Робин Кук - Mortal Fear

This book could not have been written without the support and encouragement of all my friends who have helped me in a difficult time. You all know who you are, and you all have my heartfelt thanks.

October 11, Wednesday P.M.

The sudden appearance of the foreign proteins was the molecular equivalent of the Black Plague. It was a death sentence with no chance of reprieve, and Cedric Harring had no idea of the drama about to happen inside him.

In sharp contrast, the individual cells of Cedric Harring’s body knew exactly what disastrous consequences awaited them. The mysterious new proteins that swept into their midst and through their membranes were overwhelming, and the small amounts of enzymes capable of dealing with the newcomers were totally inadequate. Within Cedric’s pituitary gland, the deadly new proteins were able to bind themselves to the repressors that covered the genes for the death hormone. From that moment, with the fatal genes exposed, the outcome was inevitable. The death hormone began to be synthetized in unprecedented amounts. Entering the blood-stream, the hormone coursed out into Cedric’s body. No cell was immune. The end was only a matter of time. Cedric Harring was about to disintegrate into his stellar elements.

The pain was like a white-hot knife starting somewhere in his chest and quickly radiating upward in blinding paroxysms to paralyze his jaw and left arm. Instantly Cedric felt the terror of the mortal fear of death. Cedric Harring had never felt anything like it.

By reflex he gripped the steering wheel of his car more tightly and somehow managed to stay in control of the weaving vehicle as he gasped for breath. He’d just entered Storrow Drive from Berkeley Street in downtown Boston, and had accelerated westward, merging with the maddening Boston traffic. The images of the road swam before him and then receded, as if they existed at the end of a long tunnel.

By sheer strength of will, Cedric resisted the darkness that threatened to engulf him. Gradually, the scene brightened. He was still alive. Instead of pulling over, instinct told him his only chance was to get to a hospital as fast as possible. By lucky coincidence the Good Health Plan Clinic was not too far off. Hold on, he told himself.

Along with the pain came a drenching sweat that started on Cedric’s forehead but soon spread to the rest of his body. Sweat stung his eyes, but he dared not loosen his grip on the steering wheel to wipe it away. He exited the highway onto the Fenway, a parklike complex in Boston, as the pain returned, squeezing his chest like a cinch of steel wire. Ahead cars were slowing for a traffic light. He couldn’t stop. There was no time. Leaning forward, he depressed the horn and shot through the intersection. Cars went by, missing him by inches. He could see the faces of the startled and enraged drivers. He was now on Park Drive with the Back Bay Fens and the scruffy victory gardens on his left. The pain was constant now, strong and overpowering. He could hardly breathe.

The hospital was ahead on the right, on the previous site of a Sears building. Only a little further. Please... A large white sign with a red arrow and red letters that said EMERGENCY loomed above.

Cedric managed to drive directly up to the emergency room platform, braking belatedly and crashing into the concrete abutment, He slumped forward, hitting the horn and gasping for breath.

The first person to reach his car was the security guard. He yanked open the door and after a glance at Cedric’s frightening pallor yelled for help. Cedric barely choked out the words, “Chest pain.” The head nurse, Hilary Barton, appeared and called for a gurney. By the time the nurses and the security man had Cedric out of the car, one of the emergency room residents had appeared and helped maneuver him onto the stretcher. His name was Emil Frank and he’d been a resident for only four months. A few years previously he would have been called an intern. He too noticed Cedric’s cream-colored skin and profuse perspiration.

“Diaphoresis,” he said with authority. “Probably a heart attack.”

Hilary rolled her eyes. Of course it was a heart attack. She rushed the patient inside, ignoring Dr. Frank, who’d plugged his stethoscope into his ears and was trying to listen to Cedric’s heart.

As soon as they reached the treatment room, Hilary ordered oxygen, IV fluids and electrocardiographic monitoring, attaching the three main EKG leads herself. As soon as Emil had the IV going, she suggested to him that he order 4 mg. of morphine to be given IV immediately.

As the pain receded a little, Cedric’s mind cleared. Even though no one had told him, he knew he’d had a heart attack. He also knew he’d come very close to dying. Even now, staring at the oxygen mask, the IV, and the EKG machine as it spewed paper out onto the floor, Cedric had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

“We’re going to move you to the coronary care unit,” Hilary said. “Everything is going to be okay.” She patted Cedric’s hand. He tried to smile. “We’ve called your wife. She’s on her way.”

The coronary intensive care unit was similar to the emergency room as far as Cedric was concerned-and just as frightening. It was filled with esoteric, ultramodern electronic technology. He could hear his heartbeat being echoed by a mechanical beep, and when he turned his head he could see a phosphorescent blip trace across a round TV screen.

Although the machines were frightening, it was a source of some reassurance to know all that technology was there. Even more reassuring was the fact that his own doctor, who had been paged shortly after Cedric’s arrival, had just come into the ICU.

Cedric had been a patient of Dr. Jason Howard’s for five years. He had begun going when his employers, the Boston National Bank, insisted that senior executives have yearly physicals. When Dr. Howard suddenly sold his private practice several years previously and joined the staff of the Good Health Plan (GHP), Cedric had dutifully followed. The move required changing his health plan from Blue Cross to the prepaid variety, but it was Dr. Howard that had attracted him, not GHP, and Cedric had let Dr. Howard know it in no uncertain terms.

“How are you doing?” Jason asked, grasping Cedric’s arm but paying more attention to the EKG screen.

“Not... great,” Cedric rasped. It took several breaths to get out the two words.

“I want you to try to relax.”

Cedric closed his eyes. Relax! What a joke.

“Do you have a lot of pain?”

Cedric nodded. Tears were running down his cheeks.

“Another dose of morphine,” Jason ordered.

Within minutes of the second dose, the pain became more tolerable. Dr. Howard was talking with the resident, making sure all the appropriate blood samples had been drawn and asking for some kind of catheter. Cedric watched him, reassured just seeing Howard’s handsome, hawklike profile and sensing the man’s confidence and authority. Best of all, he could feel Dr. Howard’s compassion. Dr. Howard cared.

“We have to do a little procedure,” Jason was saying. “We want to insert a Swan-Ganz catheter so we can see what’s going on inside We’ll use a local anesthesia so it won’t hurt, okay?”

Cedric nodded. As far as he was concerned, Dr. Howard had carte blanche to do whatever he felt was necessary. Cedric appreciated Dr. Howard’s approach. He never talked down to his patients — even when Cedric had had his physical three weeks ago and Howard had lectured him about his high-cholesterol diet, his two-pack-a-day cigarette habit, and his lack of exercise. If only I’d listened, Cedric thought. But despite Dr. Howard’s doomsday approach to Cedric’s lifestyle, the doctor had admitted that the tests were okay. His cholesterol was not too high, and his electrocardiogram had been fine. Reassured, Cedric put off attempts to stop smoking and start exercising.