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“I think you should have thought of that before you burst in here,” the nurse said triumphantly. She stepped aside so that the sizable men could rush in and take hold of Lynn. Still she struggled, but it was no use. In a moment they had her out in the hallway.

“Get her on a gurney!” Benton shouted to the security people. “I’ll be out in a second with some medication.” He exchanged a glance of incredulity and disgust with Norman. “You’re right! What
a fucking vixen!” he said as he quickly went back to the anesthesia machine. He wanted to get yet another syringe and another vial of midazolam.

“This will go down as my most unique craniotomy,” Norman complained as he began peeling off his contaminated surgical gown and gloves. He looked back over at Michael, who had remained unconscious in the midst of the melee. “Is he all right through this?”

“He’s all right,” Benton said with a wave of his hand. He looked at the monitor. “The guy’s as healthy as an ox.”

Benton drew up the drug, purposefully going a bit overboard on the dosage. He didn’t want any more scenes. While Norman went to scrub again, Benton went out to the gurney in the hallway. The security guards had Lynn pressed down on its surface. All five men had ahold of her. Confident that the men had her adequately restrained, he decided to go the IV route, with enough of a dose that he was confident would keep her in never-never land for hours.

“I refuse any medication,” Lynn cried, trying to be authoritative.

“As if I care,” Benton sneered.

“Is this the woman we were searching for in the Shapiro?” one of the security guards asked. He had a mild but definite Russian accent.

“This is the one,” Benton said as he applied a tourniquet around Lynn’s upper arm and swabbed the crook of her elbow. “Now you realize why it would have been far better if you had nabbed her when you should have.”

From force of habit before making the injection and with the idea of eliminating any air, Benton held up the syringe in front of his face, the needle pointing toward the ceiling. As he did so he caught sight of the double doors at the very end of the hall bursting open and what looked like a line of people surging into the OR suite. Benton moved the syringe out of his line of sight and focused to get a better view. He was mystified. It was a lot of people, a lot more than should be coming into the OR at that time in the morning.

Transfixed and not a little confused, Benton watched as this long line of people approached at a run. He could see that they were mostly men, which was also perplexing because he knew that the majority of the OR staff was female. And stranger still, like the hospital security men who were beside him, holding Lynn down on the gurney, these newcomers were wearing hospital gowns pulled on backward, with the opening in the front, not the back.

As this new group neared, Benton’s confusion began to metamorphose to fear. With each running step he got a glimpse that they were wearing uniforms, again like the hospital security men next to him, but with a difference. Benton could see that the color wasn’t brown, like the color of the uniforms worn by hospital security, but gray like the South Carolina Highway Patrol. Worse still, most had their service revolvers clutched in their hands. . . .

Friday, May 22, 11:20
A.M.

L
ynn Peirce tried to look on the bright side, as it was a bittersweet moment. A beautiful day had dawned, even though a week earlier the forecast had been for possible rain. If it had rained, it would have been a disappointment, since it would have forced Mason-Dixon University School of Medicine to hold its commencement ceremony indoors instead of in the glorious sunshine of the flower-filled medical center quadrangle. After four years of study, perseverance, and hard work, particularly in light of the horrific tribulations of the last month and a half, it seemed appropriate to be outside, in view of the hospital, the basic science building, the clinic building, and the Shapiro Institute just to be reminded that all these institutions were back to fulfilling their originally intended altruistic health care roles.

The investigation involving the mind-boggling malfeasance of Middleton Healthcare and their partner in crime, Sidereal Pharmaceuticals, was still ongoing, and the resultant indictments were continuing. So were the malpractice lawsuits, causing Middleton Healthcare to declare bankruptcy. As such, the scandalous affair
continued to dominate Charleston’s
Post and Courier
newspaper and to be the talk of the town.

Lynn and Michael’s role in uncovering the shocking conspiracy had eventually leaked out. Ever since that fateful morning when she had been able to prevent the sham surgery on Michael, reporters had been trying to interview her, claiming she was a hero.

Lynn did not think of herself as a hero. She couldn’t, not in the face of the terrible personal losses that she had suffered and felt she had helped cause. If anything, she chided herself for not figuring out what was happening sooner than she did. In retrospect, she wished more than anything that she had not involved herself in Carl’s surgery, even though, had she not, the conspiracy would still be ongoing. She also wished she had been stronger and had not involved Michael, considering what happened to him because of her. Now, looking back, she wished she had not sought him out in a kind of Pavlovian reflex immediately after first seeing Carl comatose in the neuro ICU.

At that exact moment, 11:20
A.M.
, May 22, Lynn was standing at the foot of three steps leading up to the temporary stage that had been erected at the far end of the quadrangle lawn. It had a podium and three chairs, one of which was currently occupied by the commencement speaker. Standing behind the podium at the microphone was the dean of students. She was reading the names of the graduates, who had been organized alphabetically for the ceremony. Each time she read the name, the student mounted the steps and was given his or her diploma by the dean of the school. To expedite the process, the five students soon to be called were waiting at the steps so that they would be available instantly. Lynn was next, as Harold Parker, the classmate alphabetically ahead of her, was just being handed his certificate.

Lynn turned to look out over the audience. Hundreds of folding chairs had been placed in rows in front of the stage. All were filled.
There were even people standing at the very rear. From where Lynn was standing, she could see her mother, two sisters, and all four grandparents in the row immediately behind the first two rows reserved for the graduates. When her mother saw her glance in her direction, she waved. Self-consciously, Lynn half waved back. She was pleased they had all come to Charleston to celebrate her achievement, but she knew it was going to be a strain after the ceremony because all the fanfare was magnifying her sense of personal loss. After all that had recently happened, she didn’t feel like celebrating.

“Miss Lynn Peirce,” the dean of students announced. “Academically first in the class.”

Dutifully, Lynn climbed the few steps and approached the dean of the school. There was a smattering of applause and even a few whistles, even though the audience had been asked to hold applause until all students had been given their diplomas.

“Miss Peirce!” Dean English said sternly, far enough away from the microphone so that no one else could hear. Then her face brightened. “Congratulations!” She handed Lynn her diploma, but then held on to it, reminding Lynn of Siri Erikson, who currently was one of the people indicted as a key player in the conspiracy. It had been uncovered that she had been behind perfecting the method of creating human hybridomas with herself as a test subject and then using the technique on dozens upon dozens of Mason-Dixon inpatients and the entire population of the Shapiro Institute.

“There is a proverb,” the dean continued, “about curiosity killing the cat, which I personally have never supported. You have succeeded in justifying my position by totally debunking it. Myself, the school, the Medical Center, and the profession of medicine thank you for what your curiosity uncovered.”

“You’re welcome,” Lynn said, nonplussed. She had not expected the dean would say anything other than “Congratulations,” as she had done with the other students.

The dean continued to hold on to Lynn’s diploma, surprising Lynn further. “I’ve made some calls to colleagues up north on your behalf,” she went on. “Although we will be honored to have you as a resident here, I’ve been told that you might prefer Boston. If that is something you are interested in, please come and see me.” She then smiled and let go of the diploma.

“Thank you,” Lynn said simply, even more taken aback. She started off the stage as she heard the next student’s name called out over the loudspeakers. “Michael Pender. Number two academically and the other twin.”

Again there was a bit of applause and even titters, coming mainly from the fellow graduates in response to the inside joke about he and Lynn being twins, as it was hard for two people to look more different.

Lynn descended the steps on the other side of the stage, and turned around to watch as Michael approached the dean. He looked immense in his graduation gown, and his lock-twists that hadn’t been shaved at his planned craniotomy stuck out from under his cap.

Lynn felt shell-shocked. She could not believe what the dean had just said to her. Could it be true that there was a chance to go to Boston for her residency, and if there was a spot, could she leave Charleston? Initially Carl had been moved out of the Shapiro after the revelations of abuse by Sidereal Pharmaceuticals, but, having shown no change in his status and since the Shapiro was so good at taking care of people in a vegetative state, Carl’s parents were considering moving him back. If that happened, there would be limited visitation for Lynn.

Lynn could not help but smile as she watched Michael with the dean. The dean was holding on to Michael’s diploma and talking with him above and beyond a mere “congratulations,” just as she had done with her, surely thanking him for his role in the exposé. But as she watched, she saw Michael’s eyes dart momentarily in her
direction, making Lynn suspicious that something was being said about her and possibly about Boston. Instead of immediately heading back to her seat, as she had been instructed to do, she waited for Michael. As he approached, diploma in hand, she could tell he looked guilty. She knew him that well.

“Did you say something to her about my wanting to go to Boston?” Lynn asked.

“Who? Me?” Michael asked innocently. “Now, why would I say something like that?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Maybe because it would be the healthiest thing for you to do,” Michael said. He gestured for them to head back to their seats. With Lynn in the lead, they started. “And maybe for me, too.”

Lynn stopped, turned around, and gave Michael a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, despite being in full view of everyone. Lynn had never been demonstrative in public. The gesture resulted in a bit more applause and whistles from their fellow students. By then, everyone in their class knew of the role they had played in bringing to light the unethical and even murderous conspiracy that had engulfed the medical center. Lynn and Michael might not have thought of themselves as heroes, but just about everyone else did.

•   •   •

A
re those the two?” Leonid whispered in Russian as Lynn and Michael took their seats.

“Yes,” snarled Darko. He and Leonid were standing at the very rear of the audience. They were dressed casually but smartly in white dress shirts, leather jackets, and jeans. Neither had been caught up in the wide-ranging dragnet instigated by the FBI while investigating and dismantling the Middleton-Sidereal conspiracy. As hit men, they were off-the-books employees, and none of the co-conspirators wanted to risk implicating them, in fear of their reputation and
certain reprisal. “Why don’t we just do them and forget about it,” Leonid said. Neither man thought of the two students as heroes. Quite the opposite.

“I’d love to, but we have to wait until we hear from Sergei,” Darko said. “Let’s get out of here! I’ve seen enough!”

The two men started off toward the parking garage. Darko had wanted to see the students once more to make sure their faces were engraved in his memory after his brief, violent, but unfortunately inconclusive encounter with them.

“Why haven’t we heard anything from Sergei?” Leonid asked when they climbed into their car. “It’s been more than a month.”

“He has got a lot on his mind,” Darko said. “Especially after Interpol chased him and Boris out of Geneva back to Moscow. We’ll hear from him. I’m sure he is going to want us to do something. Those two students created a hell of a lot of havoc and lost time, making Sidereal temporarily halt biologics production until a new hospital chain partner is found. I can’t imagine he’s going to be willing to let them fly off free as birds. Nor am I . . .”

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