PART 2 — The key to the past
The tag trembled in my hand. The ink had faded somewhat, but the handwriting was unmistakably Thomas's. My palm felt cold. The chief physician, Dr. Van der Meer, stared at the object as if it were a venomous snake. "Who put this here?" he asked, his voice suddenly an octave higher than usual. "That's what I'm going to find out," I replied. My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
Beneath that calmness burned a storm of rage and sorrow that had been locked away for over two decades. The technician stepped forward. "Mr. Frank, we have to report this to management. This is unauthorized entry into sensitive infrastructure." "Infrastructure?" I snapped. "This isn't about cables or fuses! This is about my husband!" Van der Meer raised his hand to stop the technician.
He looked at me intently. He realized now that I wasn't just a quirky cleaner. There was a history here that could shake the very foundations of the hospital. "Open the cabinet completely," Van der Meer told the technician. With a scraping noise, the heavy metal door swung open. The flashlight beam shone inside. There were no cables. No switches. Instead, the inside of the cabinet was lined with thick, sound-dampening foam.
In the center sat a metal safe, and above it hung rows of cassette tapes and thick binders filled with handwritten notes. I stepped closer. My heart pounded in my throat. I recognized the binders immediately. They were the notebooks Thomas used at home for his projects. Projects he had always been secretive about. "What is written in these?" Van der Meer whispered.
I grabbed the first binder. On the cover, written in thick black marker, was: Project Argus — Phase 1 . "Don't touch that," a cold voice said behind us. We turned around. Standing in the doorway was Head of Security De Jong, a broad man with a permanent scowl on his face. Behind him stood two guards with their hands on their two-way radios. "De Jong," Van der Meer said, relieved.
"Good thing you're here. Something has been discovered here that…" "I know exactly what was discovered here," De Jong interrupted with a grim smile. His eyes glided toward me. "And Mr. Frank shouldn't even be here. In fact, no one is allowed to be here." I felt the tension in the room rise. De Jong knew about this cabinet. He had to. His posture showed no surprise; he was vigilant, almost aggressive.
"You knew about this," I said to him, taking a step forward. De Jong laughed mockingly. "Mr. Frank, you are a valued member of the cleaning staff, but you are losing your mind. Your husband died twenty years ago in an accident. Let it rest before you break things bigger than you." "Bigger than me?" I shouted. "This is about the truth!" But before I could open the binder, De Jong reached for his radio.
"Security, escort Mr. Frank outside immediately. And seal this room at once." Two guards approached me. But I held the key and the tag tightly in my fist. I looked at Van der Meer, who hesitated but made no move to help me. At that moment, I realized I was completely on my own. If I wanted to find the truth, I had to return tonight.
