Michael Palmer - Extreme Measures

He raced to the clinic and shut down the siren.

Then he brought out a detailed topographical map of the area and set it out for Pike and Fairweather to study.

"Who is he?" Pike asked.

"No one who could have done this on purpose," Barber responded angrily.

"It was an accident. A goddam fluke."

John Fairweather shook his head. "No fluke," he said.

"That man was too doped up to find his way out of a paper bag.

Someone had to have helped him."

"Hey, don't look at me," Pike said.

"Well, did you watch him swallow his pill like you were supposed to?"

Barber demanded. "Did you?"

"I… I thought I did," was all Pike could say.

Barber just cursed.

"He has fifteen, sixteen mile of desert to cross before he reach a road," Fairweather said. "Hard desert on days like this."

"Do you think he could make it?" Barber asked.

"Doubtful. Very doubtful."

"Well, I want you to find him, dammit." Barber was nearly screaming now.

"I can't believe this. I just can't believe this."

Two miles southwest of Chahty, the man named Bob kicked off a branch of a small cactus, crushed it with a stone, and rubbed some of the sweet nectar within it over his lips. yen when confronted with Eric's near certainty that the tattoo identified Thomas Jordan as Scott, Laura could not shake the hope-and the belief-that her brother was alive. She lay awake for much of the night, creating scenarios that would fit the facts as they knew them.

In the end, though, the feasibility of each one of them collapsed beneath the reality that somehow both Eric and the nurse at White Memorial would have to have been mistaken.

Eventually, with the help of a third or fourth trip through the same news on CNN, she managed to slip into a fitful half-sleep. She awoke after just an hour, walked to the window, and gazed out at the night-lit city. Then suddenly, without screaming, she was crying; sobbing in the racking, merciless way she hadn't since two days after her parents' funeral-the moment when the reality of their deaths first truly sank in.

And she knew, as she braced herself on the window ledge to keep from crumpling down, that she was grieving-not oray for Scott and whatever horrible things he had been through, but for herself; for the connections she had walked away from in her life, or broken before they could grow strong; for the chances she had chosen not to take; for the isolation she had imposed on herself, waiting until… until what?

Thirty years of living, and what did she have to show for it?

What impact had she made?

She called Eric to invite him over for breakfast, half believing that their evening together had been a dream She was prepared for rejection, prepared for him to tell her he had business to attend to at the hospital, that she-would have to face the day alone.

And for a moment as they talked on the phone he seemed about to do just that. She was afraid she had once again given out the keep-your-distance message so many men over the years had accused her of sending. Then, as if a taut cord had snapped, the uncertainty vanished from Eric's voice. Suddenly he sounded anxious to see her.

She put on a pair of jeans and a Shaker-krait sweater, and hurried to a nearby Store 24 for juice, muffins, and two cups of coffee. She was crossing the lobby of the hotel, heading back to her room, when the desk clerk called her over and handed her an envelope with her name and HOTEL CARLISLE Carefully printed on the outside. She waited until she was settled on her bed to open it.

Miss Enders I saw your poster and the offer of a reward. I know your brother, and I knorw a lot about him.

He was working freight around Warehouse 18 on the East Boston docks.

Although I don't know what happened to him, there are people working there who do. Ask around, and be persistent. They will try to lie to you. I will be watching for you, and will make myself known to you when I feel it is right to do so. Your brother is a good man.

I hope he's all right.

Laura was preparing to go and question the desk clerk about the note when Eric rang her from the lobby. She took the elevator down, pleased to sense herself so excited to see him again. He greeted her with an uncertain kiss on the cheek. She held him tightly.

Eric glanced back at the empty lobby and then kissed her again, this time with much less inhibition.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I am now. At least I'm better. The things we learned last night about Scott didn't really sink in until about four this morning. The hours since then have been a little rocky."

"I understand. Well, for what it's worth, I couldn't wait to see you again."

"You know, at one point, while we were talking on the phone, I thought you were going to beg off."

"I almost did. I was on the verge of getting myself into a situation at the hospital that probably isn't right.

Some of the things you said to me last night helped me decide to get out of it before I drifted in over my — head.

"In that case I'm glad I said them."

Eric sighed. "Unfortunately," he said, "a byproduct of my refusal win be that I won't get that promotion."

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated for a time and then briefly recounted his contacts with Caduceus, and his decision first to join their efforts in exchange for the promotion, and then to let the whole business go.

"I think you did the right thing," she said after a time. "The whole idea sounds a little scary."

"Actually, doctors use unauthorized therapies more than you might think-a drug or piece of equipment that's approved for one purpose, but that theory or their own testing has convinced them is effective for another. I did it myself once."

Thoughts of the pericardial laser immediately conjured the scene at the bedside of Thomas Jordan.

And in that moment Eric knew that for as long as he practiced medicine, he would never again knowingly risk a patient's life by using an unapproved therapy.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you've made the right decisionyen at the price you might have to pay.

"I hope so. You said last night that the worst thing that can happen if I don't get what I want is that I get something else instead.

I just hope that whatever that something turns out to be carries a paycheck."

"That is a definite not-to-worry," she said. "We need doctors badly in the Islands, and I'd love the chance to teach you to dive.

How's that for a place to start?" — "You mean I — can be a doctor and actually do something else at the same time?"

She smiled and kissed him lightly.

"Lots of other things," she said. "Listen, I've got some coffee that's getting cold up in the room, but I wanted to speak with the desk clerk first. Look what he handed me a few minutes ago."

Eric read the note.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

"That's what I wanted to find out."

The desk clerk, a thin, wiry Iranian, looked at the envelope, then shrugged and handed it back.

"I couldn't tell you, ma'am," he said. "I came on at six-thirty, and it was right here. Perhaps the night clerk knows something."

"Could you call him?" Laura asked. "I could, but he's got a day job and I don't have any way to reach him. Why don't you check with him tonight?"

"All right," she said.

Eric stepped forward and placed a ten in view on the counter.

"We'd love it if you could try," he said.

The man hesitated and then took the bill.

"No guarantees," he said.

"You'd think by now I would have learned," Laura said as the man headed to the back room.

"Actually, I never did that before," Eric replied.

Two minutes later the clerk was back.

"Malik says the note was dropped off by a guy with a tan jacket on.

Forty or so, dark hair. He says he's seen him hanging around the hotel lately, but he doesn't know who he is."