Michael Palmer - The Last Surgeon

During the drive, Jillian wrote a note for Pendleton, begging him to call either of them as soon as possible. Twice she had tried to reach him at home and through the page operator at the hospital. Nick had also phoned Don Reese, but his call to the detective went straight into voice mail.

“Maybe we should call nine-one-one,” Jillian suggested, “let the authorities take it from here.”

“Remember what Reese told us? We’re in deep here too, Jill. If the police are going to get involved now, better if it’s Reese’s call how and when. In the meantime, we need to warn Pendleton to be careful.”

“I just hope that we’re not too late.”

“Me too,” Nick said with a heavy sigh. “Me too.”

Pendleton’s modest split-level ranch was the last house on a tree-lined dead-end street. The idyllic, family-friendly setting made the reason they were there even more disturbing. Nick pulled up along the grassy tree belt and had opened the driver’s side door when Jillian grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside.

“We can’t just go rushing in there, Nick,” she said. “We have no idea what we’re up against. I don’t want to see any more death, and I… don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Nick took hold of her hands. “Nothing’s going to happen to either of us. Trust me on that, Jill. We’ll knock on the door, we’ll leave the note, and then we’ll look for Pendleton at the hospital.”

“I’m sorry to sound like such a baby. That video really got to me-the thought of that man in the surgical gown calmly standing there, murdering Umberto. It’s as if he had no soul.”

“Well, thanks to you I’m reconnecting with mine,” Nick said. “I have an EMDR session later on. I intend to work at it the way I used to when I was studying organic chemistry or training for a climb.”

Jillian squeezed his hands, then caressed the stubble on his face.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

Side by side they proceeded up the flagstone walkway to Pendleton’s red-painted front door, with Jillian clutching a copy of the DVD. All was eerily quiet save for the crunch of loose slate and the white noise of birdsong on the warm afternoon breeze. The yard was small, but well maintained, with no toys to suggest Pendleton had kids.

Nick peered into the living room through a small opening between the drapes, but could see only a few feet inside. There was no movement. He rang the bell, then tried the door. Locked.

“Maybe he’s at work,” Jillian said. “I don’t trust Shelby Stone’s page system.”

Nick pressed the doorbell a second time and they listened to a cascade of chimes reverberating inside the house.

“Let’s try around back,” he said, growing more anxious.

Suddenly the door swung open.

The man standing there was dressed in hospital scrubs and had a cell phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He was hopping around in a circle, trying to wiggle on a sneaker.

Just untie it! Nick wanted to shout.

As Pendleton wrestled the sneaker onto his foot, he lost hold of his phone, which dropped to the hardwood floor with a sharp crack.

“If you’re recruiting me for your church, I’m going to be really pissed!” he snapped, bending down to retrieve the phone. “Jerry? Jerry, you still there? Shit, that’s just great.”

“We’re sorry to bother you.”

The man hesitated, taking in a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault I’m a klutz. I’m running late and the guy on the phone was telling me where I needed to have been twenty minutes ago. Sorry if I raised my voice at you guys. Phone still seems to be working, though, so I’ll call him back. Just hang on, or else leave if you’re going to try and cost me money.”

His composure regained, Pendleton placed his call and learned what he needed to about the emergency case waiting for him at Shelby Stone. The perfusionist was a trim, balding man in his early thirties, and struck Nick as an athlete.

“Roger Pendleton?” Jillian asked.

“Yeah. That’s me. Look, I’m really in a hurry, guys. There’s a transplant going down. So if you’re selling something, especially God, just assume I’ve got one already, okay?”

Nick stepped forward.

“Roger, I’m Dr. Nick Garrity, a surgeon working with the Helping Hands medical van. This is my friend, Jillian Coates. She’s a psych nurse at Shelby Stone.”

Pendleton seemed to soften at that.

“Okay, what’s up? Not often a tech like me gets paid a house call. Not ever, actually.”

“I know you’re in a hurry, but we need to talk. It could be a matter of life or death.”

“Yeah? Alas, so is the operation if I don’t make it in to the hospital. I’m on backup and the guy on duty is tied up, and word is a heart’s come in.”

“When we say matter of life or death, we mean yours,” Nick said. “We really need to talk. Can you get anyone else to go in for you?”

Pendleton studied Nick’s face and his expression darkened.

“No, I can’t get anyone to go in,” he said. “How many backups do you think we have? Okay, okay. I’m sorry to sound snippy. I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, but I can give you two minutes.”

Standing just inside the open doorway, Nick relayed what they knew of the identity switch in the OR three years ago, and the fact that over recent months, six of the ten people who were there for the disaster had died suddenly. Then he handed over a copy of the DVD recording the events.

When Nick finished, Pendleton stared down at the disc, a deep furrow across his brow.

“So you’re saying that I’m on somebody’s kill list?”

“There’s nothing else to believe, Roger,” Jillian said.

“Well, I stopped in and met Mohammad the evening before the case. I try and do that with all my patients. His photo had been all over the papers. I promise you that was him in his room that night, and him on the table the next day, and him who went berserk and flew into my equipment, and him who died.”

“Six out of nine medical personnel are dead, including my sister, Belle,” Jillian said patiently. “We believe the man responsible for the OR death, if not all of them, was number ten-one of the two who wheeled the patient in. We are absolutely certain that the victim in the operating room that day wasn’t the man you thought he was.”

Pendleton checked his watch.

“Look, I don’t know whether you two know what you’re talking about or not, but I do know I’ve got to finish getting dressed and get to the hospital.”

“You sure you don’t have just a few minutes to watch that video?” Nick asked. “It will convince you.”

“I don’t need to watch anything to remember that day. That sort of thing you don’t forget. All I can tell you, and I probably shouldn’t even be doing that, is that after it was over, I was called into my boss’s office. There were a couple suits waiting there to speak with me. They told me what had just happened was a matter of national security and that I was to tell nobody about anything I had seen. They made me sign a paper stating just that, and warned that if I spoke about the case, I could lose my job or even face prison time. They gave me a name to refer any reporters to, but I have no idea where that is. Otherwise, I’d refer you to them. Look, just give me your card and I’ll get you the name. But I gotta leave.”

Jillian shot Nick a concerned look. “That would explain why Belle never told me much about the operation.”

“Look, I appreciate the warning,” Pendleton said, “but I have to get to the hospital right away. I’m not sure I can even talk with you about this case without risking my job and God only knows what else. Why don’t you tell me quickly what you think I’m supposed to do now, and I’ll think it over?”