Robin Cook - Marker

"Business," David said without elaborating. He didn't like talking too much with his fellow travelers; conversations inevitably worked their way around to what kind of business David was in. In the past, if forced, David had said he was in healthcare consulting. That had worked until the day he found himself chatting with a fellow passenger who was legitimately in the field. The remainder of the conversation had been rather dicey, and David had been saved by the opportunity to deplane.

"I'm in business, too," the prim man said. "Computer software.

By the way, where are you staying? If you're staying in Manhattan, maybe we could share a taxi. When it rains in New York, they're like hen's teeth."

"That's very generous," David said, "but I've yet to make arrangements. This trip was put together at the last minute."

"I can recommend the Marriott," the man persisted. "They almost always have availability on the weekend, and it's a good central location."

David smiled as best he could. "I'll keep that in mind, but I'm not going directly into town. I have to make a stop here in Queens." He planned to take a taxi to Long Island City, where he'd have the cab wait while he picked up the arranged gun.

"Remember, this hellcat is usually packing," Robert had advised. "So don't give her much breathing room. In fact, don't give her any breathing room at all. The whole problem is that she has no compunction whatsoever about using her piece."

David had nodded at this unsolicited advice, but he didn't need to be told any such thing. He was a professional and had been doing this for years. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. The address was 1421 Vernon Avenue, Long Island City. He wondered what kind of place it would turn out to be. He also wondered if getting the gun would go smoothly. On a recent trip to Chicago, the gun source had been picked up the day before on unrelated charges, throwing off the whole operation and forcing David to stay in the windy city for five days. He hoped the same snafu wouldn't happen in New York, since he was anxious to be on his way back to St. Louis in twenty-four hours or so.

David looked at the other addresses he had written down on the paper. They were Jasmine Rakoczi's apartment and her health club, both on the Upper West Side.

"Where is that Marriott?" David asked the prim man, who was * busy packing his laptop into its carrying case.

" Times Square," the man said.

"Is that on the West Side?"

"It sure is, right near the theater district."

He thought he'd keep the Marriott in mind. His general plan was to get the gun and then find a hotel. He was exhausted from having spent a number of long nights out on the West Coast, and he was looking forward to a good, long sleep. Then he'd figure out the best way to deal with the Rakoczi woman. The nicest part of the whole affair was remembering what she looked like. Robert had even said she had one of the best bodies he'd ever seen, and Robert definitely had good taste. David fully planned to see for himself, which meant her apartment would be the best bet.

WITH A BACKHANDED motion, Jack tossed the Cosmopolitan magazine back onto the surgical lounge's coffee table. He was desperate for something to read, but that particular magazine wasn't going to do it for him. He'd been through just about everything else, including old copies of Time, People, National Geographic, and Newsweek, plus Saturday's papers. He'd even tried to watch CNN for a while, but he couldn't concentrate on the TV, especially after the two cups of coffee he'd drunk. It was a quarter to twelve, and Laurie was still in surgery, which made him progressively antsy.

Jack had gone up to the third floor with Laurie, Dr. Riley, and the orderly. He had given Laurie's hand a final, reassuring squeeze before she and the others disappeared into the OR. With the hope that Laura might reconsider his watching the procedure, he'd gone into the men's locker room and changed into scrubs, using an empty locker with no lock for his clothes.

But Laura was steadfast in her insistence that he remain in the surgical lounge, saying that she'd be in as soon as the procedure was over. Jack tried to entertain himself to keep from obsessing about what was taking so long. While he waited, the hospital shift had changed, with an entirely new group manning the OR and rotating in and out of the lounge. No one bothered Jack, which he appreciated. He was in no mood for socializing.

Just before midnight, Dr. Riley finally appeared at the lounge's arched entranceway. When she spotted Jack, she walked over. Jack stood up. She appeared exhausted, but to his relief, she was smiling.

"I'm sorry to keep you in suspense," Laura said. "It took a little longer than we expected, but everything is okay."

"Thank goodness," Jack said. "What was the problem?"

"Continued bleeding. She'd lost a lot of blood, and her clotting wasn't what we would have liked. She's now in the PACU, where I want her to stay so they can follow her clotting status and blood pressure."

"Sounds like a good plan."

"I see you changed into scrubs."

"I was hoping you'd relent and allow me to observe."

"Sorry," Laura said. "I know from Laurie that your association with her isn't just professional. With births, I'm happy to have actual participation of partners, but with operations like this, I'm not."

"You don't have to apologize," Jack said. "She's okay, and that's all that matters."

"Actually, it's good you're in scrubs. I got approval for you to come in and have a quick visit, provided you're okay with the idea."

"I'd love to come in," Jack said. "But tell me, was it an ectopic pregnancy?"

"Yes," Laura said. "In the isthmus of the oviduct, fairly close to the uterine wall, which might be why there was so much bleeding. The oviduct itself was visibly abnormal, and we ended up removing it along with the right ovary. On the positive side, the left oviduct and ovary appear entirely normal, so her fertility shouldn't be significantly affected."

"She'll be pleased to hear that," Jack said. Now that he knew Laurie was on the road to recovery, he allowed himself to think about the lost conceptus, surprised at his emotion. He was saddened, even though he'd anticipated being relieved that the pressure was off, as Laurie had suggested. Although mourning on any level wasn't pleasant, in this situation, he felt there was a positive side, since it lent further credence that he might be more capable of having a child than he would have thought only a few days earlier.

With a wave for him to follow, Laura led him into the main portion of the operating room. Several women were at the main OR desk, bent over paperwork. On the opposite wall was a large dry-erase board scribed like graph paper. On the left were the numbers of all the operating rooms. Across the top, forming columns, were spaces for patient name, anesthesiologist, surgeon, circulating nurse, scrub nurse, and procedure. Jack could see that there were eight cases under way. He saw Laurie's name with a line drawn through it.

The PACU was located just beyond the desk. It was a large, starkly white room with sixteen beds, eight on a side. Each backed up into an array of anesthesia equipment, including banks of monitors for blood pressure and pulse, an EKG lead, and blood oxygenation. Only four of the sixteen beds were occupied. All the patients appeared to be sleeping, despite the bright ambient light and the sense of frenetic activity. Each patient had his or her own nurse, who constantly checked everything, from vital signs to urine output, from respiratory status to core body temperature, writing the results on a clipboard attached to the bed. In between these activities, they were adjusting IV rates, checking surgical drains, or running into a supply closet for IV fluids or medications. A no-nonsense-appearing female charge nurse with frizzed blond hair and a stocky, bulldog habitus manned a centralized main desk. She exuded a drill sergeant's sense of control. Laura introduced Jack. Her name was Thea Papparis.