F Wilson - Implant

"Don't be silly, " Gin said. "You're his brother." She winked.

"And besides, he needs these implants." Oliver rolled his eyes behind his horn-rims. "Thanks. That does wonders for my self-esteem. " "Seriously, though. This is driving me crazy. I've caught this Dr. V.

ducking in and out of here at least three times now, and I know I've seen him before. Just tell me who he is.

C, Not what he's doing here, just his name. Just that one little thing, and I won't ask another question, I promise."

"I'm sorry, Gin, but, " "I'll sneeze all over your implants."

"No. You wouldn't do that." She sniffed. "Uh-oh. I feel one coming on now. It's building up.

It's gonna blow right through this mask." '"Gin, please don't kid around like, " "Here it comes. Ah . . . ah . . . " "All right, all right." Gin shook her head as if to clear it. "Well, what do you know. All better. For the moment. Now, who is Dr. V. ? " "I really shouldn't. I promised Duncan I wouldn't breathe a word." She sniffed again. "Oliver . . . " "All right. But just his name. If it doesn't ring a bell, too bad.

Agreed? " "Agreed." Oliver leaned forward and Gin could tell by the look in his eyes that he'd been dying to confide in someone. Now she'd given him an excuse.

'"His name is VanDuyne. Dr. VanDuyne." VanDuyne . . . Gin knew that name. It was scampering about the back corners of her mind, just out of reach. VanDuyne . . . VanDuyne .

. .

And then she had him. One of the guest lecturers at the public policy seminars back in lGulane. A physician, he'd come from Washington and he'd seemed uncomfortable lecturing, and in his role with the government. VanDuyne, one of the higher-ups in HHS . . . but he was something else too. She'd read an article or heard some other mention of him. Dr. VanDuyne . . .

"Ohmigod''- she cried. "Duncan's going to operate on the president! " Oliver tore off his mask and slumped back in his seat. He ran his fingers nervously through his thinning hair. "Oh, no! Now I've done it! " '"I'm right, aren't 1? He nodded resignedly, a look of astonishment on his face. "I don't believe you put it all together so fast. Just from a name. How did you do it? " When she remembered that VanDuyne was the president's personal physician, suddenly it was obvious that the men with him yesterday had been Secret Service. And the way they'd been looking around, studying entrances and exits, peering through wipdows . . .

why else unless they were reconnoitering before a presidential visit?

But she felt no triumph at her lightning deduction, instead, a cold sodden weight was growing in her stomach.

The president of the United States going under Duncan's knife. After yesterday, she should have felt proud that Duncan had been chosen for whatever it was the president wanted done. But she was terrified.

'"He's coming Friday? " Again Oliver nodded. His eyes looked wounded.

So that explained the day off with pay.

'"What procedure? " '"His eyes, " Oliver said. He slipped the tips of his index fingers under his glasses and touched his lower lids. "Wants to be rid of the bags. A lift on the upper lids, too, while Duncan's at it."

"But those baggy eyes have become his trademark. What will all the cartoonists do without them? " Oliver shrugged. "Apparently his media consultants and spin doctors have converged and decided that his baggy lids have become much baggier and people think the president looks tired and older."

"Being president of the United States tends to do that to people. ' "But they want the youth vote. That's what put him in the ' first time They don't want some younger-looking upstart to steal that constituency. They blame the eyelids for his tired, older look, so they have to go. ' "Ridiculous. The election's more than a year away." '"But not the primaries. He's expecting a strong challenge, so he wants to be looking his best in New Hampshire.

" "So why Duncan? " "Why not? He's the best." He pointed to the tray of implants.

"Especially with these." Gin had to admit he had a point there.

"But why all the secrecy? " "Isn't it obvious? The president doesn't want anyone, especially the press, to find out. He's going to arrive at the crack of dawn on Friday.

As soon as he's out of recovery he'll be whisked off to Camp David for a long weekend and some extra days of vacation. He'll wear dark glasses all weekend, and by the time he returns, there'll be minimal evidence of the surgery. Any slight discoloration that persists can be covered by makeup. Foolproof, huh? " "Yeah, " Gin said slowly.

"Foolproof." But was it Duncanproof?

Stop! She shouldn't be thinking like that.

"But with all the staff off, how can Duncan operate? " "They're importing an anesthesiologist from Bethesda Naval Hospital, and Dr. VanDuyne is going to assist."

"And the Secret Service men will be guarding the hall, I suppose."

"Right. Isn't it exciting? " "Yes.

Exciting as hell." But Gin was feeling anxiety rather than excitement.

She knew what Duncan thought of the president. How many tirades about him had she endured?

Yet Duncan had agreed to do a cosmetic repair of his eyelids . . .

agreed to perform a procedure designed to give the president a little edge toward reelection.

It didn't add up. Why would Duncan do anything to help this man?

Simply because he was the president and he had asked? Maybe. The office did have a mesmerizing effect on people.

Look at Oliver, beaming like a starstruck Boy Scout. He can't tell a soul, yet he's totally gaga over the idea of his implants being used on the president of the United States.

Was she borrowing trouble? Even if Duncan wanted to try something, how could he with the Secret Service watching his every move?

But in the recovery room . . . would they be hovering over him there?

Probably not.

Why was she thinking this way? She had to stop. Yesterday she'd seen a side of Duncan she'd thought long gone. She'd promised herself to revamp her thinking. And she'd be succeeding, too, if not for that damn bottle of TPD. Was it still where she'd seen Duncan hide it?

Only one way to find out.

Now or never.

Gin wished she could call Gerry and talk to him about this, but look what happened last time she'd gone to him with a suspicion. Their relationship was stretched to the breaking point. Or maybe he'd already broken it off without her knowing it. He hadn't contacted her since Friday.

Duncan was out to lunch, Barbara was away from her desk. Gin slipped into Duncan's offLce and went directly to the bookshelves. She remembered it had been the far left section, top shelf. But the top shelf was too high to reach.

She looked around for a chair to stand on and spotted a small step stool over by the sink. How convenient. She'd never noticed one here before. Maybe because she'd never . .

L - been searching for something to stand on. She pulled it over and stepped up to where she was eye level with the top shelf.

She thought back to Sunday night, standing outside in the cold and spying on Duncan. The book had been short and fat, with a green binding.

And here it was, right in front of her. She wriggled it out and peered into the dark gap. Daylight from over her shoulder reflected off the glass of an all-too-familiar injection vial.

There it was, just inches away. But now what?

Why not just take it? a voice whispered. Take the damn bottle and rip off the stopper and pour the contents down a drain. Duncan might spend days, weeks wondering what happened to it, but so what? It'll be gone and you won't have to give it another thought.

Unless there were other vials of the stuff around.

But did that matter? This was the one she knew about. This was the one that had to go.

Gin was just reaching into the space when a voice cried out behind her.