James Cantrill, hard-working businessman, family man, the guy next door, thinks he's having a day from hell when he is unexpectedly fired. But, hell gets hotter- he's kidnapped, hustled onto a corporate jet, and smuggled to Puerto Rico. There he finds himself embroiled in a brutal, global conspiracy, involving CODE 936, the obscure IRS tax code which secretly benefits hundreds of huge manufacturers in Puerto Rico. What James knows may get him killed. Out of her mind with worry, Trish, his partner and wife, struggles to find him. She, his daughters, friends, his trusted lawyer, and, finally, the FBI endeavor to discover his whereabouts while trying to penetrate this airtight cover-up. They soon learn that a number of ruthless people will go to any length to make sure James is never found and the truth is never revealed. Powerfully evocative and steeped in international intrigue, CODE 936, is a riveting expose' of the IRS tax code, corporate greed, medical fraud, torture, corporate corruption, and managed healthcare. It is also a story of love, undaunted courage, and spiritual triumph.

CODE 936

By Bill Kimbrell, Jr.

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Bill Kimbrell, Jr.
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-7480-4

Chapter One

It's all in the day's work. Anonymous

The afternoon sun baked the asphalt on the Mountain Parkway. Multicolored heat waves shimmered from the black surface. The freshly unfurled leaves of spring painted contrasting hues of green, sprinkled with the white of dogwood blooms and the cream from the bark of the stately sycamores. Majestic, he thought. But, traffic was heavier than usual for mid-afternoon.

Suddenly, James slammed on his brakes and swerved, barely missing the coal truck. Damn it! All of the surgical instrument sets stacked on the back seat crashed into the back of the front seats, jolting him. The sounds of metal against metal, surgical instruments smashing against each other, into the sterilizing cases, was deafening, drowning out his screeching tires.

He grasped the steering wheel furiously, his knuckles blanched white, his forearms trembling. Another damn coal truck barreling down mountain roads, ignoring yellow no-pass stripes, oblivious to the poor mortals driving cars. Of all the ways to die, getting hit by a coal truck was not James' favorite way to go. Another close call. Too close. He looked at the recent crack in his windshield caused by a chunk of coal thrown from a speeding rig, just one more battle scar from the coal-truck mafia.

As he pulled off on the shoulder of the parkway to straighten out the mess in his car, his hands were still shaking. He got out of the car, still cursing the truck and praying that his expensive instruments weren't damaged. Thankfully, all of the sterile implants were stored in large plastic containers in the trunk. They should be okay. The fresh smell of diesel exhaust from the truck hung in the torrid air. Sweat dripped from his forehead.

Rattled and ragged, James headed toward Lexington. It had been a long day. He had left home at 4:00 A.M. this morning, driving the three hours on dark mountain roads to arrive at the hospital for surgery before 7:00 A.M. He had to cover the surgery for one of his salesmen who was on vacation. He had not only supplied the instruments and implants for a total knee replacement, but had also assisted during the operation, providing technical support for both the surgeon and the operating room personnel. "Stood in" on the surgery was the jargon of the trade; "stood in," such a simplistic idiom for such a complex, labor-intensive, occasionally life-and-death job.

He needed gas, so he pulled off the parkway at the Campton exit. He usually stopped at Jock's Shell Station whether he needed gas or not. He had hired Jock's step-daughter as an intern several years ago while she was attending the University of Kentucky.

"How you doing today? It's a hot 'un, ain't it?" Jock asked in his pronounced Eastern Kentucky accent. Always friendly, he was hosing down a grease stain on the pavement.

"Not too good at the moment, Jock. Another coal truck, just about got me this time. It was this damn close!" James held his hands apart.

"Hell, they're mean ... 'n gettin meaner," he replied, shaking his head. "Where you been? In the operating room, again? I don't see how you do it."

As Jock opened the hood to check his oil, James started the pump, opened the rear door, and got out two of the sterilizing cases to straighten the instruments.

"Lordie, I just don't see how you keep up with them things. Look at that. 'N you show them doctors when to use 'em," Jock said. "I mean, I gotta a buncha tools, but nothing like you here. I just don't see how you can ... how do you do it?"

"Well, Jock, it's my job. I have to study to keep up, but's it's just my job. Like yours and engines. I'd be lost under that hood. You know 'em inside out. How's Cindy doing?"

"Aw, she's got a good job up in Cincinnati (he pronounced it Sin-zanatta). She shore is thankful to you. Still says ya taught her a lot."

"She's a smart girl. A good worker, like her ol' man. Please tell her hello for me."

James bought a Diet Coke even though he had his two-liter jug in the car, paid, and drove back to the parkway.

He reflected back to Jock's comments on his job. Uniquely different from others in medical sales, his business was rewarding but demanding. James had to be there in surgery with this orthopaedic surgeon, who was new to his territory. Otherwise, one of his competitors would have moved in to steal hard-earned business away from Cantrill & Associates, Inc. The orthopaedic/surgical business that James had now been in for over thirty years had become very competitive- a dog-eat-dog, really cutthroat business. The total knee surgery, normally a two-hour procedure, had taken this surgeon a little longer, but it had gone well. James was good at what he did, but the business was getting tougher every day. The pressures of managed healthcare had impacted not only the hospitals, physicians, and patients, but also the medical device business, as well. James' role as CEO, President, Sales manager, and Administrator of his own business, James Cantrill & Associates, Inc., had changed radically, too. Market share and profitability were under constant attack. Survival was the order of the day. Hence, James still had to "stand in" on surgeries, sometimes assume the duties of, as well as manage his sales associates, check on the daily surgery calendar, often make emergency deliveries, generally just fill in the cracks, in addition to running the daily business. An awesome task, but he lived and breathed it.

But now, driving home, he was worn out. And frazzled, just narrowly escaping that damn coal truck. He always looked forward to this geographic transition from eastern to central Kentucky- from the stately mountains into the pristine rolling hills of the Bluegrass, a seamless, miraculous piece of creation. Not today. He was so tired he was impervious to the beauty surrounding him- the white fences and the horse farms. Before turning toward his neighborhood, he attempted to focus on the majestic thoroughbreds to get the surgery, the coal truck, and the day's grind off his mind. But he could not. It only served to remind him of that surgery here in Lexington two weeks ago, the one he desperately wanted to forget, the one that still kept him awake nights.

Pulling into the garage, he wondered if he had the energy to climb out of his car. Checking his suit pocket to make sure he had his "brain" - his little brown pocket calendar with his company's name imprinted on it- he left his briefcase and paperwork sitting on the passenger seat, intending to work on it later if he could keep his eyes open. Entering the kitchen door, he found Trish, his wife and right arm, working on the books and quarterly taxes at the kitchen table. She had on jeans and a sweat shirt with her silver-streaked auburn hair pulled back in a hair-clip.

"Welcome home, hon. How'd the surgery go?" she asked.

"Fine," he answered. "This new surgeon's pretty good. Thank God he doesn't scream and throw instruments like his predecessor. I liked him; the OR staff likes him, too- a refreshing change." He did not tell her about the coal truck. She worried about his driving, especially on the mountain roads.

"Another long day, 'hon?" she said. Trish was his partner in business and life. She did the payroll, taxes, paid the bills, worked on the books, and worked closely with John, their CPA. Even though James had grown the business into a multimillion-dollar...