F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (34 page)

 
          
"Think
you'll be able to come over for dinner tonight?"

           
"I think that can be arranged.
Want me to bring something?"

           
"Just Martha."

 
          
"Martha?"

           
"Yeah. I haven't seen her in a
while."

 
          
"Great."

 
          
"We'll
stay in. I'll cook again. How's broccoli and linguine sound?"

           
"Martha will love it."

           
"Great. Bye." Gin sat
there a moment, staring into space. She hadn't wanted to be alone tonight. With
Gerry and Martha as company, maybe she wouldn't feel so terrible about all
this.

 
          
Gerry
had sounded both excited and tense. Gin felt only nausea. When they found the
implant, Gerry's job would be done. They'd hand Senator Marsden over to the
doctors for its removal and the case to the federal prosecutors.

 
          
But
Gin's involvement would not end. Somewhere along the line she'd have to face
Duncan
.

 
          
She
shuddered. She felt like a rat. He'd saved her life, given her a job in high
school, and now another. He'd been unfailingly generous for as long as she'd
known him, and this was how she repaid him.

 
          
But
how could she let him go on doing what he'd been doing?

 
          
She'd
done the right thing, damn it. Ethically, morally, legally, the right thing.

 
          
So
why did she feel so rotten?

 
          
The
morning's procedures completed,
Duncan
sat in his office, his back to his desk, a
cup of Kenya AA cooling between his hands. He stared through the glass at the
rock garden, idly noting that the red leaves of the dwarf five-finger maple
were beginning to brown. Fall was taking hold. Winter was approaching. A winter
of the heart.

 
          
Gin,
Gin, Gina . . . how much lo you know?

 
          
She
did know something, and suspected more. Any doubts had been laid to rest by the
way she'd stuck like a second skin to that senator of hers.

 
          
Duncan
wondered at his growing animosity toward
Senator Marsden. A decent man by all accounts, even if he was engaged in
extending the domain of the kakistocracy. Was it personal? Could it be he was
feeling piqued by Gin's devotion to someone else, a veritable stranger?

 
          
More
crucial than what Gin knew was the question of what she meant to do about it.
He couldn't get a reading from her this morning . . . she'd been unusually
quiet, distant, rarely looking him in the eyes.

 
          
Something
was up . . .

 
          
The
intercom buzzed. He swiveled and picked up.

 
          
"A
Dr. Melendez on oh-two about Senator Marsden." An electric tingle coursed
through
Duncan
's limbs. Melendez? Who the hell was Dr.
Melendez?

 
          
He
punched 02.

 
          
Melendez,
it turned out, was one of the E.R docs at G.W.U hospital. In a minimally
accented voice he told
Duncan
that Marsden had been involved in an M.V.A this morning and had
mentioned having surgery the preceding day. Melendez just wanted to check out
if he was on any analgesics or other meds.

 
          
"Nothing
stronger than ibuprofen or Tylenol,"
Duncan
said. "Is he hurt?"

           
"Not a scratch. The dressing
on his ear wasn't disturbed in the least."

 
          
"Good."

 
          
"If
you want, I can take a look under the bandage when he gets back from
radiology."

 
          
"I
thought you said there wasn't a scratch."

 
          
"There
isn't. But he's getting an MRI anyway. The feds are making a big deal out of
this, I guess, his being a senator and all."

 
          
"Feds?"
A larval suspicion began worming through his gut.

 
          
"Yeah.
Couple of FBI types lurking about. I don't get it. I mean, he's not hurt so an
MRI isn't medically indicated in the least, but hey, I'm just a doctor."

 
          
"A
lowly health-care provider," Duncan said, trying to keep his tone light.

 
          
"You
got it."

 
          
"Well,
Dr. Melendez, I thank you for the courtesy of the call."

 
          
"Any
time"
Duncan
drummed his fingers on the desk. An MRI? Of
what?

 
          
The
head? Or a leg? He'd been rattled by the mention of the FBI and had forgotten
to ask.

 
          
And
that young man Gin had been seeing lately, wasn't he with the FBI?

 
          
His
fingers stopped drumming and curled into a fist.

 
          
A
little too much to be coincidence.

 
          
He
snatched up the phone. Bob Rubinstein had been with G.W.U radiology for years.
Duncan
gave Barbara the job of tracking him down,
and five minutes later he was on the line.

 
          
After
the obligatory long-time-no-see small talk,
Duncan
broached the subject. "The reason I'm
bothering you, Bob, is that I understand one of my patients, a Senator Marsden,
had an accident this morning and is getting an MRI. I was wondering how he's
doing."

 
          
"Don't
know anything about it. MRI's another section. But I can find out, if you want.
Can you hold?"
Duncan
could and he did, listening to tinny Muzak while trying to quell The
tension rising slowly within him.

 
          
Rubinstein
was back in a couple of minutes.

 
          
"Just
spoke to Sal Vecchiarelli, the chief of MRI. Know him?"

           
"No."

           
"A good man. And is he pissed!
Your senator's all right, but they're doing this MRI on him anyway. It seems,
this is all sub rosa, so don't repeat it, okay?"

           
"Trust me. Not a word."

 
          
"Okay.
Seems the FBI commandeered this time for an MRI of the senator last night. Some
twelve hours before his accident. Looks like they knew he was going to have it.
Pretty strange, wouldn't you say?"

           
Duncan
felt himself going cold. "I certainly
would."

           
"Wonder what they're up
to."

           
"I couldn't imagine. I
operated on his ear yesterday. Are they, ?"

           
"No. It's his leg they're
interested in. His right leg, I believe."
Duncan
closed his eyes and swallowed. His mouth
was parched. He did not want to ask the next question. "Any idea what
they're looking for?"

           
"Some sort of foreign
body." He slammed his fist against his thigh.

 
          
No!
No, dammit! He forced his voice to remain calm, steady.

 
          
"Are
the results in yet?"

           
"Not yet. The senator's in the
tunnel as we speak. Sal's fuming. He just wants to get the study done, give
them a reading, and send them on their way so he can get to patients who really
need the test."

 
          
"Can't
say as I blame him."

           
"Since the senator's your
patient, I can call you back with the reading if you want."

 
          
"No,
thanks, Bob,"
Duncan
said slowly as a weight grew in his chest. "Not necessary." I
already know the reading.

 
          
His
hand trembled as he hung up the receiver. He stared at his fingers. What were
they vibrating with? Rage? Or heartache?

 
          
Gin
knows.

 
          
He'd
guessed she knew something, but until this moment he'd had no idea how much.
Now there was no more guessing. Somehow she'd pieced together the who and the
how, and maybe even the why.

 
          
But
instead of coming to him, she'd gone to the FBI.

 
          
He
wanted to break something, punch a hole in the wall, grab his chair and fling
it through the picture window.

 
          
But
no. He was not a maniac. He was in control. Although, looking at all this from
Gin's perspective, she had to think he was psychotic. A paranoid schiz. He'd no
doubt have thought the same thing if situations were reversed.

 
          
But
he'd have gone to her first. He wouldn't have sneaked off and betrayed her to
the kakistocracy.

 
          
Gin,
my dear sygnet . . . how could you?

 
          
She'd
cut him deeply today. He didn't know if he'd ever forgive her for this. But
that was a question for another time Much more pressing was the question of
what was he going to do now?

FALLOUT

           
GINA WAITED, shuffling BETWEEN THE
DICTATION DESK and the recovery rooms, checking on this morning's post-ops. A
light load today, two rhinoplasties and a thigh liposuction. She wished there
was more to do.

 
          
This
waiting was killing her.

 
          
She
glanced out the window of the main recovery room and noticed
Duncan
's cat was gone. She stopped by Barbara's
desk on her way back.

 
          
"I
don't know if he's coming back or not," Barbara said. "I looked up
and there he was, breezing past me. Didn't even say goodbye."

 
          
"It's
not even
noon
yet."

           
Barbara shrugged. "Maybe he's
got a big weekend planned and wants an early starr."

           
Gin wondered about that.

 
          
Usually
he stayed later on Fridays, going over a list of things he wanted done or set
up before surgery began again Monday morning. Why the change in routine today?
Did he suspect something?

 
          
Got
to stop thinking like that, she told herself, rubbing her upper arms as a chill
of apprehension skittered across her shoulders. Nothing is different today. No
reason to suspect a thing.

 
          
She
would have loved to leave herself, but she was required to stay on duty until
the last patient went home. So she stayed on, doing everything as usual,
behaving as if nothing were wrong. It hadn't been such a tough decision. The
thought of sitting alone in her apartment, waiting for the phone to ring, was hardly
an enticing alternative.

 
          
Lunch
hour came and went without her having a bite, couldn't think of eating a thing,
and Gerry hadn't called. The afternoon dragged on.

 
          
Still
no call. Gin was all caught up on her dictation and paperwork, and was running
out of things to do. She heard Oliver puttering in his lab. She could have
wandered over to help him out, but now, after what she knew, the thought of
even being near those implants repulsed her.

 
          
Better
to try to look busy until Gerry called.

 
          
By
quarter
after three
Gin
still hadn't heard, and she was beginning to worry. They should have had the
reading by midmorning. Why hadn't he called?

 
          
Unless
. . . her chest constricted at the thought . . . unless the MRI showed that the
implant had ruptured in the accident. They'd have had to rush Senator Marsden
into emergency surgery before too much of the TPD leaked into his circulation.

 
          
What
a nightmare scenario. But still, Gerry would have called to tell her.

 
          
She
got up, wandered around upstairs, then came back. She couldn't sit still. What
was happening downtown?

 
          
Finally
she picked up the phone. Enough waiting. Time to make a call of her own. She
dialed the FBI and asked for Gerry. After a moment on hold, the receptionist
came back, "I'm sorry, but Special Agent Canney is not available now.
Would you care to leave a message?" No, she wouldn't.

 
          
Gerry
wasn't back yet? Could that be? She felt her anxiety level rising. The
chart-lined walls around her seemed to lean over her, closing in.

 
          
Keep
calm, she told herself. Everything's under control.

 
          
Quickly
she dialed Senator Marsden's officer. When she asked how he was after the
accident, Doris, the receptionist, said, "Oh, he's fine, Dr, Panzella.
Want to speak to him?" Nonplussed, Gin mumbled something that vaguely
resembled yes. "Gin," the senator said without preamble, "I wish
you could have been with me today. If ever there was an example of the need for
the Guidelines act, it was the fiasco I witnessed this morning."

 
          
"Are
you all right?"

           
"Of course, I'm all right!
There was never anything wrong with me. Yet they insisted on shoving me into
this MRI machine and scanning my legs. Everything happened so fast, I was
squeezed into that tube before I was sure of what was going on and had a chance
to protest."

 
          
"I'm
sure they had good reason,"

           
"They had no reason! Just
trying to pad the bill! I'm curious."

 
          
"Maybe
it was because you're a
U. S.
Senator," she said, trying to mollify
him. This was not what she wanted to talk about. "I'm sure they don't do
that to everyone."

 
          
"Wait
till I get the bill," he said. "Just wait. Then they'll hear from
me."

           
Gin figured he'd have a long, long
wait ''Uh, did they find anything?" she asked and then held her breath.

 
          
'"Find
anything? Of course not! There wasn't anything to find! Wasted half my morning
because of a stupid hit-and run fender bender."

           
Found nothing . . . hadn't they
told him? Why not? What was going on?

 
          
Gin
fumbled through the next minute of conversation, only half listening, replying
with what she was sure were non sequiturs, and then somewhat less than
gracefully ended the conversation.

 
          
Her
mind spinning, she immediately called the FBI again, and again, Gerry was
"not available at this time." She left her name and an urgent message
to call her as soon as possible.

 
          
And
then she was up and moving. She had to get out, get some fresh air.

 
          
She
hurried to her car and turned the heater on high. She was cold, but that wasn't
why she was shivering. Dread settled around her like a tenebrous shroud.

 
          
Somewhere,
somehow, something was terribly wrong.

 
          
The
late afternoon had been endless. She'd taken a shower, fixed a sandwich that
she didn't touch, tried to watch talk shows. She was going nuts.

 
          
When
she hadn't heard from Gerry by
half past six
, Gin called his office again and was told
he was gone for the day.

 
          
Why
hadn't he called? Had he missed her message?

 
          
She
called his home. He answered on the second ring.

 
          
"Gerry.
Thank God!"

 
          
"Gin. Hello." His voice
sounded flat, lifeless.

 
          
"I've
been trying to reach you all day. I've been going crazy here. Didn't you get my
message?"

           
"Going crazy," he said.
"That's a good one." A wave of cold formed at her center and spread
outward. With the cordless phone tight against her ear, she stepped out of her
bedroom and began pacing the front room.

 
          
"Gerry,
what's wrong?"

           
"What's wrong? Gin . . .
" he sighed, then said nothing. The few silent seconds seemed to stretch
into the night falling outside her bay window.

 
          
"Gin,
there was nothing there." It wasn't a complete shock. Some part of her
subconscious must have expected this but hadn't allowed her to face it
directly. Now she had no choice.

 
          
Still,
she couldn't accept it.

 
          
Her
words came in a rush. "There had to be. Gerry, I saw it. Less than an hour
before the surgery he had the trocar and an implant filled with TPD sitting on
his desk ready to go. I left the recovery room for a few minutes, and when I
returned there was a puncture wound on the senator's thigh. It was still
bleeding."

 
          
"We
had that puncture wound checked in the hospital. It was little more than a
scratch."

 
          
"Gerry,
it,"

           
"But it doesn't matter whether
there was a scratch or a puncture in the skin, Gin, the fact remains that there
wasn't anything under the skin. The MRI didn't pick up a single trace of a
foreign body. Not in the right leg, and not in the left leg either, because we
checked both of them. There's nothing under Marsden's skin but fat and muscle
and bone. No implant, no nothing!"

           
"Gerry, that can't be. If it's
not in the senator's leg then it's got to be somewhere else. I know,"

           
"That's the trouble, Gin. You
didn't know. And you don't know now. I thought you did. I never should have,"
He cut himself off.

 
          
"Gerry,
I'm so sorry. I was so sure. Why else would he have that implant out and ready
to go just before the senator's surgery?"

           
"I don't know, Gin." She
sensed a growing edge to his voice. "You tell me. You're the only one who saw
it . . . or that TPD stuff."

           
"Do you think I imagined
it?"

           
"I don't know what to think
anymore. Look, I know I started you on this, but I must have been crazy, and I
made you a little crazy too. I do know that Ketter and I are the big joke
around the Bureau."

 
          
"Oh,
God. I'm so sorry. Look, you sound tired. When you and Martha come over we'll
have some wine and you can relax while I,"

           
"I don't think we'll be able
to make it, Gin. Not tonight." Something in his voice made her sit down in
the nearest chair. She bit her lip.

 
          
"Gerry,
what's wrong?"

           
"Wrong? Everything's wrong,
Gin." She heard the hurt, the disappointment in his voice. "I'm
really not very hungry. And to tell the truth, I don't think I'll be very good
company tonight."

           
Gin felt tears well in her eyes.
"I feel terrible about this, Gerry."

           
"That makes two of us. Maybe
you've been working too hard, stretching yourself too thin. I shouldn't have
got you wired on my little conspiracy theory."

           
She felt as if she'd been punched.
"You do think I imagined all this! Did I imagine all those newspaper
articles?"

           
"I told you, Gin, I don't know
what to think anymore. Maybe this isn't a good time for us to be discussing it.
I know it's not a good time for me. I've got to get dinner for Martha. We'll
talk some other time, okay?"

           
"Talking it out tonight
might,"

           
"The last thing I need is to
talk about Duncan Lathram. Frankly, if I never hear his name again, it will be
too soon. What I need is to cool down and get this day over with."

           
"You're sure?"

           
"I'm truly sorry for begging
off at the last minute like this, but trust me, it's for the best." She
didn't want to hang up but sensed he didn't want to talk anymore.

 
          
"Call
me tomorrow?"

           
"Will do."

 
          
"All
right. Good night."

 
          
"Good
night, Gin." And then she hung up.

 
          
Bewildered,
Gin sat and stared down at
Kalorama Road
.

 
          
"He
thinks I'm crazy," she whispered to the empty apartment. But she'd been so
certain, so damn sure that
Duncan
had stuck an implant into Senator Marsden. She'd seen it lying on his
desk just before the surgery. Why else would it have been there?