By My Hands (32 page)

Through her rearview mirror Rachel noticed a dark
sedan weaving across the lanes of traffic. The car was noticeable,
not only because of its erratic course, but because a large dent
that creased the right front fender. The right front headlight was
also missing. Rachel wondered how it felt to have a brand-new car
damaged knowing that you still had five years to pay on it. “I
guess that’s what insurance is for.”

Taking the Genesee Street turnoff she pulled from
the freeway, the mystery car followed. Rachel drove slowly over the
side street as she tried to push her anxiety about Morgan from her
mind. She had decided that a direct, yet non-confrontational,
approach would be the best course of action. If he didn’t want her
around, she would leave without another word.

A movement in the rearview mirror caught her eye. It
was the dark sedan. The driver was tailgating dangerously close to
Rachel’s car.

“Idiot! What’s the matter, the dent you’ve got isn’t
big enough?” Rachel accelerated and watched as the car fell behind.
Immediately the sedan sped up.

“I don’t need this.” At the first opportunity she
turned right. “If you want the road that bad, then you can have
it.”

The car followed. Rachel’s heart beat faster. “What
is this? I’m in no mood for games.”

Again she accelerated, and again the car did the
same. Rachel took the next possible right and the car followed. Her
pulse raced and her mind filled with frightening thoughts: A
drive-by shooting? An abduction? Suddenly, Rachel remembered the
Loraynes, Haileys, and Langfords. Was someone after her now?

“All right, think this through. First, let’s see if
he really is following me.” Rachel took a sharp left turn, the car
followed. Then she took another turn, but this time the sedan drove
past the intersection.

Rachel slowly drove through several more
intersections to see if the pursuer would double back and begin the
chase again. After each intersection she expected to see the
damaged sedan, but it never returned.

“Rachel, much more of this paranoia and you’ll need
professional help.” After a moment she laughed nervously. “You’re
even talking to yourself.”

Rachel parked in the far end of the doctor’s lot and
walked to the rear entrance of the hospital. Once inside, she went
directly to her office and, suppressing her anxiety, called
Morgan’s extension. She was connected with Mary Rivers.

“Good morning, Dr. Tremaine.” Mary sounded
cheerful.

“Good morning. Is Dr. Morgan in, please?”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Tremaine, but he hasn’t arrived yet.
May I take a message?”

“I’m in the hospital and need to speak to him for a
moment When he has time, would you page me?”

“Certainly. Anything else?”

“No.” Rachel hung up and looked around her tiny
office. There was little for her to do now but wait. Her anxiety
over seeing Dr. Morgan again filled her with nervous energy; the
last thing she wanted to do was sit around the office. But, what to
do?

After a moment’s thought Rachel decided to wait in
the surgical theater. The observation area had recently been
renovated. It looked very much like it had before, with its three
rows of padded movie theater seats and its glass wall overlooking
the operating room. However, a new video system had been installed
that allowed the observers to see in far more detail than
previously possible.

Rachel was lucky—a surgery was in progress. Two
other doctors were in the room watching the video monitors
suspended from the ceiling. It took only a moment for Rachel to
realize what was going on. In the operating room several people
stood around the chest of the patient, each with his head bowed,
intent on what he was doing. Rachel took a seat in the last row and
watched the monitor as the lead surgeon slowly removed the
patient’s heart from his chest cavity and set it in a stainless
steel bowl. Rachel had never seen a heart transplant before; all
transplant surgeries were sent to hospitals that specialized in the
field, usually in the San Francisco area. She wished for a moment
that she had chosen cardiology as her specialty. Rachel watched in
awe at the surgeon’s easy and fluid movements. He seemed nonchalant
at having just removed a person’s heart.

Once again Rachel was filled with the thrill of
surgery: the precision, the technology, the very thought of
repairing the biological machine called the body. She realized how
much she had missed surgery over the last few weeks.

Tuesday, March 31, 1992; 11:00
A.M.

THE BUZZING OF THE INTERCOM startled Adam. He was
trying to prepare himself for the
Milt Phillips Show
. He
wasn’t sure what they expected of him, so meaningful study was
difficult; the show could go in many directions. The topic of
modern-day miracles was just a starting point; the show would
probably deviate from there. Milt Phillips prided himself in
playing the instigator—a role he played very well.

“Yes, Fannie?”

“A Mr. Martin St. James is on the phone for
you.”

“Thanks.” Picking up the receiver, Adam said,
“Martin, I was hoping I’d hear from you soon.”

“Well, I’ve been busy, but I’ve got something you
might be interested in.”

“Great. What is it?” Adam was enthusiastic.

“Can’t say over the phone.” Martin’s tone was
serious. “When can you stop by?”

“Is today okay? I’ve got to be in the L.A. area
tomorrow.”

“The sooner the better. Bring Dr. Tremaine too.”

Adam looked at his Day-Timer notebook. “My calendar
is free all afternoon. How about 2:00?”

“I’ll be here.”

Adam had an uneasy feeling as he hung up. What had
Martin found? Looking at his watch, he saw that it was 11 o’clock.
Maybe he could catch Rachel at the hospital, take her to lunch, and
then to Martin’s. Dialing the hospital, he asked for Rachel.

“She’s not in her office,” the receptionist said.
“Shall I page her?”

“No,” said Adam. “I’ll just stop by. If you talk to
her though, would you please tell her that Adam Bridger is on his
way over?” The hospital operator said she would, and Adam hung
up.

“Fannie,” Adam said as he walked through the door
that joined their offices. “I’m going to be gone for the
afternoon.”

“That must have been an important call,” Fannie
said.

“I don’t know how important, yet.”

“Martin St. James,” Fannie said quizzically. “Is he
related to Anna St. James?”

“The very one.”

“Why haven’t I seen him at church?” Fannie
asked.

“Lord willing, you will someday.”

“Oh, you mean he’s not a believer? That’s too bad.
If he’s related to Anna, you’d think that he would be a church
person.” Adam smiled at Fannie. “I’m sure Anna would appreciate
your prayers for him.”

“I thought I might find you here.”

Rachel jumped. She had been so engrossed in the
heart surgery going on in the OR below her that she had not noticed
Dr. Morgan enter the observation deck and sit next to her. “I
didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I was more entranced than I
realized.” Morgan’s unexpected arrival made Rachel’s heart
race.

“And well you should be,” Morgan said casually.
“That’s Dr. Yuri Sarlov down there.”

“
The
Dr. Sarlov?” Rachel said with amazement.
“Of Boston General?”

“The very one.” Morgan smiled. “He came on staff
here last week. He’s been working with our cardiac department for
months, flying in every few weeks. He’s setting up a heart
transplant team here.”

“I hadn’t heard.” Rachel was still amazed. A pioneer
in the field, Dr. Sarlov was considered the most successful and
brilliant heart surgeon in the world.

“We’ve been keeping it under wraps. We weren’t sure
we would be able to get him. He was well established in Boston. You
can’t get a man like that with money.”

“So how did you get him to come here?” Rachel’s eyes
were fixed on the video monitor.

“I don’t want to reveal too many secrets,” Morgan
said. “But I can tell you this: we offered him a free hand in
setting up the program, and as much research time as he wants. We
also have to share him with the UCSD medical school. That’s where
his lab will be.” Morgan sounded like a proud father. “I don’t mind
telling you this whole thing is costing a bundle.”

“I can imagine.”

“We almost lost him when this Healer thing began.”
Rachel turned and looked at Morgan. In the dim light he looked
weary. “He said he didn’t want to be associated with a hospital
that had ‘mystic’ overtones. I was able to convince him that the
matter would be cleared up soon.”

One of the other doctors in the observation deck
turned and said pointedly, “Do you mind? We’re trying to
concentrate. If you want to talk, then . . .” The doctor stopped
mid-sentence when he recognized Dr. Morgan. “Oh, sorry, Dr. Morgan,
I didn’t know it was you.”

“Actually you’re right, Doctor.” Then to Rachel he
said, “Let’s go where we won’t be so distracting.”

Exiting the observation deck, they walked slowly
down the hall.

“Did you want to go to your officer Rachel
asked.

“No. The last place I want to be is my office. Let’s
just walk.” After a moment’s silence Morgan continued, “This is not
easy for me to say, Dr. Tremaine, so I would appreciate it if you’d
allow me to finish without interruption.”

Rachel’s stomach tighten. It sounded like one of
those things employers say to employees just before they fire
them.

“Certainly,” Rachel said, attempting to sound
confident.

“Our last meeting was neither productive, nor
professional. Such confrontations should not be allowed to go on in
a hospital. As you’ve probably noticed I value team effort very
highly. That team effort has not been present in our
investigation.”

Morgan paused as they passed a nurses station. Once
out of hearing range he resumed: “This problem of ours, and by that
I mean the mysterious healings, must be solved soon. The number of
people in our lobby is increasing daily. There’s no more room for
them. Many are refusing to eat unless we admit them. We’ve hired
extra security, put up additional surveillance equipment, and still
the Healer slips by us. The media is hounding us day in and day
out. One station even sent a reporter to spend the night in the
lobby, to see how we are treating the unadmitted ill. Other
hospitals are losing money and blaming us. The editorial pages of
the city’s newspapers are filled with opinions. Our board of
directors is pressuring me to solve the problem, but not one of
them can suggest a means of doing so.”

Morgan paused again as two nurses walked by. Rachel
had not realized the pressure Morgan was under.

“Our in-patients are giving us trouble now as well,”
Morgan continued. “Several have put up impassioned signs on their
doors begging the Healer to pick them. Many are refusing
medications that make them sleepy, because they’re afraid the
Healer won’t stop by if they’re asleep. The more paranoid patients
are afraid that if we catch him, we will hide him somewhere so that
we won’t lose money.” Morgan ran his fingers through his silver
hair. Then, stopping by some windows that overlooked Interstate
805, he turned and faced Rachel.

“That’s why I’m glad I found you today, and why I
need to say what I’m about to say.”

Here it comes
.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan said, “I’m sorry for
the scene I made in my office yesterday. I let the pressure get to
me. What I said was uncalled for, and certainly unprofessional. I
hope you will forgive me. I also hope that you will stay on staff
here. It would be a great loss to lose a surgeon of your skill and
dedication.”

Rachel’s jaw dropped; receiving an apology instead
of being dismissed left her dumbfounded.

“Are you all right, Dr. Tremaine?”

“Yes.” Rachel cleared her throat. “Yes, of course.
And I too want to apologize.”

“Good,” Morgan smiled broadly. “Now that is taken
care of, let’s get back to work, shall we?”

“Absolutely,” Rachel said, shaking Dr. Morgan’s
hand. “Absolutely.”

ADAM BLINKED IN DISBELIEF at the sight before him.
Standing with his back to the information desk, Adam estimated that
300 people were crammed into the lobby. The hospital had set up one
corner of the lobby as a makeshift hospital wing. Gurneys served as
beds. Two nurses roamed the lobby treating patients the best they
could. Many refused treatment in hopes that the Healer would be
especially moved by their plight.

The lobby chairs were filled with those whose
illness did not confine them to bed. Many others lay on the floor.
One man, thin and frail looking, held a hand-lettered sign that
simply read, “PLEASE.” A pathway through the crowds had been
cordoned off. The unadmitted ill were required to stay behind the
nylon ropes in order to allow foot traffic through.

“She’s on the phone now, sir,” the woman behind the
information desk said. Adam had Rachel paged when he couldn’t reach
her on her office phone.

Taking the phone, Adam said, “Rachel? Good. Martin
has called and he wants to see us. I thought we might catch a bite
to eat and then head to his place.”

“What kind of information does he have?” Rachel
asked.

“He wouldn’t say. He just asked us to come
over.”

“Do you think it’s important?”

“If I know Martin, it is. How about it?”

“All right,” Rachel said. “Meet me at the second
floor doctor’s lounge; you can get some coffee there. I’ll be with
you in a few minutes.”

The doctor’s lounge was the same one where Adam had
met Rachel, when she questioned him about David Lorayne. That event
seemed like months ago, when in reality it had only been days. The
lounge was empty.