F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (41 page)

 
          
Barbara
was standing in the center of the officer, her palm pressed between her
breasts.

 
          
"You
almost gave me a heart attack!" Barbara said. "Dr. Panzella, you've
got to warn me when you're coming in here."

 
          
"Sorry,"
Gin said. She hoped she didn't look as shaken and embarrassed as she felt.
"You weren't at your desk and I needed to look up something."

 
          
"Just
make sure he knows you've been in here."

           
"What do you mean?"

           
"He likes everything in its
place. So if you're going to borrow anything, better check with him first,
otherwise I'll hear about it."

 
          
This
isn't going to work, Gin thought. She held up the green text.

 
          
"Okay,
Barbara. Watch." With a small flourish, she slipped the book back into its
space. "Voila. Right back where it belongs."

 
          
"Great.
He's such a stickler for detail, you know." Gin stepped down and slid the
step stool back to its original position.

 
          
"That's
what makes him a great surgeon. He sweats the details." Barbara placed
some papers on
Duncan
's desk and they left together.

 
          
Gin
gave one worried backward glance at the green book on the top shelf. She'd have
another chance at it tomorrow.

 
          
Unless
Duncan
moved it again.

 
          
Oh,
no.

 
          
Duncan
could feel all the warmth drain out of him
as he watched the screen. He shuddered.

 
          
The
videotape showed Gin entering the office at
12:17 P.M.
, dragging the step stool to the
bookshelves, and pulling out the book where the TPD was hidden. There had been
not the slightest hesitation.

 
          
She
knew the shelf and the exact volume to remove.

 
          
But
how did she know?

 
          
He
felt an urge to step over to the shelf himself, it was only a few feet away,
and check to see if she had taken the vial, but he could not move. He stood
frozen, his eyes fixed on the screen.

 
          
He
watched her peer into the space, saw her hand rise toward it, and then Barbara
came in.

 
          
Thank
God for Barbara.

 
          
Their
voices were muted but he could make out Gin's excuse and Barbara's comments
about his tidiness. And then the book was back in its place and they were
leaving. But he saw Gin's wistful parting glance at the bookshelf.

 
          
She'd
be back. Dammit, she'd be back.

 
          
He
fast-forwarded through the rest of the tape, but Gin did not return.

 
          
That
was a relief. He hit rewind and checked behind the book.

 
          
Yes,
the vial was still there. But how, how had Gin known that he'd moved it?

 
          
She
watched me.

 
          
Of
course. She'd followed him to D.C. General yesterday. She'd probably been
following him since the fiasco on Friday.

 
          
He
turned around and stared through the plate-glass outer wall. If she'd been
tailing him Sunday night, she could have crouched out there in the darkness
among the shrubs and observed his every move.

 
          
With
a start he realized that she could be out there right now, spying on him.

 
          
But
no. Since their encounter in D. C. General yesterday, he'd been on guard,
keeping careful watch in his rearview mirror, so much so that he'd nearly
caused several accidents. No one had followed him anywhere today.

 
          
But
why had she checked behind the book today and not yesterday? Had something
happened today to rekindle her suspicions?

 
          
He
fast-forwarded to where Barbara and Gin were leaving and paused on Gin's final
backward glance. He read anxiety in her expression. No question something was
making her apprehensive.

 
          
A
thought jolted him, Could she know about the president?

 
          
Good
Lord, if she'd found out about that, she might do something rash, something
catastrophic.

 
          
He
picked up the phone and jabbed in his brother's number. "Oliver, he said
immediately, "did Gin mention anything to you about our special case on
Friday?" He took care not to identify the president on the phone.

 
          
"Wh-what
do you mean?" The hesitation in Oliver's voice gave
Duncan
a terrible feeling.

 
          
"Does
she have any idea who it is?"

           
"Um, she knows. She
guessed."

           
"How in the world,?"

           
"She recognized Dr. VanDuyne,
then deduced that the men with him were Secret Service. From there it was two
plus two, I guess."

           
"Did you confirm it?"

           
"Well, what else could I
do?"

           
"Damn it, Oliver! Dammit to
hell!"

           
"
Duncan
, I swore her to secrecy. You know you can
trust Gin. Wasn't it better to confirm her suspicions than to have her go on wondering
and asking questions?"

           
"Well, maybe." He reined
in his anger at his brother. Oliver had no idea why it had been so important to
keep Gin out of this. "When did this conversation take place?"

           
"This morning. Maybe eleven or
so. Why?"

           
"Nothing. I'll see you
Thursday." He hung up and began to pace the room, pausing only to hit the
REWIND button on the VCR.

 
          
Damn!
Gin confirmed it through Oliver at eleven and an hour later she was here
meddling with the TPD.

 
          
The
chance of a lifetime. The president himself, the commander in chief of the
kakistocracy, would be sleeping off his anesthesia right down the hall. The man
who single-handedly had resurrected the Guidelines bill, who had insisted on
including medical ethics in its purview, and who would keep pushing
relentlessly for the committee to get its foul job done.

 
          
So
what?
Duncan
thought. He had nothing to do with it.
Lisa's death.

 
          
Why
not let him go and be satisfied with what I've done so far?

 
          
Because
I can't. Not yet.

 
          
He
was out of control and he knew it. He felt like a runaway train careening
downhill. McCready had started it, and
Duncan
would finish it.

 
          
He
could not let this opportunity pass. He'd never have another like it.

 
          
He
would impose a symmetry on this madness . . . he would close the circle with
the president. But Gin Panzella was going to ruin it. He could see it in her
face, feel it in his bones. She was going to meddle again. And he could not
allow that. Not this time

 
          
The
VCR whirred and ejected the tape.
Duncan
pulled it out and stared at it.

 
          
Why,
Gin? Why do you have to keeping sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong?

 
          
His
fury rose, a pressure in his head, his chest, threatening to explode. She was
leaving him only two choices, either back down or somehow neutralize her.

 
          
He
groaned. She had backed him into a corner, and the only option left was to
strike out at her. He might have to harm her.

 
          
And
he loathe himself for it.

 
          
With
a cry he hurled the videocassette to the floor and smashed it under his heel.

 
          
"Damn
you, Gin!"

WEDNESDAY

          
"WE BEEN KEEPING SOMETHING
IMPORTANT FROM YOU, Gin,"
Duncan
said. "But I decided this morning I'm
going to confide in you."

           
Gin sat across his desk from him,
sipping a late-morning cup of one of his exotic coffees,
Jamaican
Blue
Mountain
, she thought he'd said, but she'd been
feeling too tense and wary to pay much attention. She'd been up most of the
night brooding about the president's surgery. Should she be as worried as she
was? Should she do anything? Should she call Gerry about it?

 
          
Again,
she'd decided not to call Gerry. She had even less to go on this time than the
last. He already thought she was distraught. Why add fuel to that particular fire?

 
          
She'd
still been debating her next step when
Duncan
had called her in, told Barbara he did not
want to be disturbed, and shut the door. He'd handed her a cup and asked her to
be seated.

 
          
So
now she sat, tense and rigid in her chair, the coffee warming her cold hands as
she anxiously waited to see what was up.

 
          
"Since
you are a physician in this facility, what I'm about to say falls under
physician-patient privilege. Is that understood?"

           
"Of course."

 
          
"Good."
He leaned back and steepled his fingers. "You might be wondering why I
gave the staff off this Friday. The reason is extraordinary, I'm operating on
the president of the
United States
that day."

           
Gin felt her jaw drop open.
Duncan
was actually telling her.

 
          
He
smiled. "I can see by your expression that this was the last thing you
expected to hear. Good. That means our security measures are working." He
went on to tell her most of what she had learned from Oliver yesterday, the
nature of the procedure, the rationale behind it, the reasons for all the
secrecy. Not wanting to get Oliver in hot water, she pretended it was all new
to her.

 
          
All
the while her mind was racing, searching for a reason why, if he was planning
to harm the president, he would tell her this.

 
          
"You
must be very proud," she said when he paused.

 
          
"Well,
much as I dislike the man's policies, I have to admit it's an honor to be
selected as his surgeon."

 
          
"Honor
aside," she said carefully, "I'm a little surprised you'd do anything
to help him get reelected. I mean, knowing how you feel about him."

           
Duncan
waved his hand dismissively, as if
physically brushing aside her words. "It's all media-consultant
nonsense." His smile was laconic. "As if his eyelids could in any way
make or break an election."

 
          
"You
know what they said about Nixon's five-o'clock shadow in that television debate
back in 1960."

 
          
"I
saw that debate. Nixon's
five-o'clock
shadow was the least of his problems."

 
          
"So
you are going to help him look younger."

        
   
"No. Actually, I'm going to remove his
eyelids completely so he'll have this ghastly bug-eyed look."

           
Her heart jumped. He wasn't serious
. . . was he? "
Duncan
, don't even,"

           
"Only kidding. Look, the
president himself wants me to do it, so I'm doing it. As a rule I don't correct
a single-feature defect like this, but the rest of his face is fairly young looking,
so I'm making an exception." He grinned. "And trust me, this is not a
freebie."

 
          
"Who's
assisting?" Oliver had already told her it would be Dr. VanDuyne, but she
thought she should cover for him by asking.

 
          
Duncan
leaned forward. "That's why I called you in here. I'd like you to
assist."

           
Gin blinked. The words rocked her.
What in heaven was going on?

        
   
"Me?"

           
"Yes, you. VanDuyne, the
president's personal physician, has offered to assist. He'd probably be okay,
but the more I think about it, the more I want someone who's worked with me.
You've done dozens of these lid lifts with me. So, if you haven't already made
plans for Friday . . . "

           
"No . . . no plans."

 
          
"Good.
I'd also like you to handle recovery. VanDuyne was going to, but again you're
more experienced. I'd feel better if you were on hand to watch over
things."

        
   
"Sure," Gin said, still off
balance. She struggled to get her bearings, fought not to be awed. "I'll
be glad to."

           
"Excellent. I intend to add a
fat surgical assistant's fee to the bill which will go directly to you."
Gin was going to be assisting on the president of the
United States
, and be well paid for it. Talk about having
your cake and . . .

 
          
But
even more disorienting was that
Duncan
had asked her to assist him.

 
          
How
could he be planning any harm if he wanted her right there in OR and in recovery?

 
          
Had
all her suspicions been for nothing?

 
          
No,
not all. That vial of TPD still loomed in the background, but Gin began to feel
the tension uncoil within her, felt her neck and shoulder muscles relax as if
the weight of the world had been lifted from them.

 
          
She
half listened as he went on about the anesthesiologist from
Bethesda
, the security measures, and the need for
absolute discretion.

 
          
"You
can't tell anyone, not your best friend, not your parents, not even your
boyfriend in the FBI."

 
          
"We're
just friends," she said.

 
          
Although
even that might be pushing things at this point.

 
          
"Whatever.
Only the Secret Service and the four doctors in OR-1 on Friday morning will
know about this. We're scheduled for seven-thirty. The president and VanDuyne
will arrive at six-thirty. You, Oliver, and the anesthesiologist will be here
at six. I'll come at five to open up for the Secret Service so they can secure
the premises, I believe that's the expression they used. Any problem with
that?"

           
"None at all."

           
"Wonderful. Oliver, by the
way, is nearly delirious about this. Wants to celebrate in advance. I think
it's rather silly but if we don't do something to mark the occasion he just
might explode. Since we all have to be up early on Friday, and since Oliver
loves Italian food, I've reserved us a table at Galileo tonight. Oliver and I
would both very much like for you to join us." Galileo. God, the four-star
restaurant where the president took his
Hollywood
friends when they were in town. Gin was
beginning to get excited herself.

 
          
"How
could I say no to Galileo?"

           
"I'll pick up Oliver and we'll
be by at
half past seven
to pick you up." He rose. "And now, unless you have any
questions, I suggest we both get back to work." Feeling slightly dazed,
Gin nodded, rose, and made her way to the hall.

 
          
Life
was certainly full of surprises.

 
          
Duncan
watched Gin go, then poured himself another
cup of coffee.

 
          
That
went rather well, he thought grimly. Too well.

 
          
Under
different circumstances he might find this sort of cat-and-mouse game
stimulating. But not with this particular mouse. Plus, everything was rigged in
his favor, he knew what she knew, but she hadn't the slightest notion that he
was on to her.

 
          
Gin
was beginning to trust him again. And he was going to use that to cut her off
at the knees.

 
          
He
didn't much like himself today.

 
          
He
spotted a sliver of black plastic and plucked it from the carpet. A remnant of
the videocassette he'd smashed last night. After that little tantrum, he'd
picked up the pieces, discarded them, and slipped a new cassette into the
camera. Then, with his emotions locked away where they could not interfere,
he'd sat down, assessed the cards he'd been dealt, and worked out the best way
to play his hand.

 
          
First,
he'd lock up the TPD in his desk drawer again and see that Gin did not get
another chance to pick the lock.

 
          
Then
he'd take the offensive. She'd learned about the president, something he'd been
desperate to keep secret. The worst thing to do then would be to retreat. That
would confirm that he had something to hide. So do the opposite, the
unexpected. Don't lock her out. Welcome her in. Show his hand, but only those
cards that have already been exposed Which was exactly what he had done. He'd
sounded so open this morning, he'd almost scared himself.

 
          
The
result, Gin was not only thoroughly off balance, but literally starstruck at
the opportunity to assist on the president's surgery.

 
          
She
was honored, for God's sake.

 
          
Maybe
he'd overestimated Gin.

 
          
He
shook off the irritation and reviewed the last element of -- his plan, keeping
Oliver out of this. Oliver usually took Wednesdays off and today was no
exception. But just to be sure, he'd called him and told him that he must not,
under any circumstances, mention their conversation of last night to Gin. Not
until
Duncan
had a chance to talk to her today.

 
          
This
was crucial because if Gin ever learned that
Duncan
was aware that she already knew about the
president, his credibility would crumble, and with it, his plan.

 
          
Now
he had only to keep them apart until dinner tonight.

 
          
After
that, it wouldn't matter.

 
          
Duncan
rubbed his tired, burning eyes. If only
there were another way out of this. He'd walked the floor most of the night
trying to come up with one. He couldn't.

 
          
A
wave of nausea rippled across his stomach.

 
          
Lord,
he wished this night were over.

 
          
The
phone rang. It was
Duncan
.

 
          
'"Are
you ready?"

           
"Of course I'm ready,"
Gin said. "You said seven-thirty, didn't you? Don't tell me you haven't
left yet."

           
"I'm crossing the Ellington as
we speak. I'll be there momentarily." The wonder of the cellular phone,
Gin thought as she hung up.