Tess Gerritsen - Harvest

Abby eased around to the head of the table and stood beside the anaesthesiologist. Overhead, the cardiac monitor showed a flat line. There was no heart beating in Josh's chest; the bypass machine was doing all the work. His eyelids had been taped shut to protect the corneas from drying, and his hair was covered by a paper cap. One dark tendril had escaped, curling over his forehead. Still alive, she thought. You can make it, kid.

The anaesthesiologist glanced at Abby. "You from Bayside?" he whispered.

"I'm the courier. How's it going so far?"

"Touch and go for a while. But we're over the worst of it. Tarasoff's fast. He's already on the aorta." He nodded towards the chief surgeon.

Ivan Tarasoft, with his snowy eyebrows and mild gaze, was the image of everyone's favourite grandfather. His request for a fresh suture needle, for more suction, were spoken in the same gentle tone with which one might ask for another cup of tea, please. No showmanship, no high-flying ego, just a quiet technician labouring at his job.

Abby looked up again at the monitor. Still a flat line. Still no sign of life.

Josh O" Day's parents were crying in the waiting room, sobs mingled with laughter. Smiles all around. It was 6 p.m., and their ordeal was finally over.

"The new heart's working just fine," said DrTarasoff. "In fact, it started beating before we expected it to. It's a good strong heart. It should last Josh for a lifetime."

"We didn't expect this," said Mr O" Day. "All we heard was that they moved him here. That there was some kind of emergency. We thought-we thought-' He turned away, wrapped his arms around his wife. They clung together, not speaking. Not able to speak.

A nurse said, gently, "Mr and Mrs O" Day? If you'd like to see Josh, he's starting to wake up."

A smiling Tarasoff watched as the O" Days were led towards the Recovery Room. Then he turned and looked at Abby, his blue eyes glistening behind the wire-rim glasses. "That's why we do it," he said softly. "For moments like that."

"It was close," said Abby.

"Too damn close." He shook his head. "And I'm getting too damn old for this excitement."

They went into the surgeons' lounge, where he poured them both cups of coffee. With his cap off, his grey hair in disarray, he looked more the part of the rumpled professor than the renowned thoracic surgeon. He handed Abby a cup. "TellVivian to give me a little more warning next time," he said. "I get one phone call from her, and suddenly this kid's on our doorstep. I'm the one who almost coded."

"Vivian knew what she was doing. Sending the kid to you."

He laughed. "Vivian Chao always knows what she's doing. She was like that as a medical student."

"She's a great Chief Resident."

"You're in the Bayside surgery programme?"

Abby nodded and sipped the hot coffee. "Second year."

"Good. Not enough women in the field. Too many macho blades. All they want to do is cut."

"That doesn't sound like a surgeon talking."

Tarasoft glanced at the other doctors gathered near the coffee pot. "A little blasphemy," he whispered, 'is a healthy thing."

Abby drained her coffee and glanced at the time. "I've got to get back to Bayside. I probably shouldn't have stayed for the surgery.

But I'm glad I did." She smiled at him. "Thanks, Dr. Tarasoft. For saving the boy's life."

He shook her hand. "I'm just the plumber, Dr. DiMatteo," he said. "You brought the vital part."

It was after seven when the taxi delivered Abby to Bayside's lobby entrance. As she walked in the door, the first thing she heard was her name being paged on the overhead. She picked up the inhouse phone.

"This is DiMatteo," she said.

"Doctor, we've been paging you for hours," said the operator.

"Vivian Chao was supposed to cover for me. She's carrying my beeper."

"We have your beeper here at the operator's desk. Mr Parr's the one who's been paging you."

"Jeremiah Parr?"

"His extension is five-six-six. Administration."

"It's seven o'clock. Is he still there?"

"He was there five minutes ago."

Abby hung up, her stomach fluttering with a sense of alarm. Jeremiah Parr, the hospital president, was an administrator, not a physician. She'd spoken to him only once before, at the annual welcoming picnic for new house staff. They'd shaken hands, exchanged a few pleasantries, and then Parr had moved on to greet the other residents. That brief encounter had left her with a vivid impression of a man who was unflappable. And he wore great suits.

She'd seen him since the picnic, of course. They'd smile and nod in recognition whenever they met in elevators or passed in hallways, but she doubted he remembered her name. Now he was paging her at seven o'clock in the evening.

This can't be good, she thought. This can't be good at all.

She picked up the phone and dialledVivian's house. Before she spoke to Parr, she had to know what was going on. Vivian would know.

There was no answer.

Abby hung up, her sense of alarm more acute than ever. Time to face the consequences. We made a decision; we saved a boy's life. How can they fault us for that?

Heart thudding, she rode the elevator to the second floor.

The administration wing was only dimly lit by a single row of fluorescent ceiling panels. Abby walked beneath the strip of light, her footsteps noiseless on the carpet. The offices on either side of her were dark, the secretaries' desks deserted. But at the far end of the hall, light was shining under a closed door. Someone was inside the conference room.

She went to the door and knocked.

It swung open. Jeremiah Parr stood gazing at her, his backlit face unreadable. Behind him, seated at the conference table, were half a dozen men. She glimpsed Bill Archer, Mark, and Mohandas. The transplant team.

"Dr. DiMatteo," said Parr.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were trying to reach me," said Abby. "I was out of the hospital."

"We know where you were." Parr stepped out of the room. Mark came out right behind him, both men confronting Abby in the dim hallway. They'd left the door ajar and she saw Archer rise from his chair and shut the door against her gaze.

"Come into my office," said Parr. The instant they stepped inside, he slammed the door and said, "Do you understand the damage you've done? Do you have any idea?"

Abby looked at Mark, but his face told her nothing. That's what scared her most: that she could not see past the mask, to the man she loved.

"Josh O" Day's alive," she said. "The transplant saved his life. I can't consider that any kind of mistake."

"The mistake lies in how it was done," said Parr.

"We were standing over his bed. Watching him die. A boy that young shouldn't have to-'

"Abby," said Mark. "We're not questioning your instincts. They were good, of course they were good."

"What's this crap about instincts, Hodell?" snapped Parr. "They stole a goddamn heart! They knew what they were doing, and they didn't care who they dragged into it! Nurses. Ambulance drivers. Even Dr. Lim got suckered in!"

"Following the orders of her Chief Resident is exactly what Abby was supposed to do. And that's all she did. Obey orders."

"There have to be repercussions. Firing the Chief Resident isn't enough."

Fired? Vivian? Abby looked at Mark for confirmation.

"Vivian admitted everything," Mark said. "She admits that she coerced you and the nurses to go along with her."

"I hardly think Dr. DiMatteo is so easily coerced," said Parr.

"What about Lim?" said Mark. "He was in the OR too. Are you going to kick him off the staff?."

"Lim had no idea what was going on," said Parr. "He was just there to harvest the kidneys. All he knew was that Mass Gert had a recipient on the table. And there was a directed donation form in the chart." Parr turned to Abby. "Drawn up and witnessed by you."