen.

Eat took a deep breath.

“What the fuck?”

“What?” asked Andy.

“Look at the logo on the screen. His phone,” Eat said as he pointed to the video. “Aequalis. See that?”

The man moved the phone over to his mother’s wristband again and pressed a button. A quick flash of light filled the room.

“There. Now I can get paid,” he said as he finished taping the plastic tubing to his mother’s arm. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in a bit, Betty Lou.”

The man zipped his bag shut and stood up.

Eat pressed the left mouse button, and the camera automatically zoomed in on the man.

“Turn around, bastard. Turn around.”

Eat grabbed his pen.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

As if he could hear Eat’s command, the man turned and threw a piece of paper in the wastebasket.

“Bingo,” said Eat as he double-clicked the mouse. “Gotcha.”

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Eat clicked on the task bar and the captured image displayed in the screen.

“My mortician friend I was telling you about. Mr. Gap Tooth himself: Carl Titmueller.”

Andy shivered.

“He gives me the creeps.”

When they returned their attention to his mother’s room, to see what Carl had up his sleeve next, he had already left.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

“Shit. He’s gone,” said Eat. “Mother,” he yelled.

“Yes, Eat.”

“Access traffic cameras at the corner of sixth and University in Minneapolis.”

A new window overlaid the video feed from the camera can. This one showed the closest intersection to his mother’s apartment. The edge of the video frame showed the center’s parking lot.

“There he is. Getting into that van.”

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

They watched as the white, unmarked van pulled out of the parking lot, onto University Ave, and then stopped at the red light. Eat looked at the license plate.

“It’s the same van that was at the facility this morning. Mother.”

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

“Yes, Eat.”

“Track vehicle with plate GLB 004. Provide video. Audio status updates.”

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Eat and Andy returned their attention to the video streaming from his mother’s room. She had rolled onto her back. Her snoring was louder than before.

“She seems fine,” said Andy.

“She’s always been a deep sleeper. She could sleep through a charging herd of buffalo.”

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

Twirl, click click. Twirl, click click.

“Look at that,” said Eat as he pointed to the video screen.

“What?”

“A drop of blood on her blanket. The bastard hurt my mother.”

Chapter 43

Carl parked and locked the van, then headed into the processing facility. He’d had a very profitable evening. A dozen protocols, a half-dozen IV ports, and five disposals in one night added up to a nice paycheck. Even though it was more cash for his wallet, he didn’t understand why it had to be a multiple-step process. He’d rather just kill them off all at once. Barbara had been understanding of his enthusiasm but quashed his eagerness. She simply wanted to keep a relatively low profile. Not only was he making easy cash but also Ms. Nordstrom was beginning to rely on him, to trust him, even. She seemed to understand his real worth, that he was more than just someone who had a penchant for dealing with the dead and the soon-to-be-dead. For the longest time he’d envied the funeral directors and their salaries. Now he surely made more than they did. He had it better though; his salary was tax free, and he didn’t have to wear a suit. The IRS surely didn’t have a job code for the services he provided Aequalis and the dead didn’t care what he wore.

Or smelled like.

Now that he was back at the center, his home away from home, he hoped that the cable guy he’d talked to in the alley had fixed the connectivity problems they were experiencing.

He needed a porn fix.

Chapter 44

When Mother notified them that the van had turned onto the street where the GLB processing facility was located, Eat instructed her to stop tracking it. He clicked the window closed, and re-activated the video and sound feed from the camera can he’d installed.

Eat and Andy resumed their previous positions on the couch and watched Carl park the van, pull out his bag, and walk to the back door.

When it opened, the bright light temporarily blinded the cameras as they were not expecting a flash of light beyond what the street lights were providing. By the time the image was automatically re-focused, the door had shut and Carl was gone.

*

When Carl scanned his badge to access the facility and opened the door, he was greeted with a fully lit auditorium-sized room with rows of stainless steel tables. The light flowed out into the alley and temporarily brightened the dark corridor. At first glance, he saw that at least a dozen body bags piled on the tables, ready for him to work on.

Carl sighed.

He was exhausted.

It was going to be another long night. Although he liked the pay, he hoped that Ms. Nordstrom would find him an assistant. Soon.

He put his duffel bag down next to the first stainless steel table loaded with a black body bag. His bag contained all of the tools he’d need to get his job done tonight: a box cutter to slice through to the bone and his new, battery-powered reciprocating saw that he’d just bought. Before his battery-operated acquisition, he used a small carpenter saw. His little saw was too slow and the blades became as dull after five bodies. It was worse if they were fresh and unfrozen. He had too much to do to worry about ineffective equipment.

Before he started his personalized brand of surgery, Carl sat at his cubicle’s desk and turned on his laptop. He double-clicked on the icon to access the Internet and waited.

And waited.

He went to the break room and filled his cup with tar-like coffee. He pulled his flask out, and topped it with a hefty pour of scotch. The coffee needed his special brand of thinning.

When he returned, the connection status indicator was still spinning. He starred impatiently at the screen and jiggled the mouse half expecting that the jerky motion would help.

Then it happened.

The error screen he’d been getting for more than a month appeared on his screen.

THE SERVICE YOU ARE TRYING TO ACCESS IS NOT AVAILABLE. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR INTERNET PROVIDER.

“Bastard,” he said as he picked up the mouse and threw it down onto the desk. He slapped the monitor. “He said it would be fixed.”

There wouldn’t be any porn for him tonight.

Not here anyway.

*

Carl remembered where he saw the cable repairman working. He turned on his flashlight and headed towards the back of the alley. He equipped himself with a screwdriver and pliers, both of which were stuffed in his back pocket next to his almost empty flask of scotch. He was hoping that perhaps the guy left a cable unconnected and that it was easily fixed.

Easy he could handle.

As he approached the green cable box, his eye caught a dark shadow on top of the building’s gas meter. Carl was sure it was a rat standing up on its hind legs ready to pounce and chew his eyes out. He pulled the screwdriver from his back pocket, and quickly moved the flashlight beam over to the meter.

He hated rats.

He realized his fears were unfounded, though, when the ready-to-attack rat turned out to be a can of energy drink. Carl looked closer. It was unopened. And he hadn’t eaten anything all evening.

His stomach growled.

It was Carl’s lucky day.

Carl reached for the can and picked it up. It felt strange, not at all like a liquid filled can. It seemed too heavy. He gave it a gentle shake. It didn’t slosh.

This wasn’t an ordinary energy drink.

Sticking out from the bottom of the can were two wires about six inches long. Carl looked at the body of the can and found a seam. Carefully, he twisted it open.

“What do we have here?”

Instead of a can filled with a concoction of caffeine and ginkgo biloba, he had found a can with five small cameras and two, quarter-sized batteries.

“This can’t be good.”

Carl reassembled the can and set it back where he found it. He balanced the flashlight so it illuminated the area better, and walked to the green cable box that provided cable service and Internet connectivity to the building.

On the top of the cable hub was another small black box about the size of an ice cream sandwich. It had two green lights, and both were blinking in unison. Thick wires he recognized as the same type he had attached to his television at home were connected between the green cable hub and the blinking ice cream sandwich. One wire went into the cable company’s box, and the other fed into the building. Carl looked closer. Although it was difficult to make out any detail in the dim light, he could see a number printed on its top: 314159.

Carl took his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the box and the can. He typed an email message to accompany them and pressed send. He hoped Ms. Nordstrom was near her phone.

Someone was watching them and she had to know.