Racing against time, the fire department finally extricated her, and the paramedics got her loaded in the ambulance and headed for Tucson Memorial. The radio squawked as they called in her condition.
"Sixty percent third-, twenty percent second-degree burns, left foot gone. Vital signs weak, BP eight over zero. She's tachycardic and hypotensive."
The second EMT was going through the victim's personal effects trying to find some identification. Her purse had been tossed in the ambulance at the last minute, and he finally found what he was looking for. He yanked the wallet open and found her drivers license.
Then the color drained from his face.
"Oh no!"
"What's the matter?" the other EMT asked.
He couldn't speak at first, he just handed him the license.
"Look at the name, do you know who this is?"
The other EMT gazed at the document for a second. "Oh man, we better keep her alive.
Oh my God."
Chapter 12
Like an apparition, the dark
clad figure glided through the patient's door and over to her bed. She was still groggy from her anesthesia, but lucid enough to realize someone was tugging on her IV line.
She watched as the visitor pulled out a syringe and injected the contents into her bag. The intruder seemed to have some difficulty in the dark as the bag swung against the IV pole. The patient watched as the visitor removed the syringe and slipped it into a pocket. She felt a twinge of pain, but assumed it was the medicine entering her bloodstream.
But the pain got worse. Quickly.
What's happening to me!
The patient jerked her arm upward and the intruder grabbed her wrist and held her arm down as he turned the IV line wide open. A steady stream of the milky fluid began to course into her vein. She could feel the stream of fire searing its way up her arm. Desperately s heied to free her arm from the intruder's grip. Unable to scream, she just stared straight ahead, her eyes frozen in panic.
At that moment there was an excruciating pain traveling through her chest. Her body experienced its first convulsion, arching violently off the bed. Her eyes rolled up and disappeared inside her head. Within seconds, her skull was trapped in a vise.
Her head rolled to the side and her last glimpse of life was the visitor as he slipped out the door. Then she felt a silent explosion from within her brain ...
Chapter 13
Arthur Hench was pleased to
find the lower-level parking garage at the Marriott Hotel deserted, save a few scattered cars between the rows of cement pillars. As he parked his Mercedes in a far corner, he glanced at the dashboard clock.
3:15 A.M. Perfect.
The man with whom Hench was meeting was a stickler about punctuality. That didn't bother him, he reminded himself, considering where the man was from and what he represented. Besides, Hench himself was just as touchy about punctuality.
Hench climbed out of his car and walked diagonally across the garage until he saw the gray Dodge Caravan parked in the same place it always was for their meetings--in the farthest southern corner beside a row of laundry bins.
As Hench moved toward the car, he felt a touch of uneasiness come over him as he always did before these clandestine meetings. Forcing himself to relax, he climbed into the passenger seat and smiled. The gray-haired gentleman in the driver seat did not smile back. Despite the fact that they were in Arizona, the middle-aged man's fair complexion gave the impression that he'd never spent a moment in the sun.
"Close the door," the man said, his voice flat.
Hench complied, ignoring the man's chilly reception. After all, this man controlled the money, much of which had flowed back to Ford and directly to Hench's research. And though they were as beholden to Hench as he was to them, they had the ultimate say in how the money was used. Hench merely provided a vehicle for that cash.
Hench looked over at the man. "I assume you're ready for another requisition?" Hench asked, knowing better than to waste this man's time with small talk.
"We are indeed. We are very close to a breakthrough. We can't slow down now."
Hench nodded. "I have someone in mind already. I just need to talk to the family."
"Excellent. That never seems to be a problem for you."
"No, it won't, but there is another problem."
The man turned slightly in his seat. "I assume you mean Josh Logan," he said, more statement than question.
"Yes, but how did--"
"Dr. Hench. When you have as much at stake as we do, you can't afford not to know everything. I assure you, however, he won't be a problem much longer."
Hench felt the hairs on his neck stand up. "I'll ... leave it to you, then."
The man leaned toward Hench with ominous eyes. "Please do."
* * *
After Arthur Hench left the parking garage, the driver of the Dodge Caravan reached behind his neck and peeled back the prosthetic mask he wore for the meeting. It was imperative that his identity be kept hidden.
No one must ever know
, he thought, as he started the van.
Never.
Chapter 14
There must be some mistake.
Governor Earl Teaks stood over the bloated raw flesh on the stretcher and refused to believe that it was his daughter. Couldn't be.
Alley Teaks was all wonderful ribs and bones with skin as soft as an infant.
This
girl was naked, her few patches of unburned skin blackened with silver nitrate. She was getting oxygen through a nasal cannula, one leg was gone below the knee and there were drains in the truncated blob that had once been her other foot.
A darkness came over Teaks. He willed himself not to faint, instead concentrating on his daughters face.
"Alley?"
Feverish eyes turned toward him. Swollen cracked lips spoke. "Daddy?"
"It's all right, sweetie, I'm here."
A long silence. Then, "I'm sorry, daddy."
"Don't try to talk." Teaks was doing all he could to keep from collapsing.
A nurse appeared. Stiff, authoritative. "I think that's all she can handle right now."
"Can't I just sit here?"
"I believe the doctor wants to see you. Maybe when he's finished."
* * *
Dr. Timothy Busfeld sat transfixed on the lab values on the report in front of him. The girl was in severe shock and septicemia was only hours away. She was seeping fluid from everywhere, her platelet count was all but exhausted, and her lungs were badly burned. They had managed to stabilize her overnight, but now she was in a downward spiral.
She'd be dead in a few hours.
It hit Busfeld particularly hard. He himself had lost a child just two years earlier in an accident. It had left him with a hole in his heart he thought he'd never recover from.
A soft rap on his door jerked him from his sad reverie.
"Dr. Busfeld?"
"Come in, Governor Teaks. I'm pleased to meet you, I just wish it were under different circumstances."
"We all do, we all do."
"Governor, I'm not one to beat around the bush. Alley is dying. We have done everything we can. It's only by the grace of God we've managed to keep her alive this long." Busfeld looked away. "I wonder about the humility of that."
Governor Teaks looked up. "I know you've done your best, doctor, but this is my little girl we're talking about here. I'll do anything to save her. Is there another facility we can transfer her to somewhere? Isn't there
something
we can do? I can't just sit by and watch her die."
Busfeld stood and walked to the window. The Tucson skyline burned bright against the mountains in the distance. He heaved a sigh.
"There might be a way."
Teaks grabbed Busfeld's arm. "Well, let's have it then. What is it?"
"I'm not sure it's what you want."
"Doctor, I'd make a deal with the devil to save Alley."
Busfeld nodded.
You just might have to.
Chapter 15
Inside the Ford Institute, Josh
Logan emerged from the doctors' lounge and decided to go check on one of his post-op patients from the day before. Sixty-one-year-old Cynthia Harwell was another neuroblastoma victim. They'd admitted her three days previously, and although she'd done well initially, her course suddenly took a turn for the worse. Josh had planned to move Harwell from ICU that morning, but as he was making his rounds, she entered into the throes of a massive stroke. It was an acute disappointment for Josh, since Harwell had to be added to the list of Josh's patients who had recently gone bad. Instead of transferring the patient, Josh instituted aggressive treatment for stroke.
Any hope of a return to her previous state was dashed when Josh saw her, now. She was lying down, eyes fixed straight ahead. A ventilator was breathing for her. Her face had a sickening pewter color to it that Josh had learned to fear. A nurse attending her straighted recup from adjusting the IV.
"How is she?" Josh asked, glancing at the nurse's nametag. It read Kelly Frock. He forced a smile. But he didn't have to ask. Cynthia Harwell was totally unresponsive.
Kelly Frock pulled Josh from the cubicle into the center of the room. "Nothing is working. In fact, she's in decline. Dr. Hench did an ECG. If it comes back negative, he's pulling the plug. But there is something strange, Dr. Logan. I had
this
patient last night, she was completely stable. I've been working in Neuro for twenty years, I've never seen anyone stroke out like this. It's almost lik ...
"Like what?" Josh asked.
"It's crazy, never mind. I'm just a little surprised, that's all."
At that moment, a throng of scrub-clad personnel entered the room. They ignored Josh and the nurse and went right to the ventilator.
And turned it off.
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Josh protested.
Arthur Hench walked in behind them. "It's okay, Dr. Logan, they're following my orders. The patient is brain dead. They're preparing her for cryo-transfer."
Chapter 16
Lawrence Bowman's office was a
large corner room that faced south and east. Besides the Ford Institute's campus, part of the Phoenix skyline could be seen across the arid desert expanse. Bowman was seated at a monstrous, antique Southwestern desk. The view was at his back. Seated in front of the desk was Dr. Arthur Hench.
Gesturing with his long arms, Bowman motioned for Josh to sit in the chair next to Hench. Josh sat, upset by Hench's presence. He wanted the meeting to be private. On one hand, he was furious with Hench, on both professional and personal grounds. On the other, he respected him enormously for his surgical talent.
Hench gave Josh an unmistakably disdainful look as Josh took his seat.
"Ah, Josh," Bowman said. "I was just congratulating Dr. Hench on the latest grants he received."
"Received," Josh blurted out. "I believe coerced would be more accurate."
"How dare you." Hench said.
"How dare me? How dare you pull the plug on one of my patients without even consulting me!"
Bowman put his hands in the air. "Gentleman, please, this is not going to get us anywhere."
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Now, Josh, I understand your position, but you must understand, Dr. Hench is the senior surgeon here and with that title, he carries certain liberties, if you will-"
"Like turning off ventilators for the sake of financial gains."
"Hench stood up. "Larry, I don't have to listen to this, I've got patients waiting to see me."
Bowman heaved a sigh. "Perhaps you're right. Dr. Logan and I will continue this discussion. I'll talk to you later."
Bowman closed the door behind Hench and came back to his desk and sat down. "I have the folder on Cynthia Harwell right here, Josh," Bowman said, lifting it up and dropping it back to his desk. "She was
unequivocally
brain dead. Her EEG was flat. Under the circumstances, I would have done the same thing."
"It seems to me," Josh said, "this is a moral issue. He didn't even give the family a chance to come in and say goodbye. And the nurse said Cynthia Harwell was fine the night before."
"What are you suggesting, Dr. Logan?"
"I don't know. I just know this is the third patient that he's had transferred to that ... that ...
glorified deep-freeze,
this week. And frankly, I'm surprised you're not more concerned. You know I'm a coetent surgeon, otherwise I wouldn't be here."
"I hope you're not lecturing me. Let me tell you something," Bowman said, coming out of his chair. "Dr. Hench is not motivated by any evil intent. He believes what he is doing is right and in the process, has raised a phenomenal amount of money for this institute. Which, by the way, pays your salary."
Josh was on the edge of his seat. He could see the veins bulging in Bowman's neck and resisted the urge to unleash a diatribe about medical ethics.
"Dr. Logan," Bowman said slowly. He bore down on Josh. "I will ask Dr. Hench to notify you in the future if any of your patients' status changes. In the meantime, I suggest you try to keep an open mind about the work he is doing here. Obviously you have two different fundamental perspectives. Regardless, I expect you to support him if you wish to continue your affiliation with the Ford Institute. We cannot let our personal feelings guide our direction here. Period. Are we clear on that?"
"Crystal."
For a moment, Josh just sat there with a blank face reflecting his inner uncertainty. The enthusiasm he'd built up over the last four weeks had suddenly been deflated. The suggestion of being fired terrified him more than anything that had occurred. He had planned his entire future around Ford.
"You're a hell of a doctor," Bowman added gently, "but you have a lot to learn. And I'm sorry about Hench. Frankly, I don't even like him, or what he does. But I have this institute to look out for. Remember our first meeting, I believe I conveyed that very sentiment to you."