F Wilson - Implant

Gin had cut her own leg open and dug out one of the implants .

But only one. Duncan had dissolved both, the one in the bottle and the one still in her thigh. The evidence was gone, and so was a brilliant mind. It would be years before the effects of the TPD wore off. Gin would find it almost impossible to get licensed when she recovered.

All her years of training, worthless. All her hopes for a career in medicine, dashed.

Duncan had sobbed like a child all the way home. He'd had to sneak into his own house so he wouldn't have to speak to Oliver. He knew his brother was comfortable down in the basement. It was heated and had its own bathroom, the extra fridge was down there, filled with juices and soft drinks. Every convenience but a phone.

Oliver probably spent a more comfortable night than I did, Duncan thought.

Duncan had lain awake the entire night on the couch, hearing Oliver occasionally shout his name, and watching over and over against the backs of his eyelids the replay of Gin's wounded, terrified expression before she passed out.

For a while he considered dropping all his plans. He could call that Secret Service agent who'd given him his card, Decker was his name, and tell him the surgery was off. Or call Dr. VanDuyne and tell him to tell his patient, the president, to go to hell and find another surgeon to fix his goddamn eyelids.

But after all he'd gone through, he couldn't allow himself such a luxury. Not after what he'd done to Gin. Unconscionable, but he'd done it for a cause. To fail to follow through would mean he'd made her suffer for nothing. And that would be monstrous.

That was why he was driving to the surgicenter at 4, 3O A. M. , half an hour earlier than planned. Oliver was still locked in the basement at home. As soon as the president left for Camp David, hopefully carrying an implant in his thigh, Duncan would return and release Oliver. What happened after that would be up to his younger brother.

Possibly he could convince Oliver to keep quiet. He'd return the remaining TPD and swear he'd done nothing to the president. He'd say he'd suffered through a period of aberrant behavior but he was better now, and he was going into therapy. He'd profess to know nothing of Gin's condition, and swear again that he'd gone looking for her last night but had been unable to find her. Oliver would suspect, but he couldn't know. After all, Gin had removed the implant, Oliver had seen it himself. And if Duncan could convince him that he was on the straight and narrow from now on, that they should put all this behind them, Oliver might go along.

Probably.

Hopefully.

After all, if the affair were made public, Duncan's opprobrium would attach to Oliver, and to Oliver's implants. His invention would be forever tainted by its misuse with harmful intent. The FDA might even hold up its approval.

Oliver will keep his peace, Duncan told himself. What harms me harms his implants. And he knows the good they can do will far outweigh the harm I've done.

He unlocked the private entrance and walked inside. He went to the keypad to disable the alarm and found it already off. Damn it.

Barbara had forgotten again to set it before she left. If she weren't such a good secretary . . .

He'd deal with her next week. Right now he had other concerns. The advance team from the Secret Service would be arriving in about half an hour to secure the building.

Plenty of time to fill an implant with TPD.

He turned on the inside hall lights and outside spots, then went to his office. He froze when he turned on his office lights and saw the books, journals, and papers scattered across the floor. The office was a shambles. Someone had broken in and torn it apart. Why? What could they be looking for?

The TPD?

He leapt to his desk. He groaned when he saw the splintered drawer.

It looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it and smashed it open.

He rifled through the contents. The TPD vial was gone. So was the trocar.

No!

His heart tore into overdrive. He hurried back into the hall and stood looking up and down its length. Somebody had found the TPD and stolen it.

But who? Oliver was locked up and Gin was in an emergency room somewhere. Who else knew about, ?

Duncan whirled as he heard a faint noise, like a chair being moved. It had come from down the hall. He saw that the door to the lower level was open.

From downstairs? Who would be down in the records room or, Oliver's lab!

Moving as quietly as possible, Duncan hurried along the hall and tiptoed down the stairs. At the bottom he saw light flooding out from the open door to Oliver's lab. And noises from within. Oliver must have escaped'from the basement. Gin had told him where the TPD was hidden and now he was here disposing of it.

Discarding all caution, Duncan raced forward to the door.

"Oh, ! " The word clogged in his throat, shutting off his air. He couldn't breathe.

A pale, disheveled woman in a swearer and sweatpants, with wild-looking dark hair, stood at the counter, the vial of TPD in her hand. She looked up. Her wide, shocked eyes spit dark fire at him.

He found his voice. "Gin! " As she raised her arm to hurl the vial at him, Duncan lunged for her, catching her arm before she completed the motion. She screamed, scratching his face with her nails and beating at him with her free hand as he tried to pry the vial from her fingers.

Lord, she was strong, like an angry tigress, but he fended her off and finally managed to get the vial away from her. And then she attacked him with both hands, screeching incoherently through her clenched teeth. She was a banshee, a female berserker. Was this what the TPD had done to her?

And then she broke away from him and darted toward the door. He caught her arm and swung her around against the counter, then slammed the door closed and leaned his back against it.

He faced her, staring at her as she stared at him, both panting.

"You bastard! " she screamed, as tears started in her eyes. "You rotten filthy son of a bitch! How could you do that to . . .

me? With that, she folded her arms on the counter, lowered her head onto them, and began to sob.

Duncan was dumbfounded. She seemed sane now. Upset, yes, but completely rational. But the implant . . . the TPD. Could the transducer have failed to dissolve it?

That had to be it. Low power, interference, whatever the reason, the ultrasound had failed.

Good Lord. What did he do now?

One thing was certain, He needed time to think. He turned to the door, found the lock, and twisted it. If nothing else that would slow her up if she tried to, He cried out as a cold, sharp stab of pain pierced The back of his thigh. He clutched at the spot and turned.

Gin stood directly behind him, facing him, the trocar clutched in her hand like a dagger.

Duncan's blood froze. He snatched the trocar from her.

"No! You didn't! Gin, you didn't " She nodded slowly, her eyes wild, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Over her shoulder Duncan spotted a tray on the counter with three implants and a syringe. He touched the back of his leg again and checked his lingers.

Blood.

His sick fear was overcome by a flash of anger. But as he stepped toward Gin she raised her other hand. Her fingers were wrapped around the transducer handle of the tabletop ultrasound Oliver used in his experiments on the membranes.

Duncan slammed himself back against the door.

"No, Gin! " He'd wanted to shout the words but they came out in a hoarse whisper. "Please . . . don't! " "Why not? " she said, still smiling crazily.

The wild look in her eyes terrified him to the very core of his being.

She was teetering on the edge. One wrong word, one wrong move, and she'd slip completely out of control.