Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

"All set," he said, his eyes dancing nervously, his hands trembling slightly-hands usually as steady as the steel he held. Yes, another man entirely.

He leaned over the patient, his dark eyes trained on her.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered the blade. "Her name is Sharon," he said to Pamela. "Thank you, Sharon."

This was part of his ritual-every donor had a name, every donor was thanked for the contribution about to be made. He insisted on this. "Thank you, Sharon," Pamela echoed in an unsteady voice that betrayed her inner thoughts and caused Tegg to glance up at her briefly. But not for long. Only an instant. The sharp blade came in contact with the woman's skin. The first drop of her blood seeped from the incision. Pamela lifted a sponge. There was work to do.

As Elden Tegg began the invasive surgery for the kidney harvest, thoughts swarmed inside his head like angry bees. The problem lay in the fact that Pamela would never approve of a heart procurement-the procedure for which this woman had been prepped prior to Pamela's intrusion. There was no predicting what she might do if she found out about it, hence the charade-the lovemaking, the distraction, the ruse that he had forgotten to prep him! — and now an unplanned kidney harvest. Worse, Maybeck was due shortly, hopefully to inform Tegg that Wong Kei's wife had been successfully admitted to the Vancouver hospital, and then to act as courier for both the harvested heart and the other organs once the various procedures were completed. A single kidney harvest wouldn't interfere with any of that-this donor wouldn't need any kidneys where she was going, that was all part of Tegg's plan-but Pamela's curiosity was sure to peak if she encountered Maybeck. Maybeck delivered donors, and he returned them to the streets, but this was too soon after surgery for a pickup; she would have to wonder what he was doing here this time of night. Pamela Chase was no idiot; she would figure this out in minutes. And then what?

There was one possible excuse, he realized, and he congratulated himself for thinking of it. On rare occasions they performed a "private" harvest, selling an organ directly to a friend of Tegg's, a transplant surgeon in Vancouver-as opposed to shipping it off to the Third World market. Patients on the low end of transplant waiting lists became desperate, and this surgeon in Vancouver-along with Tegg was willing to do something about it. For a fee. This heart was a "private" arranged through the same man. Although Pamela had previously delivered the "privates," there had been talk recently that perhaps Maybeck should do it, and this provided Tegg his out.

He paid particular attention to his work, for he continued to see this woman's body as a treasure trove, a chalice from which to draw life itself. Several lives. One begets many: it was almost poetic! He felt a small twitch in his neck but paid it no mind-just nerves.

He worked more quickly than usual, and Pamela did a good job of keeping up, of anticipating his every need. He wanted this finished. He wanted the kidney packed, readied for travel, and Pamela on her way before Maybeck's arrival. if Maybeck said the wrong thing, he could screw this all up. Tegg glanced up and looked around the room to rest his eyes. The plastic walls and ceiling gave the room a strange metallic sheen, reflecting the bright light like dulled mirrors. Again, the muscles in his neck and shoulder twitched; again, he fought it off.

"Doctor?" she asked. He had actually blanked out for a minute, caught up more in his thoughts than his actions. His eye rest had gone on a little too long. He returned to his work, talking as he did. "Clamping the renal artery. Renal vein." He prepared to sever both. "Scalpel." She slapped it into his gloved hand before he completed the first syllable. She snatched it back just as quickly, and he knew she had spotted a possible problem. It was a tangled mess in here. He wormed his fingers around the various veins and arteries, double-checking to make sure his clamps were properly placed. What had she seen that he might have missed? Together they had successfully performed over thirty such human kidney harvests, and yet they treated each as if it were their first. He carefully followed the clamped artery to its source, confirming it was the renal artery and not the superior mesenteric, which for a moment she had obviously feared it might be. Satisfied, he reestablished his clamp and found the scalpel in his hand once again. He glanced into her eyes. Even with a mask covering most of her face, he could tell she was smiling. She enjoyed this precision teamwork as much as he. Too bad she would miss the heart. "Tying off," he announced. He cut both vessels and tied them securely, testing first the vein-by carefully removing the hemostat-and then the artery. This artery carried over forty-five percent of the body's blood to the kidney. The pressure to the suturc was significant. They both studied the two closures, alert for any leakage. Pamela reached in and sponged thoroughly, Tegg's dexterous fingers at the ready. "Looks fine," he declared, and went about severing the lesser vessels. Pamela washed the area in a steady stream of saline and antibiotic as Tegg continued his work. Several minutes passed. "Forehead," he warned. She mopped some perspiration from his brow. This tiny room lacked adequate ventilation, sealed in plastic as it was, and the intense heat from the light overheated it quickly. "You know," she commented, "the heat is a lot more tolerable like this," referring to her nudity under the smock. "I just bet it is," he said, close to having the kidney free and clear. "It was nice."

"What we just did will carry more significance, mean more, if it is not discussed."

"Message received."

"I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did." She added, "I'll live."

He glanced at her again. He didn't like to see her angry at him like this; he had come to expect that look of reverence in her eyes. He had come to like it. "Here we are," he announced, as he slowly extracted the cherished organ from the retracted incision, cradling it in his cupped hands like a newborn infant. "Saline!" he commanded.

She presented the chilled stainless container to him. The clamped, pink organ sank down into the cool water. She added some saline to completely cover it and returned the dish to the bucket of ice where it had been waiting. "Let's close," he said, pleased with their success. The organ in that dish represented a saved human life, and it was the product of the work of his hands. No such feeling of accomplishment could ever be properly explained, he thought, still looking at it. No one, not even Pamela, could fully understand the magnitude of his happiness at such moments.

They returned to their teamwork, four hands working as if controlled by a single brain. And maybe they were, he thought in a moment of conceit. Maybe this woman at his side was a far greater part of him than either of them understood. It had begun to feel that way of late. And why not? What was wrong with that?

As they closed the various levels of muscle and tissue he instructed, "There's a UNOS container in the back room." This transplant container, one of many stolen by Maybeck from the trash bins of the University Hospital, had been intended for the heart. It was a good size for the heart, slightly smaller than the ones they normally used for the kidneys. "Make sure you triple-bag the organ-use Viospan, as always-check for leaks, don't forget and don't scrimp on the ice! We received a complaint the last time!"

"I always check the ice!" she protested. "It was the cabin temperature. It wasn't us. There's nothing we can do about some old pilot who insists on flying in a sauna."

"Just make sure."

"I will. You know I will." She then inquired, "What flight am I on?"

Tegg spoke quickly. "This is a private. Maybeck's delivering."