F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (9 page)

 
          
He
lowered his hand and began to sway. He grasped the rail and turned around to
stare back up at the Capitol. His expression was frightened.

 
          
He
looked lost, confused, as if he didn't know where he was. He took a faltering
step to his left but wobbled backward instead.

 
          
God,
he's going to fall!

 
          
As
his arms windmilled for balance, his aides cried out and rushed down to him.
But Allard was already toppling. He managed to twist around but could not break
his fall. He hit the granite steps and began to roll.

 
          
Shouts
now from the TV crew as the reporter rushed toward the falling legislator. The
cameraman followed her, taping all the way. A couple of Capitol Police started
running from the other end of the steps.

 
          
Gin
was already on her way down as Congressman Allard landed in a heap at the base
of the steps and lay still, arms akimbo, his toupee skewed so that it hung over
his left ear. His aides, the TV crew, and the cops converged on him from three
directions.

 
          
Gin
reached the growing knot and forced her way in.

 
          
"I'm
a doctor," she said. "Let me through." The onlookers made way
for her and soon she was kneeling at Allard's side. He was on his back, his
face was a mess, blood everywhere. Gin dug her index and middle fingers into
the side of his throat, probing for a carotid. She found it, pulsing rapidly,
but strong and regular.

 
          
She
saw his chest moving with respirations, small bubbles of saliva fluttering at
the corner of his bloodied lips as air flowed in and out.

 
          
Pulse
and respiration okay. Good. But he did seem to be in shock.

 
          
"All
right," she announced to the onlookers. "His heart's beating and he's
breathing. No need for CPR. But nobody move him. He may have a spinal
injury." She looked around. "Is somebody calling an ambulance?"

 
          
One
of the Capitol cops pointed to his partner who was babbling into his radio. "We're
on it," he said.

 
          
Gin
returned her attention to Allard. She couldn't do a neurological evaluation
here, but if she had to bet she'd put her money on a stroke.

 
          
Maybe
he'd flipped an embolus to his brain.

 
          
She
glanced up and saw someone standing at the railing along the edge of the west
portico, looking down. She blinked. It was
Duncan
. She couldn't read his expression. He stood
there staring for a moment, then turned and disappeared from view.

 
          
Duncan
? she thought. Aren't you going to help?

COFFEE

           
GINA DIDN'T GET BACK TO THE
SURGICENTER until shortly before
noon
. She'd hovered by Congressman Allard's side
until the E.M.Ts arrived. She watched them bandage his face, strap him to a
back board, load him into their rig, and howl away toward
G.
W.
Medical
Center
.

 
          
She
stopped back at Allard's office to let them know what had happened, and after
that she'd been at loose ends, wandering around the Capitol area, thinking,
wondering . . .

 
          
Duncan
had acted so strange this morning, and he
hadn't shown the slightest concern for the fate of the congressman, who wasn't
just some stranger, he was one of
Duncan
's patients. And who was this Lisa he'd been
talking about to Allard? It had seemed like such a non sequitur.

 
          
She
took the Metro Red Line up to
Friendship
Heights
and walked the rest of the way, still
thinking, still wondering.

 
          
By
the time she reached the surgicenter she still didn’t have an answer.

 
          
"He
wanted to see me," she told Barbara as she paused at her reception desk.

 
          
"He
mentioned it, but right now he's conferencing with another doctor. Strict
orders not to disturb."

           
"Really? Anybody we
know?"

           
Barbara shrugged. "All he
tells me is to block out half an hour for Dr. V. Now you know as much as I do.
But he's very good-looking." Barbara's eyebrows oscillated as her voice
took on a Mae West tone. "This is his second visit, and I hope it's not
the last." Why so mysterious about the name? A doctor who wanted cosmetic
surgery maybe?

 
          
Gin
shrugged. Not her business.

 
          
"Let
him know I'm here."

 
          
"Will
do." A few minutes later she was sitting in the basement lab across the
workbench from Oliver, diffidently watching him fill the next batch of a dozen
or so implants for tomorrow's surgery. She already had a headache, and the
residual olfactory tang of solvents was conspiring with the bright overhead
fluorescents to make it worse. She should have been working with Oliver,
learning the technique, but she couldn't muster the concentration.

 
          
Her
chin rested on her hands and her elbows were propped on the marred black
counter. She felt leaden, as if someone had siphoned off all her energy . . .
the aftermath of the morning's events, and the certainty that
Duncan
was going to fire her.

 
          
'"He's
not going to fire you," Oliver said.

 
          
She
glanced up at him. He sat calmly in his white coat, his pudgy hands folded in
front of him. But she read genuine sympathy in the round, pale face and in the
blue eyes behind the thick horn-rimmed lenses. Hard to believe he and Duncan
shared the same gene pool.

 
          
"How
can you be so sure?"

           
"He tends to fly off the
handle lately. Ever since they reconvened that darn committee."

           
"What is it with him and that
committee?"

           
"Well, years ago he had a bit
of trouble . . . " His voice trailed off.

 
          
"What
sort of trouble?"

           
"Nothing. Forget I said
anything."

           
Gin wasn't forgetting anything.
Especially after this morning. Another question was burning through her
brainpan.

 
          
"All
right then. Tell me this, Who's Lisa?"

   
        
"Lisa?"

           
"Yes. I heard
Duncan
mention something about a Lisa this . . .
morning."

 
          
The
implant Oliver was filling suddenly burst. "I . . . I don't know. He had a
daughter named Lisa."

 
          
"Had?"

           
"Yes, well," The phone
rang.

 
          
Oliver
picked it up and listened. "She's right here," he said, then handed
it across to her.
Duncan
's voice, "Gin, please come to my office."

           
Her mouth went dry. "Okay.
Sure." The other end clicked dead. That in itself was not indicative of anything,
Duncan
rarely said hello or good-bye on the phone,
but she could feel her insides coiling into knots. She handed the receiver back
to Oliver. "He wants to see me."

           
Oliver smiled. "See? He's
cooled down already."

 
          
"I
wouldn't be too sure of that."

 
          
"I'll
talk to him if you want."

 
          
"Thanks,
but I'd better handle this myself." With the knots inside pulling even
tighter, she rose and headed for
Duncan
's office. This was it. She'd been in his
office before, many times, but usually just a quick stop before surgery to
discuss some potential problem with one of his patients. This was the first
time he'd actually called and asked her to his office.

 
          
He's
going to fire me.

 
          
Financially,
that would not be a catastrophe. She wasn't getting paid all that much here and
she could take an extra shift as house doctor at Lynnbrook. But still . . . Her
throat constricted.

 
          
Fired
. . . being fired by anyone from any job would hurt. But to be kicked out by
Duncan Lathram . . .

 
          
Devastating.

 
          
She
wasn't going to back down, though. Not when she was doing the right thing. But
how to explain it to him? From what she could see, the days when doctors could
focus solely on their patients and ignore what
Washington
was up to were gone. Dead as the Jurassic
age.

 
          
For
their patients' sake as well as their own, doctors had to get involved in the
process. And any doctor who thought otherwise was a dinosaur, already extinct
but simply unaware of the fact.

 
          
Sure,
she thought. That's it. Tell
Duncan
he's the best surgeon alive, but he's a
dinosaur. He'll definitely want to keep me on then.

 
          
Gin
forced a smile as she approached Barbara's desk.

 
          
"He's
expecting me."

 
          
"I
know, " Barbara said. "He told me to hold his calls." Oh, great.

 
          
Gin
hesitated at the door, then pushed through.

 
          
Duncan
's officer was a spacious quadrangle with
floor-to ceiling glass along most of the far wall. The last of the morning sun
was slipping from the room but still shining brightly on the oriental rock
garden and koi pond outside.

 
          
Very
little of the off-white walls was visible, the few sections not obscured by
mahogany bookcases filled with medical texts and surgical journals were studded
with plaques, degrees, diplomas, and certificates from licensing and specialty
boards. An oversized antique partners desk stretched before the window-wall. A
glorious Persian rug covered most of the hardwood floor.

 
          
The
wall on the far right angled to a large cabinet custom-built for the narrow
corner.
Duncan
had the cabinet open and stood before it
now, his back to her, engrossed in whatever he was doing.

 
          
He
half turned as she closed the door behind her.

 
          
'"Good.
You're just in time" He motioned her closer. "Come watch this."
A little off balance from the casual greeting, he seemed a changed man since
this morning, and more than a little unsure of herself, she complied. As she
approached she heard a whirring noise, like an electric drill. When she reached
his side she was startled to see what he was up to.

 
          
Grinding
coffee.

 
          
'"Just
got these in," he said. "Costa Rican La Minita Tarrazu. A superb
batch of beans." He dumped the ground coffee into the open end of a chrome
funnel set in the top of an insulated carafe.

 
          
Gin
didn't see any white inside the funnel. "You forgot the filter."

           
"Don't worry. It's in there. I
use a gold mesh filter. Paper soaks up too many of the oils that give a coffee
its character. Remember that. Always use a gold filter. And here's something
else to remember." He reached into the little microwave to his left and
removed a half-quart Pyrex cup full of steaming water. He took two tablespoons
of water and added them to the cone.

 
          
"Always
wet your grounds first. Give them about thirty seconds to swell, then add the
rest of the water. But not boiling water. You don't want scalded coffee. Bring
the water to a boil and let it sit for about a minute, then pour it over the
damp grounds. But not just any water. Use spring water. Don't use that
chemical-laden junk from the tap." He emptied the Pyrex cup into the cone,
then rubbed his . . . . . . hands in anticipation.

 
          
"You're
about to have a real experience, Gin. Just possibly the best cup of coffee in
the world." He turned to her. "Any news from Marsden's office
yet?"

           
"No. I'm not terribly sanguine
about my chances." Sanguine? She never used that word. Must be
Duncan
's influence. "My interview wasn't with
Senator Marsden, you know. It was with his chief of staff. We didn't exactly
hit it off."

 
          
"Shot
down by the senator's staff, eh? And I guess you didn't get your chance to
impress Allard either."

 
          
"Hardly.
That was some fall he had. Lucky to be in one piece after the way he hit the
sidewalk."

 
          
"Right
in front of the TV cameras. They've been replaying it all morning on CNN. Too
bad."

           
Too bad? He'd been there, watching,
and hadn't helped. Or didn't he want to admit that?

 
          
"Had
some nasty facial lacerations. Chances are he'll be calling you to fix him
up."

           
"He can save his dime, "
Duncan
said. "You ought to know by now I
don't operate on people who need surgery, only those who want it. By the way,
sorry about my outburst yesterday morning. You didn't deserve that." Just
like that, Oh, by the way, sorry I damn near gave you a heart attack.

 
          
But
relief blotted out his offhandedness. The bunched muscles in her shoulders and
the back of her neck began to uncoil.

 
          
"You
mean I'm not fired?"

           
He laughed. "Hell, no! But I
do want to talk to you." His smile faded. "I want to know why a
bright, talented young woman like you wants to get involved with the Harold
Vincents and Kenneth Allards of the world."