Logan arrived at the hospital ward the following morning a half hour later than he’d originally intended; he hadn’t figured on having to catch a cab to his own place for a change of clothes. Still, it wasn’t yet seven o’clock: if he hurried, he still had time to input the Tilley data before preparing for morning rounds.
Making a sharp right off the lobby, he headed to the small room at the end of the corridor that served as the junior associates’ computer station.
The hospital was silent, not uncommon at this hour. But shortly after he sat down at the terminal, he was aware of someone hurrying down the hallway. A moment later, Lennox, the night nurse, stuck her head in the doorway.
“Excuse me, Doctor.”
He looked up from the terminal.
“I’m afraid we have an emergency.”
“I’m not on duty.”
She nodded briskly. “I know that. But I can’t find Dr. Lukas anywhere.”
“Great.” But instantly he was on his feet. “Who is it?”
“Congressman Marino.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Flying from the room, he reached the congressman’s bed in fifteen seconds. Though it had been less than three days since he’d last seen him, the deterioration was dramatic. Marino was comatose, his color ashen, his breathing agonal, the shallow, raspy breaths coming no more than once every seven or eight seconds. Had he been less familiar with the sudden turns for the worse so common among advanced cancer patients, Logan wouldn’t have believed it.
Logan leaned close and spoke softly. “Congressman? Congressman Marino?”
No response. Just another labored breath passing over a parched throat, what used to be known as a death rattle.
Logan looked up at the nurse. “He’s DNR, right?” Code for “Do Not Rescusitate.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Not that it mattered; he was beyond that.
“Has the family been contacted?”
She shook her head.
“Well, do it. Now.”
As she moved briskly off, he placed his index finger on the patient’s carotid artery. The pulse was barely detectable.
Thanks a lot, Lukas, he reflected miserably. Now guess who’s gonna have to take shit for this?
But, looking down at the dying man’s face, he was suddenly ashamed. Jesus, were these his priorities? Look what this place was doing to him!
In silent contrition, he took Marino’s cool hand in his own and, staring out the window at the early morning mist, held it till he heard the nurse returning.
“They’re on their way,” she offered. “I also reached his administrative assistant at home.” She hesitated. “Is he gone?”
Logan nodded. “A couple of minutes ago.”
“Anything you want me to do?”
“Just stay here. I’m gonna go find Lukas!”
“Give her an earful for me.”
He had a pretty good idea where she might be. Late at night, when junior associates wanted to make themselves other than readily available, they often retreated to a tiny room on the other side of the building, near the ventilation ducts; formerly an on-call room, it still contained a cot. He’d spent time there himself—but never without letting someone know where he was going.
The room was at the end of a long hall, but approaching he saw a crack of light beneath the door. His knock was intentionally sharp.
“Lukas? Hey, you damn slacker, you in there?”
He turned the knob and slowly pushed it open. “Hey, I have some news for—”
The sight was so completely unexpected, it took him an instant to grasp its meaning. She was hanging limply from an overhead pipe by a length of plastic intravenous tubing.
But now he clicked onto automatic pilot, years of training kicking in.
Christ, I’ve gotta resuscitate her!
Fumbling in his breast pocket for his bandage scissors, he cut the tubing at the nape of her neck and gently lowered her to the floor. No carotid pulse; the skin was far cooler to the touch than the body he’d felt only minutes before.
C’mon, Lukas, you bitch, don’t do this to me!
Pinching her nose, he took a deep breath and placed his open mouth upon hers. There was no taste, only a sudden, sickening sensation of cold, like kissing half-thawed meat.
This time he said it aloud. “Come on, Lukas! Come ON!”
He gave her chest a sharp thump; then began repeatedly thrusting an open palm onto her sternum, compressing her heart with his full body weight.
Desperately, he lunged for the phone, punching in the emergency code—5-0-5-0. “We got a code blue in room two twelve!”
Within moments, people started rushing in: the on-call anesthesiologist, thrusting an endotracheal tube down her throat; two nurses with the EKG machine; the rest of the code team.
But they were only going through the motions.
Only now did Logan notice the line of thick computer printouts leading from the spot beneath which the body had been suspended; that was how she’d done it, stood on the stacked printouts and kicked them out from under her.
It took ten minutes before a couple of men from the ACF’s private security force appeared on the scene, followed closely by local police.
Pad in hand, one uniformed young man, strapping and blond, took Logan’s statement.
When they finished, Logan was told he was free to go. Wearily, he began toward the door. But, sensing someone watching him, he stopped and turned.
Stillman.
“It’s a sad thing,” Stillman observed, breaking the silence.
Logan nodded gravely.
“And I’m sure it was terrible for you. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t understand it,” said Logan softly. “Why would she have done something like this?”
“People do strange things. We’re all under a lot of pressure here.”
“I thought I knew her. I keep wondering if there’s something I should have picked up on.”
“Yes, well”—he motioned toward the door—“there’s no sense hanging around here. It’s still a workday.”
Logan remained rooted to the spot. “I just can’t understand it,” he repeated.
“Dammit, Logan,” Stillman erupted in sudden exasperation, “enough hearts and flowers.”
The younger man stared at him, bewildered.
“I just can’t understand it,” parroted Stillman sarcastically. “You think you’ve had it hard this morning? I’ve just come from seeing Congressman Marino’s family—that was hard.” He paused. “Learn this, Logan: What happens to some junior associate means squat. It’s the Foundation that counts.”
Logan hesitated. He couldn’t mean it the way it sounded. “I guess she was under a lot of stress,” he said.
“Stress? Dr. Lukas’s problem was guts. She fucked up and she couldn’t face the music.”
Logan was aghast. It had of course crossed his mind that the possibility of being scapegoated for Marino’s death was what had pushed Lukas over the edge—but he’d dismissed the thought. “I don’t think there’s much she could’ve done for him,” he replied, with a mildness even he recognized as repugnant.
“You’re right, she was hardly the most creative doctor around here.”
Before them, the horrific scene was nearing its conclusion; the body, placed on a gurney and swathed in sheets, was being strapped into place.
“I don’t think that’s fair, sir. It’s a terrible loss. She was an excellent physician and a good person.”
Unexpectedly, Stillman flashed a small, indulgent smile. “A terrible loss? Let’s not exaggerate, Logan. She wasn’t going anywhere.”
Logan didn’t connect with Sabrina until that evening, nearly twelve hours later. This was by prearrangement; they’d decided to keep what had happened between them to themselves; dealing with one another on the ACF grounds, if at all, with strict professional detachment. It was a precaution born of intimate knowledge of the place—surely, someone would find a way to use it against them.
But for a while, after this day’s ghastly events, it was as if the previous evening hadn’t happened at all.
“It is late, no?” she demurred, when Logan called to ask if he could stop by.
He hesitated—it was barely nine. “Well … I just wanted to talk. I’m sorry.”
“Logan, listen to me. Please do not take what happened last night so seriously. We are colleagues, that’s fine. But I do not wish to be the person you call up late at night.”
“No problem,” he replied dully. “Of course.” Huh? In the past, those had always been his lines. “Look, maybe we’ll talk some other time.”
She sighed deeply. “But you are right, it has been a terrible day. All day long everyone talks about it, and no one really says anything.”
At his pay phone, Logan felt a surge of hope. “That’s because no one knew how to react. No one’s been through anything like this before.”
“No, I think it was something else. Everyone was sad—but were afraid to let the senior people see. Especially Larsen and Stillman.”
Instantly, he knew she was right. “Well, screw ’em,” he replied, with sudden bravura, “we’re not gonna let that affect our project.”
There was a long silence. “Tell me, Logan, how long will it take you to come here?”
As soon as she closed the door behind him, she gave him a passionate kiss.
He pulled back in surprise. “I guess I said something you wanted to hear.”
She pointed to a chair. “First we must talk. The lovemaking is for after.”
“You’re not an easy person to figure out, Sabrina, you know that?”
Ignoring this, she took the seat opposite and leaned intently forward. “You knew her well, this Lukas?”
“Not really. You?”
“No. I don’t think she liked me very much.”
“She did have that way about her, didn’t she?”
“Tell me everything that happened. All the details.”
He took a deep breath and did so.
After taking it in, she sat expressionless for a full fifteen seconds. “You didn’t see a note?” she asked finally.
He shook his head. “My guess is it was spontaneous. She was already in trouble with the brass—and with Marino about to die on her, it must’ve felt like a career killer. You know as much as I do about clinical depression.”
“Do you know Rachel Meigs?”
Rachel Meigs was another junior associate, a mousy, studious type out of San Francisco General. Logan shrugged. “She seems nice enough.”
“You see, Logan, this is the problem with being a man. Rachel, she was best friends with Barbara Lukas. And today she talked to me—just because I am a woman.”
“And …?”
“She went into details. All the things they were doing to Lukas. How every day in some way they insulted her, belittled her. Just yesterday, Kratsas told her she was not good enough even to be a candy striper.”
“I know, they were making her life a living hell.”
“No, it is more than that. Why did they do this to her?”
He shrugged. “Let’s face it, Lukas was no one’s idea of a charmboat. Call it chemistry. She rubbed them the wrong way.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No, what you must see is the sickness at this place, Logan. It is pathological. Even more than I realized. What you said on the telephone …” She paused. “I love your passion for this work, it’s the same as mine. But if we go ahead—”
“If?”
“—we must understand how dangerous these people can be.”
“Of course,” he said blithely. “Obviously.” He gave a consoling smile. “But just let’s not get paranoid about it.”
“This is wrong, we must become paranoid. And you especially, Logan.”
“Oh? Why’s that.”
“Because you like to trust. And you care very much about pleasing people.”
This was starting to get on his nerves. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Sabrina.”
She rose to her feet and extended her hand. “Come.”
Instantly, he was beside her. Drawing her toward him, he smiled. “All right, all right, I’ll be careful.”
“This is not something to laugh about, Logan. Science you know well—but people, I think, hardly at all.”