Critical (32 page)

L
aurie had been awake for a while; she didn't know exactly how long when she finally looked at the clock. By then it was quarter to five, an hour before Jack would be getting up to shower and an hour and fifteen minutes before he would come back and drag her out of bed. That was the normal routine, and the fact that she was already awake spoke volumes about her mental state. Laurie was a night person. Along about ten o'clock, when Jack was finding it hard to hold up his eyelids, Laurie would usually get a second wind. She loved to read at night and would stay up after midnight engrossed in a novel more often than she liked to admit, always to deride herself the following morning and vow never to do it again.

Now, as she lay there, fully awake and staring up at the dark ceiling, she knew exactly what the problem was; she was depressed. It wasn't a major, incapacitating depression, which she'd never had but could imagine was like, but rather a nagging melancholy that she was inexorably being set up for a major disappointment. She'd always wanted a child from as early as she could remember, and she always thought of herself as a mother-in-waiting through her long medical training, which she'd blamed for not having had the time to find a spouse. Then she'd fallen in love with Jack and had to deal with his guilt over the loss of his family and whether or not he could commit to another. But that was now behind them and they were trying to have a family, but over the last year, it hadn't happened despite temperature charts and careful monitoring of her cycles. The problem, as she saw it, was her age now that she was in her forties. Every month that went by, she was terrified that her chances of naturally conceiving had sunk, and now Jack was insisting on having an operation, which would take him out of commission for God knew how long, and not only that, he was choosing to have it at a time when he was putting himself at significant risk.

Laurie rolled over on her side facing Jack and propped herself up on an elbow. She gazed at his profile, the picture of tranquility lying on his back with one arm casually thrown onto the pillow behind his head. She did indeed love him, but his obstinacy could drive her to distraction, as was the case with the surgery issue. For the life of her, she could not understand how he could dismiss the data and believe it was prudent to have the procedure.

Recognizing that more sleep was not in the cards, Laurie got out of bed. With her bathrobe and slippers on, she padded into the study they had made facing out onto 106th Street. It was just becoming light. She looked down from the window onto Jack's beloved basketball court, wishing it would suddenly disappear. Then she turned back to the partner's desk. Her side was piled high with the MRSA case files and hospital records of the twenty-four cases, along with her uncompleted matrix. She'd hauled all the material home with the intention of working on it the previous evening, but she hadn't done it. And now that she was awake early, she thought she would take advantage of the time, but before even sitting down, she recognized she felt the same as she had the night before. Her despondency kept telling her that her efforts were in vain. Jack was just going to do what Jack wanted.

In the kitchen, Laurie made herself some coffee. Sitting down at the breakfast table, she began thinking about the process of in vitro fertilization and how Jack would respond to the idea. Although it would be a natural progression, they'd not discussed it. In truth, Laurie had been afraid. She knew that Jack's agreement to have children was more to please her than something he intrinsically wanted to do.

To Laurie's surprise and despite being unable to fall back asleep in bed, she fell asleep at the kitchen table as evidence of how tired she was. What woke her was Jack standing in the doorway completely naked with his hands on his hips and an exaggerated expression of confusion on his face.

“What the hell are you doing snoozing in the kitchen?” he asked.

“I couldn't sleep,” Laurie said, conscious of the irony.

Jack advanced into the room and put a hand on her shoulder. “If you are still fretting about this surgery, I'll promise you I'll be fine.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Laurie said sarcastically. “As if you have control. Why do you have to be so headstrong?”

“Look who's talking!”

“Well, if the situation was reversed, I sure as hell wouldn't be taking the kind of gamble you're planning on taking.”

“Hey!” Jack said. “We've been through this, remember? Let's agree to disagree. I have to go over to the hospital this morning on the way to work for a quick pre-op blood and urine test, get the MRSA swab I told you about, and have a quick chat with the anesthesiologist. That's why I'm up early. Why don't you come along? Witnessing all such preparation, maybe you'll feel better.”

Laurie thought for a moment about the suggestion. At first she thought she didn't want any further association with Jack's surgical plans as a way of protest, but rethinking the issue, she didn't want to cut off her nose to spite her face. On this visit, she'd be invited as a spouse of a patient, so she wouldn't be blamed for making an official ME visit. Laurie couldn't help but feel that if the MRSA cases weren't intentional, then it had to be some sort of systems error involving all three hospitals, and if there was any chance of her guessing what such an error could be, she'd have to have opportunities to visit, which Jack was obviously affording.

“Okay, I'll come,” Laurie said with such sudden decisiveness that Jack was mildly taken aback.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Let's hit the shower and be on our way.”

 

FRANCO AWOKE BUT
opened only one eye. His cell phone was ringing, but before he answered it, he looked at his radio alarm to see the time. It was five-forty-five. Accompanied by an extended string of blasphemy and expletives, he snaked a hand out from beneath the covers and put the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?” he said with a tone that would let the caller know he was not happy about being disturbed at such an hour. The only reason he answered was because it might be Vinnie.

“Let's get a move on,” Angelo said. “But let's not take your boat. Let's take a van.”

With a few more carefully chosen expletives, Franco reminded Angelo what time it was.

“I know it's early,” Angelo admitted. “But when I got back to my apartment last night, I called the ME office. I asked about Dr. Laurie Montgomery and was told she still works there. I also asked what time she comes into work, in case we can snatch her. I know these people work long hours.”

“You're too damn eager,” Franco complained.

“Vinnie wanted it done yesterday, don't you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Franco said reluctantly.

“Okay, let's meet up at the Neapolitan. I'll get the van.”

“The Neapolitan's not going to be open.”

“Oh, you're right.”

“Angelo, you're too into this. Slow down! It's when you're all keyed up that mistakes are made, like forgetting that nobody's at the damn restaurant until after ten.”

“You're right. I am keyed up, but you would be, too, if you was me. I tell you what! I'll pick you up at your apartment at six-thirty. Okay?”

“You can still pick me up at the restaurant,” Franco said. He didn't want to be without his car later on in the day. “There's always a place to park right in front as early as it is.” He disconnected and threw his feet out from under the blankets. He sensed it was going to be a long day trying to tamp down Angelo's zeal, especially since knocking off a public servant who worked in a reasonably secure environment was not going to be a walk in the park.

 

ADAM WILLIAMSON
answered the phone on the first ring. Especially on a mission, he slept like a nervous cat, always prepared to leap up at the slightest provocation.

“Mr. Bramford, it is six o'clock, as you requested. The weather is expected to be cloudy with a possible shower and with a high temperature of sixty-two degrees.”

Adam thanked the operator and immediately called room service for a full breakfast of juice, eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and coffee. On missions like this one, he never knew when he'd have a chance to eat again on a stakeout of the target's home or place of work. To help him, his handlers always provided commercial plates in the particular state the operation was to take place, along with lettering on the Range Rover's doors. On this occasion, it was an interior design and antiques store on 10th Street called Biedermeier Heaven.

With a contented feeling that all was in order, Adam stepped into the shower. Ever since returning from Iraq, it was only at times like this that he felt whole: He was on a mission, and all was going according to plan. The only way it could have been better was if he were doing it with several of his fellow Delta Force buddies who'd been with him on his last, fateful military mission. Of course, the apogee was yet to come. That was when he made the kill.

 

LAURIE STAYED A
few steps behind Jack as they entered Angels Orthopedic Hospital. It was significantly busier at six-fifteen in the morning than it had been at two-thirty the previous afternoon. As Jack went to the information booth, Laurie stayed close. Although she had a legitimate reason for being there, she was not interested in causing any sort of confrontation, such as what might happen if she had the misfortune of running into either Angela Dawson or Cynthia Sarpoulus. Loraine Newman probably would have been a different story, but even she might feel obligated to call the others if she saw Laurie. After all, they were her bosses.

Jack was given directions to the second floor. As they waited for an elevator, Jack noticed Laurie's vigilant behavior.

“What the devil's gotten into you?” he questioned. “You're like a squirrel expecting there's a dog in the neighborhood.”

“I told you I wasn't treated with much hospitality yesterday. I'd just as soon avoid meeting the organization's CEO or their infection-control specialist.”

“Don't be so paranoid. You have full right to be here.”

“Maybe so, but I prefer not to get in any row about it.”

On the second floor, they found their way with ease to the pre-op waiting area. The space was decorated more like a living room in a private mansion than part of a hospital. Even the name was a misnomer, as there was little waiting involved. Although there were a number of other patients for surgery the next day, there was adequate staff available. Jack and Laurie didn't even have to sit down before Jack was about to be taken back to an examination room where his blood was to be drawn.

“Do you have your cell phone?” Laurie asked Jack.

“Of course. Why?”

“I have mine as well. I'm going to run up to the fourth floor and visit the clinical pathology lab. Call me if I'm not back here when you're ready to go.”

Jack winked. “So, you are going to make constructive use of your time?”

“Something like that,” Laurie admitted.

Although Laurie initially didn't want to be recognized while visiting the hospital, she now changed her mind. She thought she'd use the opportunity to see if Walter Osgood was there. Remembering that she would be calling the CDC sometime during the day, she wanted to know if Walter Osgood would like to know if the MRSA infecting the hospitals, at least in three patients, was the selfsame subtype, meaning they'd have to all three come from the same source. It had irked her the previous afternoon when he'd tried to justify not subtyping the bacteria on all the cases. From an epidemiological point of view, it was mandatory, especially in a situation where the source and the method of spread were unknown.

On the fourth floor, Laurie walked into the laboratory and asked the first technician she encountered if Dr. Osgood was there.

“I have no idea,” the technician admitted. “You'd have to ask Dr. Friedlander, the supervisor of the clinical lab. His office is against the back wall. You can't miss it.” She pointed across the room.

“I've heard that before,” Laurie mumbled to herself as she walked in the direction she was shown. Despite her misgivings, she did stumble directly onto the office as the technician had suggested. Advancing to the open door, Laurie looked in at a thin, bearded man in a spotless, crisply ironed long white coat, engaged in paperwork at his desk.

“Excuse me,” Laurie called out.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm looking for Dr. Osgood. Can you tell me if he is here this morning?”

“No, not today. Today he is…” Simon spun around in his chair to gaze at the bulletin board behind him. “He is at Angels Heart Hospital. He's here only Monday and Thursday.”

“Thanks,” Laurie said.

“Is there something I can help you with? I'm the supervisor of the clinical pathology lab.”

“I think I need to talk directly with Dr. Osgood,” Laurie said, although she briefly thought about asking Dr. Friedlander to convey the message.

“Is it urgent? We could always call. He's usually available on his cell.”

“It involves the MRSA outbreak.”