Implant

  She turned into the office parking lot and skidded to a halt. Duncan's black Mercedes was already in his space.

  She pounded her fist against the steering wheel. Damn it!

  All right. She'd have to adjust. If Duncan asked she'd simply say she got off her shift early but not early enough to go home first.

  She pulled into one of the staff spaces and hurried to the door. Once inside she stopped. Muzak filtered through the air, a lush, inappropriate string arrangement of a Beatles tune, accompanied by the rich aroma of Duncan's fresh coffee. Gin wasn't tempted. She'd been drinking coffee all night.

  Her shoes were soft-soled and made no sound and she walked slowly down the hall toward his office. She slipped past Barbara's desk and listened a moment at the open door. No sound from within. Not even the television. Duncan almost always had CNN or C-SPAN running. She tapped lightly as she peeked inside.

  "Duncan?" Empty. Except for the heavy aroma of coffee, the office was pretty much as she'd left it on Tuesday. But where was he?

  As she turned to leave, a glint of light from the desktop caught her eye. She stepped closer. A bottle.

  Her mouth went dry as she recognized the TPD. It sat on a metal tray.

  So did the trocar and obturator, now sealed inside an autoclave pouch.

  The assembly had been sterilized. Why? Being readied for use? Beside it lay an uncapped syringe. And a large implant. A full implant.

  She felt sick. The room swayed and nausea rippled through her stomach.

  Oh, Duncan! It's true!

  Tears welled in her eyes, a sob bubbled in her throat. How could he?

  Then Gin heard a door slam somewhere out in the hall. Panic bolted through her. She couldn't let him catch her in here.

  She spun and ran to the door. No one in sight but she could hear footsteps approaching from around the corner. Her heart pounding madly, she scampered two doors down and ducked into the employee restroom. She stood-there gasping, sweating as the nausea surged back.

  Then she bent over the toilet and retched.

  Nothing came up. As she turned and sagged against the sink, tasting the acid in her throat, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, pale, sick, trembling.

  Duncan . . . Duncan . . . Duncan . . . this can't be happening.

  This Can't be you!

  But it was Duncan. The pieces all fit. Her wildest speculations had been right on target. Duncan was poisoning these men, implanting a neurotoxin in their tissues, sending them over the edge into psychosis . . .

  Where he himself already was.

  Gin gripped the edge of the sink and steadied herself. She splashed water on her face and tried to focus her thoughts.

  Duncan had had a breakdown.

  Not a breakdown, she told herself. Let's get clinical. Use your training.

  Not easy to do when it was someone so close, but she had to take a couple of steps back and look at him.

  Duncan . . . some form of paranoid schizophrenia . . . taking revenge on the Guidelines committee for ruining his practice years ago . . . and now, in his mind, threatening to destroy all medical practice.

  Paranoid delusions were often anchored, however tenuously, in reality, but the psychosis magnified the threat. Every one was a potential enemy. He could rely on no one, so his only recourse was to take drastic action on his own.

  Left alone, Duncan most likely was a danger to no one but the Guidelines committee. But if challenged, if threatened, if cornered, he could be unpredictable, could become a danger to anyone within reach.

  So what do I do? she asked her reflection as she dried her face. Her color was better now. Her sick expression had faded. She felt a little more in control, but only a little. Her stomach had settled and she wasn't looking to run.

  One thing she knew not to do, Confront Duncan. He might go wild, do something crazy. Except he's already done that. Four times. Possibly more.

  With Senator Marsden next.

  A violent tremor rattled through her, starting in her spine and rolling outward. An after shock.

  Get a grip, Panzella. You can handle this.

  She straightened, smoothed her blouse, shook her hair back, and tried to think of a plan.

  She wouldn't say or do anything this morning. Act naturally. Give Duncan no hint that she suspected a thing. She'd do what was expected and maybe a little more, assist on the surgery, sit with the senator through recovery, see him off, then leave. But as soon as she got home she'd call Gerry, tell him about the TPD, the ultrasound and trocar, fax him the newspaper clippings, and let the FBI or the Secret Service or whoever take over.

  Act naturally. Right.

  She stepped out into the hall and walked back toward Duncan's office, trying to look casual. Barbara's desk was empty. Still too early for her. As before, Gin stepped around and approached the door. This time there was sound from within. The TV was on.

  She tapped and called Duncan's name but no one replied. She stepped inside. A quick glance around, still empty, and then her eyes went to the desk.

  The desktop was clear except for the computer terminal and the usual papers and journals.

  The tray with the TPD, the syringe, the trocar, and the implant was gone.

  Another tremor, another wave of dizziness, but short-lived this time

  She was in control again.

  What did you expect? He's not going to leave that stuff on display all morning. Locked away in the drawer now, ready for use.

  She set her jaw. Not today, Duncan. Not on my senator.

  "Well! You're early today." Gin almost yelped with surprise as Duncan breezed by her and crossed the office to his coffeemaker.

  "I got out early," she managed to say.

  "Good. We've got a lot to do today." He filled a cup from the carafe and held it up. "Coffee?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Nonsense. It's genuine pure Kona, shipped directly from a plantation south of Kailua. You must have some. I insist." Maybe she'd better, just to be sociable '"Okay. Just a taste."

  "You'll love this, ' he said, pouring and handing her a steaming cup.

  He hovered as she sipped, and beamed when she nodded.

  "Hmmm. This is great." She watched him fuss with his funnel and filter. He was dressed in gray slacks, a blue oxford button-down shirt, and a maroon crew-neck sweater.

  He looked so relaxed, so damn normal. But she knew that was often the way with the paranoid schiz. Perfectly sane and normal in every aspect of their lives except the one delusional facet. She remembered a case study about a successful businessman, ran three companies, an exemplary husband and father, loved by all, one day going berserk when one of his vice presidents tapped a cigarette ash into the urn that housed the little blue man who advised him.

  Duncan stopped what he was doing to stare a moment at the TV. C-SPAN was replaying an interview with the Speaker of the House. He grimaced.

  "They shouldn't allow this stuff on during the day."

  "Why not?"

  "Children might see it, " he said with a mischievous wink. "C-SPAN should be limited to late-night broadcasts. Children in their formative years should not be exposed to politicians. People whine about violence on TV, but this is far more corrupting." Gin forced a smile. She could not find him funny now.

  He continued to stare at the screen. "Where do they find these people?"

  "They were elected," Gin said coldly. "It's the American way. They ran for office and they got the most votes."

  "Yes. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. No one you'd really like to see in public office has the bad taste to run. And if he does, he's not going to win."

  "I can think of at least one exception, " she said, thinking of Senator Marsden.

  "A rara avis, I assure you. Think about it, Gin. On one side you've got a man of intelligence and integrity. Against his better judgment he agrees to run, thinking he might be able to do something meaningful. But he won't suck up to ward bosses, won't kiss babies or judge hog contests or put on an a
pron and a white cap for a bake shop photo op. He insists on being judged by his positions on the issues. On the other side, however, you've got a political hanger-on who'll promise anything to anyone, make deals left and right, and pose any time someone lifts a camera, do anything it takes, anything at all, to get a vote." Duncan turned to her. Suddenly he was fiercely intent. "Tell me, Gin. Who's going to win that election?"

  Gin couldn't answer.

  He had a point, damn him.

  "I repeat," he said, not waiting for an answer. "People who deserve to be elected rarely run. And when they do, they do not win. That's the American way."

  "I don't know of a better system. Do you?"

  "No, " Duncan said with a sigh. "But that doesn't mean it can't be improved. We limit the president to two terms. Why not limit the legislature?"

  "Senator Marsden has imposed his own term limits," she said, getting in a plug. "Two terms and he's out."

  "We'll see about that."

  Gin heard an ominous ring in that remark.

  "Speaking of the good senator," Duncan said, "he's last on the list this morning. And you're assisting, I believe?"

  "That's right."

  "By your own request, am I right?"

  "Right again."

  "Why is that? You've never before requested to assist on a specific patient."

  "I work for the man."

  He turned and eyed her. "Do you think that's wise? You're not afraid of being emotionally involved? I could call Cassidy,"

  "This isn't exactly life-and-death surgery And I'm only assisting." Why all these questions? He'd never quizzed her like this before.

  Then again, aren't paranoids suspicious of everyone?

  "Very well. We'll scrub at nine forty-five. Marie will have him under by ten o'clock. We should be done in plenty of time for lunch."

  "Under? You're using general?"

  "Of course."

  "Won't local do?"

  He eyed her. "You've been working here for how long? This is the first instance I can recall you questioning the level of anesthesia. Are you sure you're not too involved with this patient?" General meant Marsden would be groggy after surgery.

  Duncan could pop that implant under his skin without the senator ever knowing.

  "Quite sure," she said. "It's just that it seems like such a small lesion, I was just wondering,"

  "I've got to make a wide enough incision to excise all of that tumor and leave no chance of recurrence. Then I've got to graft and rebuild the top of the auricle so it doesn't look like someone took a shot at his head and barely missed. I don't want him twitching or getting a crick in his neck and jerking his head while I'm in the middle of it. Don't you think that's justification enough for general anesthesia?"

  "Of course," she snapped, the tension getting to her. "I was just asking."

  A slow smile played around his lips. "A bit edgy this morning, aren't we?"

  She placed her half-empty cup on his desk and started for the door. "Too much coffee, I guess."

  Out in the hall she felt her tough facade crumble. Duncan was calling all the shots. She prayed she'd be able to carry this off. The surgery went smoothly. Duncan did a beautiful job of excising, grafting, and rebuilding the upper auricle of Senator Marsden's ear. And Gin did what she hoped was an equally skillful job of protecting the rest of the senator.

  First, she personally helped Oliver fill a batch of his tiniest implants, one of which would be used in the senator's ear. As soon as the senator arrived, she saw to it that he was never alone with Duncan.

  She accomplished that by being constantly at either the senator's or Duncan's side until the surgery.

  Strangely enough, Duncan had shown no sign of frustration or agitation.

  Gin had been worried that he might fly into a rage or do something rash when he found it impossible to get the senator alone. But considering the fact that she was thwarting his scheme at every turn, he appeared to be in the best of spirits.

  That worried Gin even more. So now she sat watch beside the snoring Senator Marsden as he slept off the anesthetic in the V.I.P room. He stirred for the second time in the past five minutes. He was coming out of it. The ordeal was almost over.

  Thank God. She was dead tired. Sitting here with the early afternoon sun pouring in the window, she might have dozed off if it weren't for her bladder. The pressure in her pelvis was becoming unbearable. She couldn't remember ever having to go this bad, but she wasn't leaving this room for a second.

  "How's he doing?"

  She started and twisted in her chair at the sound of Duncan's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame with one hand.

  "I've never seen you so jumpy, Gin. Maybe you're tight about too much coffee."

  "I'm okay," she said, trying to keep the tension out of her voice.

  Was this it? Was this when he'd try something?

  Duncan smiled. "Good. But how's the senator? He's the patient, remember?"

  "Coming up. He should be awake in a few minutes." Not true, but she didn't want Duncan to think he had time to make his move.

  "Excellent." He glanced at his watch. "Look. I've got to run. The links are calling. And since you've decided to be his recovery-room nurse as well as his surgical assistant and legislative aide, you can handle him from here on. Just make sure Barbara gives him the usual instructions on graft care and schedules a follow-up appointment for next week."

  Gin stared at him. Baffled. Speechless.

  "Gin?"

  "You're leaving?" she said.

  "Is there a reason I should stay?"

  "Well, no. I just . . . have a good game."

  "Thanks. I will." He waved and was gone, leaving Gin sitting and staring at the empty doorway.

  Am I going off the deep end? she wondered.

  Hadn't she seen the tray with the TPD, trocar, and implant sitting on Duncan's desk? Why, if he had no intention of using it today? Unless . . . Unless she had this whole thing wrong.

  What if she'd misinterpreted, misunderstood? What if?

  No. The pieces fit too neatly. Duncan was up to some thing.

  But what? He hadn't had an opportunity to dose the senator with that implant, Gina was sure of that. She'd stymied his plan. So what did he do? He ducked out to play golf. Except he never went to his golf club when he said he did.

  Gin's head whirled. She was beginning to have a surreal feeling.

  What was going on here?

  But at least with Duncan gone, she could run to the bathroom. Her bladder was going to burst if she didn't. She stepped out into the hall and went to the back door. Duncan's parking spot was empty. She ducked into the restroom.

  A few minutes later, feeling almost lightheaded with relief, she was back in the recovery room.

  Senator Marsden hadn't moved. But his eyes were open. He lay on his side, blinking at her.

  '"Good afternoon, Senator," she said.

  He gave her half a smile and closed his eyes again.

  She stared at him, suddenly anxious about having left him alone for those few minutes.

  I'm getting as paranoid as Duncan, she thought, but couldn't resist lifting the senator's sheet and checking his leg.

  Her knees almost buckled when she saw a tiny red spot on his thigh.

  Blood? Shakily, she dropped to one knee and leaned close.

  Yes . . . blood. A small, semicircular puncture wound, just the mark a trocar would leave. Just like the mark on Senator Vincent's thigh in this very room last month.

  "Oh, God, " she whispered as fury and terror tore at her. "Oh dear God." Gently she poked the area around it. The senator's leg stiffened. She glanced up and found him looking at her. "Hello, again," she said, rising, trying to keep her voice calm, her face professionally neutral. "Was Dr. Lathram just in here?"

  "Who's Dr. Lathram?" He smacked his dry lips. "Could I have some water?" Still too groggy to be of any help.

  "Yes. Sure." There was a pitcher at the bedside, but she pretended no
t to see it. "I'll get you some." She forced her wobbly legs to walk her out to the hall where she leaned against the wall and let herself shake.

  What sort of a nightmare had she fallen into? Where was the looking glass she'd stepped through to land in this crazy place?

  Duncan. Where was he now? Obviously he hadn't left. Only pretended.

  Probably sneaked into one of the rooms and waited for her to leave the senator alone.

  And while I was relieving myself, he sneaked into the senator's room and jabeed him with the trocar.

  The bastard!

  Gin scampered to the front door and saw a black Mercedes like Duncan's pulling away from the curb. She couldn't see the plates and couldn't be sure through the heavily tinted glass if Duncan was behind the wheel.

  She watched the car disappear into the traffic.

  She hurried back down the hall and found Barbara staring at her.

  "Are you all right?" she said.

  '"I'm fine," Gin said. She had to tell someone about this, but Barbara was not that someone. "Perfectly fine." She returned to Senator Marsden's room and found him propped up on an elbow.

  "Silly me," she said. "The water was right here all along." She filled a glass and watched him drink as she cast about for a way to go.

  Should she tell him? Tell him that his surgeon had just placed a toxin-filled implant in his thigh?

  She studied Senator Marsden's bleary expression. He wasn't in any condition to listen or comprehend. So where could she turn? Who could she go to?

  25

  GERRY

  GERRY HAD JUST RETURNED FROM LUNCH. HE WAS ADMIRing Martha's latest Crayola masterpiece, freshly pinned to the wall of his cubicle, when Gin's call came in. He was glad she was calling him for a change.

  She'd been strangely distant all week.