October 25, 2017--Audiological Tale: Previous Life (Part 3 of 4))

Very early Sunday morning, before dawn, John Allan and I were on route to Uncasville, Connecticut. To the Mohegan Sun hotel and casino where we suspected our audiologist, Gary Schwartzberg, was likely at a professional workshop. "Suspected" and "likely" because we weren't sure of anything. 

Friday afternoon, while driving home from his office, we heard from his assistant, Angie, who sent me a text message indicating his family said he was well and that there was nothing to worry about. But she didn't include any details about what he was up to or where he was.

But I'm a worrier; and though I was relieved to hear this from Angie, I was concerned about Gary and must confess was still curious why he had disappeared Friday afternoon after luring us (that, I feel, is the right word) up to Rockport to see him urgently and then, unceremoniously, without a word of explanation, vanished.

After hearing from Angie, while I drove, John did some searching on line to see what he might learn about a possible workshop for audiologists in Uncasville. It took little time to determine that there was in fact something of that sort scheduled for the weekend at the Mohegan Sun. It appeared that attending helped audiologists acquire some of the continuing professional education credits that are required for them to maintain their licenses. 

John said, "Why not go? He's apparently OK but we're eager to learn more about what he's up to in his professional life and, who knows, maybe we can even find out a little more about what he refers to as his previous life. My guess is that these kinds of meetings are where some of the covert stuff is arranged. If the CIA, for example, needs audiologist operatives--as with the Cuba sonic attack business--what better place to recruit some?"

"I'm not busy this weekend so I agree--why not have a little innocent fun? It seems the workshop runs through late afternoon Sunday. Sunday morning would be a good time for me to go there and do a little playful snooping around."

"Sounds like a plan," John said.

"One thought," I said, "maybe in the spirit of having some fun and trying to be covert, why don't we get into the spirit of things and go undercover? I mean, see if we can observe Gary and keep an eye on him and what he's up to but try not to have him recognize us. You know, we can wear dark glasses and caps and lurk around in the shadows. Not during the workshop sessions of course, but when they're taking a break and are free to wander around, get food or drinks, and of course do some gambling."

"I like it," John said, "But of course this all assumes he's really OK and there."

"If he's not attending, it still will be fun to take the drive with you."

So, we finalized Sunday plans. I was to pick John up at 5:00. The drive to Uncasville looked to be about four hours. We'd reconnoiter, have lunch, see what we could see, then return home. On Sunday, the traffic both ways should be manageable.

*   *   *

After a easy drive, arriving at the Mohegan Sun, we took to drifting around the casino and checking out what was going on at the many restaurants that surrounded the playing floor. Gary thus far was nowhere to be seen though we had already determined that the formal sessions of the workshop had ended. The meeting rooms where they had been held were empty and staff were busy cleaning them and removing the audio-visual equipment, chairs, and tables.

Inconspicuously as possible we approached the gaming tables where I suddenly pulled up short and poked John in the shoulder to get his attention and steer him in a different direction. 

Turned around, nodding toward the Blackjack tables, I whispered, "I've seen that guy before," though there was no need to talk softly because even if one shouted on the floor of the casino it would be difficult to be heard over the din of canned music and slot machines. Isn't it ironic, I thought, how this is the perfect place for an audiological worksop, where it's impossible to hear anything above the cascade of silver dollars being disgorged to slot machine winners accompanied by the clang of bells and flashing lights when on occasion someone wins a jackpot. 

"I don't remember from where, but I'm pretty sure I recognize him. The elderly man with dark glasses in the blue shirt. Let's loop around behind him so I can get a better look and not be observed, making sure to keep our eyes diverted in case he's who I am beginning to think he is. I know him from either the waiting room at Gary's office or somewhere else connected to Gary. I'm pretty sure he's a Gary person."

"If so," John said, "I think we may be on to something. To spot someone associated with Gary but who isn't an audiologist attending the workshop. If it were otherwise, that he's not linked to Gary, it would be too much of a coincidence to find him here four hours from Maine on the very same day as Gary. Assuming, of course, that Gary's actually here."

I was pleased to see John getting into the intrigue. For months I had been the only one of the two of us to be drawn directly into those strange events. It felt good to have a coconspirator to validate some of what I had been experiencing and feeling.

During the time we had been there, we had wandered around in the casino and checked out what was going on in the many bars and restaurants that surrounded the playing floor. There was still no sign of Gary though it appeared from their badges that many of the audiologists who had attended the workshop were still hanging out, mainly taking their chances at the craps and roulette tables.

"I've got it," I shouted, forgetting my own admonition to speak in whispers. John wheeled in my direction and glared at me for my carelessness. I shrugged an apology and said, softly this time, "He's the one who was spying on Gary and me when we met to talk in late August at the Dunkin Donut in Rockport. The day Gary filled me in about having been recruited to help with the sonic attacks in Cuba. It was the first time he confided in me about the other aspects of his life. His covert activities."

"I remember you're telling me about that," John said.

We ducked back into a dark alcove by a nearby cocktail lounge so as not to be observed or overheard. "He's the guy who pretended to doze off while we talked, and to make it seem more authentic, drooled on his newspaper. Quite a nice touch when pretending to be incognito. After Gary and I were finishing and he had to get back to the office, this guy, quote/unquote, woke up and while fumbling with his cell phone I felt sure took a few pictures of the two of us."

"You're certain that's him?" John asked.

"A hundred percent," I said, "I recognize the scar on his neck. He must have had his thyroid removed."

"What is he doing here? And if he's involved with Gary, where's Gary? This guy came all this way to play Blackjack? There are closer casinos in Maine where he could go if he just wanted to gamble."

"You got me," I said, "All of this is a big mystery."

Now John pulled on me to get my attention. "What? What's up?" I said.

"He's gone."

To be concluded tomorrow . . .

October 24, 2017--Audiological Take: Previous Life (Part 2 of 4)

When in a rush John Allan and I arrived at Gary Schwartzberg's office, his assistant, Angie, said he was finishing with a patient and would be with us shortly. Even she, who is always calm and centered, seemed upset. I was tempted to ask her what was going on but didn't want to pass along any of my own anxiety or breach any confidences.

We settled in the waiting room and without the ability to concentrate on them thumbed through some Starkey hearing aids pamphlets. In a few minutes we heard Gary in the hallway, escorting one of his clients to Angie's desk. "Please make an appointment for Mrs. Lindley in about four weeks. For her next adjustment."

I was relieved to see that Gary seemed like his familiar self. No signs of distress. "I'll be right back," he said to John and me, "I want to walk Mrs. Lindley to her car." Gently, he took her and together slowly they approached the door to the parking area.

I whispered to John, "Maybe he's more OK than we are imagining. I mean, he seemed perfectly normal. I know him pretty well by now and he didn't seem any different to me. This may be wishful thinking, but let's see what he has to say."

John said, "I agree. Let's hold back and let him do the talking. We shouldn't express any unusual concern, other than through the fact that we're here! And that he said he'd appreciate it if we could come right away to see him. That in itself is evidence that something out of the ordinary is on his mind or happening. So let's try to act casual and as if we were nearby and just popped in."

"I'm trying not to sound worried but don't forget he asked us to come to see him on short notice, knowing we don't live around the corner."

"All true. But let's try to play it cool."

I sank back in my chair and listened to the Bach cello suites barely audible on his office sound system. "This is the same music he programmed my hearing aids to pick up during nights when I couldn't fall asleep. Not that he admitted that he did that, but how else might that have happened?"

"Chalk it up to more strangeness," John said. We both strained to listen to the music.

After another five minutes, I said, "Doesn't it seem that he's been out there with Mrs. Lindley for a long time?"

"I agree," John said, "I'll ask Angie." Which he did. 

"She said she'd check on him. It's not unusual, she said, for him to linger with patients. He's very devoted to them as we well know. But she also said that she'd see what's happening."

Angie by then was at the door and looking intently out to the parking area. "I don't see him," she said, turning to us, "What's strange, very strange, is that Gary's car is not there." 

"He's gone?" John said, all our anxieties reignited.

"His car's not there," Angie said, no longer calm. "He's never done this before. I mean, leave without letting me know what's going on. I don't know what to think." She now, understandably, was more upset than either John or I.

"Did he get a call from his wife or mother? That there was some sort of trouble?"

"If he did, he would have told me. Everything seemed normal. Of course, with the exception of the two of you being here and his asking me to reschedule his afternoon appointments."

"It's not our business," I said, "And I don't want to get involved in anything private. We've become close but we know each other for only a year. But, having said that, he wanted to see us about something that's apparently on his mind." 

John and I smiled, trying to look and sound matter of fact.

"Now that I think about this," Angie said, "For the past few days he hasn't been quite himself. There appeared to be something coming up this weekend, tomorrow, that was weighing on his mind. Some sort of workshop about audiology. Not that that's unusual. They happen all the time and he hardly ever goes. But, as I said, this one seemed to be concerning him. I can't imagine why. He almost never goes, thinking they're a waste of time. So I didn't give it that much attention. We've been very busy."

"But for him just to leave?"

"To tell you the truth, that's what has me worried. It's totally uncharacteristic of him. I don't . . ."

"Do you remember anything about the workshop?" John asked.

I could see Angie struggling to remember. "Nothing that comes to mind. Except maybe one thing."

"What's that?"

"I think it's someplace in Connecticut."

"Maybe Hartford?"

"Not Hartford. They tend to schedule them in resort kinds of places so spouses can come and there's something more to do than just sit in a hotel conference room for two days hearing about the latest advances in audiology."

"I don't know Connecticut that well," I said. "Are there resorts there?"

"Uncasville," John said. They have gambling there. My mother loved it. Mohegan Sun is what it's called. The hotel and casino."

Angie brightened, "That's it! That's where it's being held. But Gary hates gambling. It's not his thing. nor is it his wife's, if she's going with him."

"In the meantime, he's gone," I said, bringing us back to that reality. "On the other hand, I can't connect any of the dots." I looked at John, not wanting to say or reveal  anything inappropriate--his strange and upsetting email to John, his wanting to see us urgently, all the things he hinted to me about his so-called previous life. And now his disappearance.

"I don't know what to say," I confessed to Angie, "Are you OK to be here on your own? I mean, we could stay if . . ."

"I'm all right," Angie said, I'm a Mainer and that means I can handle anything. I have your phone numbers and will call if I hear from him. I guess I should also let his wife know what's happening, though maybe she knows all about it. She also can handle anything. But I don't want to inadvertently create a problem."

We encouraged her to call and, with some reluctance, John and I left, promising to stay in touch to see what she might hear and also, in case he communicated with either of us, to let her know what we might learn.

To be continued . . .