Final Notice, page 17
Vince asked Qasim if he’d spoken with the police. “Yes, I have, but I don’t think I was much help.”
Vince agreed. “Neither was I. I might be able to recognize the voice, but in the dark, even with your headlights, I didn’t get a good look at them. I was more focused on Miles.”
“I watch for them when I have fares around the area, but so far I haven’t seen them. What happens next?”
“Not much can happen unless they find them. Even if they do, I’m not sure what charges they can bring. It may be what we call a ‘slap on the wrist.’ ”
“I’m familiar with that saying. In the Middle East it’s a ‘slap on the nape of the neck.’ Doesn’t really cause pain but expresses displeasure.”
“Exactly. I blame the men more than the dog, but my guess is that, if they are caught, the dog will get the major punishment. He would probably be put down. Killed.”
“I have very little experience with dogs, but I think they are like children. Good parents reduce the chance of bad behavior.”
“I agree.” And changing the subject, Vince asked, “So, how long have you been driving for Uber, Qasim, and what’s that like?”
“Almost two years now. I’m grateful for the opportunity, but it’s hard work for what we make. The system is very clever, however, and I appreciate the science behind it all.”
“What did you do in Syria?”
“I was a mechanical engineer for the Syrian National Railway, so I worked in offices and machine shops. This is better in some ways because I’m outside in the fresh air and I have a little more flexibility with my time. It also allows Rasha time to do some tutoring.”
“What does she teach?”
“French for Americans and English for foreigners,” Qasim said with a smile. “Seems funny, doesn’t it?”
Vince, smiling too, reflected on this. “Yes. Sometimes the whole world seems strange.”
Trudi and Rasha returned with trays of tea, coffee, and a glass of milk, along with the cake and some chocolate chip cookies that Trudi had baked. The milk and cookies were the first things that diverted Jack’s attention from Miles. Even then, he didn’t want to disturb Miles, so they placed some cookies on a napkin on the chair Jack was leaning against.
Trudi poured the teas and coffees while Rasha served up the cake. They made a great team.
Vince impatiently had his first bite of cheesecake and his eyes told the story, as his mouth was too busy. “This is absolutely amazing!” he said finally.
“Thank you!” His request for another piece was granted just moments later.
The afternoon idled by and the four strangers found a lot in common to talk about. Jack munched his cookies with one hand and stroked Miles’ head and back with his other. All was good in Pasadena.
After heartfelt goodbyes, Vince and Trudi returned inside and they both felt the same way. Qasim and Rasha were genuine, warm, brave and intelligent people. They wanted to see them again and add them to their group of close friends.
Vince commented, “Amazing. Out of such a terrifying incident, something so good can emerge.”
Trudi jested, “And I hope you’re talking about more than the cheesecake!”
“Of course.” What he was also thinking was what a great meal Alma’s lamb followed by Rasha’s cheesecake would make. But he would have to settle for leftovers tonight.
***
CHAPTER 19 – THE CIRCLE LINE
London, England. Nigel Holmes was sick. He knew that, which was one of the reasons why he flew back to the UK, where he could get treatment under the UK’s National Health System. The reputation of the NHS may be tarnished because of long waiting lists – even for serious issues such as heart by- pass operations – due to years of bureaucratic neglect; almost annual strategic changes directed down from government at the behest of major consulting firms; and just the normal inefficiencies inherent in healthcare. But when you are treated, it’s done by highly skilled clinicians using cutting-edge technology.
A British citizen, Nigel had worked for Lloyds of London for 30 years, including the last five years in New York. Nigel liked New York and it also provided a 3,500-mile buffer between him and his bat-shit crazy ex-wife. Nigel had an excellent health insurance package from Lloyds that covered the ridiculously expensive routine care he required in New York from time to time. But for serious issues, the Company wanted him back in the UK. He was fine with that and hoped that his ‘ex’ wouldn’t know he was there, which would have been easy except that he wanted to see his daughter and grand-daughter. The first priority, however, was to get medical attention.
Nigel’s visits to doctors in New York had been almost exclusively for annual checkups: blood tests, cardio workup, etc. During his last annual exam, however, the blood tests revealed a change and his doctor, Dr. Howard Brinkman, asked him to come back in a month’s time for another checkup. He also registered him in a test group for a sport/health watch trial that appeared particularly effective in ongoing blood diagnosis. Two weeks later, he received the watch and instructions for setting up the app. And at his follow-up exam, two weeks after that, his doctor told him about the ongoing changes that the watch, a VT2, was picking up. It was prompting him to refer Nigel to a specialist for more tests.
Nigel explained Lloyds’ policy – that he would be returning to the UK for further tests and treatment. If that seemed extravagant, bear in mind that Lloyds knows how to calculate risks and costs: the flight and company flat costs paled in comparison with US healthcare costs. Nigel inquired about returning the VT2, but the doctor told him to keep it and just update the app to show his new doctor’s details. He said the VT2 could do as good a job as extensive testing, and in real time. Nigel was amused by one question the doctor asked, which seemed to come out of the blue: “Do you have, or have access to, a gun or guns?” The answer was ‘No’ in New York and a capital ‘NO’ in the UK, where simply owning a gun is generally a crime.
Back in London, Nigel had no problem getting an appointment with his GP – general practitioner and gatekeeper to any specialist. Seeing the specialist was a different story, even with the Lloyds private insurance option. He didn’t have a six- month wait like some, but even the three weeks seemed excessive. Still, he was able to see his daughter, Penny, and meet his five-year-old granddaughter, Emily, for the first time, on one unusually sunny Manchester day. That single day ever so slightly helped him to deal with perhaps his biggest regret in life, that of being separated from them for so long. That situation had been engineered by his ex-wife, who drove a wedge between father and daughter with all kinds of sordid stories after the divorce.
Nigel reflected about his return to London. The City had changed, or perhaps it was his recollection. There appeared to be a rougher element woven into the longwearing fabric of the City, with its well-dressed bankers and office staff. Lloyds had provided Nigel with a nice, but small, fully equipped company flat in the City of London, very busy and congested by day but quiet at night. He did enjoy watching British television – the comedies, dramas and even the news. Real news. He was still puzzled how top-level politicians could spew lies out with impunity in the US, at least on some channels. And who needs a thousand channels?
It was while watching a David Attenborough re-run about the mating habits of foxes one evening that his VT2 buzzed continuously. The screen read “Final Notice.” He recalled Dr. Brinkman mentioning this function, but he never thought it would happen. Was it really happening or was it a malfunction? His phone rang, which was unusual in itself, and when he answered, it was his New York doctor.
“Dr. Brinkman?”
“Yes, Nigel. I just received your Final Notice alert. You were
supposed to enter your new doctor’s details into the app.”
“I know. Sorry, but I was going to enter my specialist’s details when I see him. Could this be a false alarm?”
“Anything is possible, but you need to call your doctor as soon as possible, first thing in the morning, and have him fast track an appointment. Have him call me if he has questions. In fact, here’s my direct line.”
After hanging up, Nigel sat there in total disbelief. Perhaps it’s a fault with the system. That happens all the time with technology. He fell asleep on the sofa wondering if it was all a dream. A very bad dream.
***
In the morning he accepted that it wasn’t a dream, but he still held out hope that there was a technical issue. He called his GP and explained the urgency to the practice manager as suggested by his New York doctor’s call yesterday evening. He didn’t get into the VT2 alert with her, and after being put on hold for a couple of minutes, she came back on the line with an appointment for 2:30 PM that afternoon with a specialist on Harley Street, Mr. Trevor Sedgwick. Nigel almost smiled at the British labels calling doctors “doctors” until they reach a specialist level, where they become “mister” again. But he was in no mood to smile.
He spent the rest of the morning thinking about what needed to be done, if it was, indeed, true. He had kept his will and insurance beneficiary information in a current state so all of that was in order, and he would need to brief Penny, and hopefully see her and Emily again. The thought of that pained him greatly, however, and he was unsure if he should or not.
At 1:45 PM he set out for the short walk to the Tower Hill Tube station for the 10-minute journey on the Circle Line to Great Portland Street station. The doors of the train opened, and the exiting passengers came out as always; but as he entered the car, he was pushed hard against the edge of the door by a couple of skinheads sporting an array of tattoos. Their behavior was not only unusual in Nigel’s experience, even by New York standards, but it was very atypical of normal British Underground, or Tube, etiquette.
Inside the car, the two thugs stood directly in front of two young business types, glaring at them until they vacated their seats so the thugs could sit, even though, as the train left the station, there were two women standing, as well as one man much older than Nigel. He looked at the two skinheads as hard as he dared to see if it could magically make them give up their seats for the women. All that earned him was their menacing glare in return, plus an equally evil, “Wot are ya staring at, ya hapless old geezer?” Nigel quickly looked away and if you’d have asked him, he’d have to admit, he was scared.
At the Great Portland Street stop, the two thugs got up and literally pushed people out of their way, laughing as they went. Nigel, still shaken, made his way to Harley Street to see Mr. Sedgwick, feeling older and frail. He wondered if just that ugly experience could make him feel this way.
Trevor Sedgwick specialized in internal medicine. He was about 50 years old and exuded abundant gravitas and confidence. Nigel explained the urgency, as forecast by the Final Notice received by his VT2. Hearing that, and without knowing any real history, Sedgwick was skeptical of the device’s ability to predict death, raising Nigel’s hopes, but when Sedgwick reviewed Nigel’s files, and especially when he compared them with the VT2 App’s history since the last results, he became concerned about his condition. Hearing that Dr. Brinkman had invited his call, and given the five-hour time difference, Sedgwick decided to call Brinkman, as it was still morning in New York.
Doctors are scientists and are trained and conditioned to use facts as the basis for decision making ... despite the fact that in the USA, pharmaceutical companies use attractive former college cheerleaders as representatives, trips to exotic destinations, or other incentives to make the facts a little less … well, factual. As a practicing physician in the UK, however, Sedgwick had never been seduced by those distractions, so he was open to what Dr. Brinkman had to say.
Sedgwick listened to Brinkman’s opinion of Nigel’s medical issue, a rare and aggressive condition, interjecting questions, and also, with even greater interest and more questions, Brinkman’s assessment of the VT2. He was impressed, especially considering the correlation between Nigel’s vital signs on the VT2 app and Brinkman’s recent lab tests and analysis. When he finished the call, he appeared more somber.
Nigel had been listening to and looking at Sedgwick intensely during the phone call, trying to assess the opinions being formed. As Sedgwick was gathering his thoughts and writing down a few notes, Nigel’s anxiety grew to a point that he asked, “What is your opinion?”
Sedgwick replied, using the words Nigel feared: “I’m afraid it’s not good. The notice that your watch provided is consistent with your condition. I’m sorry, but it’s highly unlikely that the forecast is inaccurate. I would like to have you admitted to King’s College or London Bridge Hospital today, if possible. Both are good although, depending on your insurance, London Bridge might be more comfortable.”
There was something about the way Sedgwick said ‘comfortable’ that bothered Nigel. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid that your watch is correct and perhaps all that either facility can do is make you comfortable. Another choice is Royal Trinity Hospice.”
There it was. Nigel had a very short time. “Could I possibly delay it by a day or two?”
“The blood disorder you have is extremely aggressive and also rare, so we have very little data to predict how much time you have. Both Dr. Brinkman and I agreed, however, that the one- week notice is probably accurate; but it could be a day or two in either direction. What we do know is that your physical condition will deteriorate rapidly and it’s quite possible that in a day or two, you will need to be in a care facility. I suggested a hospital because they could gather additional data about your disorder.”
“OK. This is all a shock, as you can imagine. Can I call you tomorrow to make the arrangements?”
“Of course. But don’t leave it too long. You’ll be much better off in care, wherever you decide.”
Nigel wasn’t even sure he had the strength to stand up, but he did and once outside in the crisp afternoon air, he rallied a bit. His mind lost in thought, he walked automatically to the Great Portland Street tube station, put his return ticket into the turnstile and proceeded to the Circle Line platform. It was moderately busy with mostly a single row of travelers strung out along the platform. The electronic sign showed a train arriving in two minutes.
Tube-riding Londoners have perfected the art of staying in their own space as a form of self-protection. Morning and evening commuters often have no choice but to ride crammed against each other. To actually look at and ‘see’ the person you’re crammed up against is discouraged – therefore headphones keeping voices out and eyes straight ahead, reading the same advertisements on the walls for the hundredth time – is the accepted norm.
Despite this practiced art of cocooning, Nigel suddenly realized that the person in the first row, just to his right, was one of the thugs from his earlier journey. Nigel’s first thought was to move way down the platform; but then, he stopped. He felt the growing rush of air that the trains create as they hurtle through the tubes beneath the city. That rush seemed to buoy him as he heard the train approach. It would race into the station at great speed, just a couple of feet from the waiting passengers, and then quickly brake so that all cars gave access to the platform. With no specific plan in mind, he slowly shifted to the right so that he was directly behind the thug as the train entered the station at about 30-40 mph.
The train stopped and Nigel followed the skinhead through the open doors, watching him as he pushed a woman out of the way to take the last remaining seat. Nigel might explain what happened next as an “out-of-body experience” as he walked up to the thug and with a voice that resonated with authority and lack of fear, said, “Get the fuck out of that seat and allow this woman to sit.” The skinhead looked at Nigel, and even his pasty white complexion paled as he gulped and rose from his seat, skulking off down the car. Nigel’s altered state returned to normal when his normally “blind,” “deaf” and well-behaved fellow passengers burst into cheers and applause.
Footnote: Nigel called Penny that evening for a teary good-bye and he shared his solicitor’s contact details. The next day he called Mr. Sedgwick and asked them to make arrangements for him to be admitted to King’s College Hospital. After all, he was born there and this would complete the circle, which happened five days later.
***
CHAPTER 20 – TWO MEETINGS
Quincy, Massachusetts. Maria and Vijay met on Monday morning and discussed the call from Matt Harper. The Boston Globe was an important paper and both Vijay and Maria wanted it on their side as they neared their IPO. But how much to reveal and how would the Globe treat it?
The press release clearly stated that some users had committed crimes against others after receiving their Notice. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that the crimes were murders, so they decided to be honest with Matt and answer his questions, without giving him more than he asked for. Vijay asked Maria to call Matt and arrange a meeting. He would like to attend. She called Vijay back a few minutes later, telling him that she had Matt on hold, and that he couldn’t do it today but could tomorrow. Vijay said that they could give him an hour at 1:00 PM tomorrow.
