Ken McClure - Donor

‘I’ll pass that on. Sounds like you’re having a busy time.’

‘Just get on to it right away.’

‘Will do.’

Dunbar got back in the Land-Rover and headed for Medic Ecosse as fast as he could. He couldn’t help but imagine Amanda lying on the operating table, being ever so precisely and carefully murdered.

As he got to within a mile of the hospital he was passed by a speeding police car on a long downhill section of the road. He snatched the opportunity and put his foot to the floor to take advantage of the swathe it was cutting through traffic. This was fine going downhill and even on the following straight section once his speed had built up, but the Land-Rover wasn’t built for cornering like the police car. Every sharp turn was a white-knuckle ride on two wheels before clattering back down on to four again.

As the two vehicles screeched to a halt in the street outside the hospital car park, Dunbar allowed himself to slump forward momentarily on to the steering wheel in deference to mental exhaustion. He needed a moment to calm himself and regain composure. Both policemen from the car in front were at his doors before he knew it.

‘What the hell d’you think you were doing back there?’ demanded one. ‘Bloody idiot! Get out the vehicle.’

‘I’m Steven Dunbar,’ replied Dunbar. ‘You’re here to assist me.’

The two men exchanged uncertain glances and looked at Dunbar’s appearance and clothing with some suspicion.

‘Get me whoever’s in charge,’ snapped Dunbar, putting an end to their uncertainty. ‘Now!’

He saw Clive Turner and Lisa coming to meet him. They were joined, before they reached him, by a police superintendent.

‘Look at the state of you,’ said Lisa putting her arms round him.

‘You look all in,’ said Turner.

‘Dr Dunbar? I’m Superintendent Renton. What is it you want us to do?’

‘There’s a transplant operation going on in there. We’re going to interrupt it. They’re murdering the patient, not curing her. I’d like you to escort us wherever we go and generally smooth the way.’

‘What opposition can we expect?’ asked Remton.

Dunbar told him about the Arab guards on the Omega wing and that he suspected they might be armed.

‘We’ll deal with them first. Just tell us where to find them.’

Lisa told the policeman where the Omega wing was, while Dunbar asked Clive Turner how many people he’d managed to recruit at short notice.

‘Two medical, one theatre technician.’

‘Lisa’s a qualified theatre nurse,’ said Dunbar.

Turner and Lisa acknowledged each other.

Dunbar walked over to join Renton, who was standing with his radio held up at face level. ‘Every second is important,’ he impressed on him.

‘I’m waiting to hear from the armed response team. They’ve just gone in.’

The seconds seemed like hours. A car drew up and a man in civilian clothes got out.

‘Farrow, police pathologist,’ said Renton. His radio crackled into life and the disarming of the Arab guards was confirmed. ‘All right,’ said Renton. ‘Lead on.’

Dunbar led the run along the corridors and up the stairs to the transplant unit. Questions from bemused staff were brushed aside as he led the way to the scrub room and asked the policemen to wait outside for the time being. He didn’t want them intruding in a surgically clean area. He warned the others that he didn’t know what to expect from those in theatre. ‘Be prepared for anything,’ he advised. ‘Now let’s scrub up.’

Medic Ecosse staff in the scrub facility were ushered out of the room into police custody while Dunbar and the others took over. Dunbar was the last to be ready, having had to shower before going through normal scrub procedure. When they were all gowned and masked, he turned to Turner and asked, ‘All right?’

Turner nodded nervously and adjusted his mask.

Dunbar entered the theatre first and met the eyes of the lead surgeon across the table. It wasn’t Ross. It was Hatfull.

‘What the… Who the hell are you?’ asked Hatfull.

‘Steven Dunbar, Dr Hatfull. I’m here with the authority of the Sci-Med Inspectorate and the backing of Strathclyde Police. What stage are you at?’

‘What the… What the hell is this all about?’ stammered Hatfull.

‘What stage are you at?’ demanded Dunbar.

‘About ten minutes from the exchange. What do you think you’re doing? Don’t you realize what we’re involved in here?’

‘You’re about to give this child the wrong kidney,’ said Dunbar, watching Hatfull’s eyes.

Hatfull was almost apoplectic. ‘The wrong kidney!’ he stormed. ‘The damned thing has come all the way from Geneva. It’s as near a perfect a match as you can possibly get.’

‘It’s been switched.’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Not by you,’ conceded Dunbar, accepting that Hatfull seemed to know nothing of the affair. ‘Don’t remove her own kidney just yet. We’re going to take a biopsy of the donor organ. We’ll have to wait for the result.’

Hatfull ran the back of his forearm along his brow in frustration. ‘Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?’ he asked. He’d given up blustering; he said it quietly.

‘Our one chance of saving Amanda Chapman’s life is to find the kidney that came from Geneva. Any ideas?’

Hatfull looked at the ice-filled container beside him. Turner was taking a sliver of tissue from the kidney in it.

‘That’s not it, I promise,’ said Dunbar.

‘Then… I’ve no idea,’ said Hatfull.

‘Do your best to keep her stable,’ said Dunbar. ‘Any idea where Ross is this evening?’

‘He left for Geneva earlier today.’

Dunbar’s eyes widened over his mask. ‘Geneva?’ he repeated. This was a show-stopper.

The tissue sample from the donor kidney was bottled and handed over to Farrow.

‘Quick as you can,’ said Turner.

Dunbar went out of the theatre and out into the corridor where he pulled down his mask.

‘How’s it going in there?’ asked Renton.

‘Badly,’ confessed Dunbar. ‘Our main suspect ran off to Geneva this afternoon. The surgical team in there know nothing about the scam, so Ross is the only one who knows where the real donor organ is. Shit! What a mess.’

Dunbar was berating himself for not having considered that Ross wouldn’t be doing Amanda’s operation himself. He hadn’t done Kenneth Lineham’s or Amy Teasdale’s either. He probably thought it wise to distance himself from these operations once he’d switched the human organ for an animal one. But Geneva? The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. If Amanda reacted like the others, she’d be dead within twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Ross would have to be on hand to do the heart transplant with his own surgical team, the Americans he’d seen arriving two days ago. If the Omega surgical team were already here, it didn’t make any sense for Ross to be in Geneva. He wasn’t, Dunbar concluded. It was a lie. He was locked away in the Omega wing with the others.

Dunbar told Renton what he thought.

‘If that’s so, I don’t think anyone’s been alerted up there. The armed response team took the two men on the door without any trouble. They’re holding them downstairs.’

‘Then we go in,’ said Dunbar.

‘Armed?’

‘Maybe one armed officer. We don’t know who’s inside,’ replied Dunbar.

Renton, Dunbar, three constables, including a WPC, and an armed response unit officer wearing full protective gear and carrying an automatic weapon moved quickly up the stairs to the Omega wing and entered through its now unguarded doors. Everything was quiet inside. They moved along the main corridor in silence, listening outside doors as they went. They stopped when they heard women’s voices coming from one of the rooms. They were speaking Arabic.