Robin Cook - Host

When the men thought they had the wild woman under a semblance of control, as she seemed to be tiring, they started toward the OR door with the intention of getting her out in the hallway. But that was easier said than done. Lynn made it as difficult as possible, particularly by getting one foot or the other on the doorjamb on each attempt and lunging backward with as strong a kick as she could muster. From her kickboxing, her legs were powerful.

“Can you hold her while I get more Versed?” Benton squeaked.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Norman said hoarsely. “What a vixen. Who the hell is she?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Benton said.

“I’ll tell you who I am! I’m a fourth-year medical student. The patient is my friend. I want a different anesthesia machine!”

Without warning, Benton balled his fist and struck Lynn in the face, bringing blood from her already injured nose. The blow caught Norman by surprise and for a second he loosened his grip on Lynn’s arm. Lynn took advantage of this and snatched her right arm free. Mimicking Benton, she formed a fist and hit him with a blow surprisingly similar to his, bloodying his nose, as he had done to hers.

At that moment, directly in front of the three struggling people, the door to the hallway burst open. It was the original nurse. She rushed in. Following her and wearing surgical gowns pulled on like bathrobes over their hospital security uniforms were the same five men who had been chasing Lynn and Michael inside the Shapiro Institute. Lynn didn’t recognize their faces, just their uniforms, as they were slightly different from the normal uniforms worn by hospital security.

“No!” Lynn cried. “I don’t want to go with them.”

“I think you should have thought of that before you burst in here,” the nurse said triumphantly. She stepped aside so that the sizable men could rush in and take hold of Lynn. Still she struggled, but it was no use. In a moment they had her out in the hallway.

“Get her on a gurney!” Benton shouted to the security people. “I’ll be out in a second with some medication.” He exchanged a glance of incredulity and disgust with Norman. “You’re right! What a fucking vixen!” he said as he quickly went back to the anesthesia machine. He wanted to get yet another syringe and another vial of midazolam.

“This will go down as my most unique craniotomy,” Norman complained as he began peeling off his contaminated surgical gown and gloves. He looked back over at Michael, who had remained unconscious in the midst of the melee. “Is he all right through this?”

“He’s all right,” Benton said with a wave of his hand. He looked at the monitor. “The guy’s as healthy as an ox.”

Benton drew up the drug, purposefully going a bit overboard on the dosage. He didn’t want any more scenes. While Norman went to scrub again, Benton went out to the gurney in the hallway. The security guards had Lynn pressed down on its surface. All five men had ahold of her. Confident that the men had her adequately restrained, he decided to go the IV route, with enough of a dose that he was confident would keep her in never-never land for hours.

“I refuse any medication,” Lynn cried, trying to be authoritative.

“As if I care,” Benton sneered.

“Is this the woman we were searching for in the Shapiro?” one of the security guards asked. He had a mild but definite Russian accent.

“This is the one,” Benton said as he applied a tourniquet around Lynn’s upper arm and swabbed the crook of her elbow. “Now you realize why it would have been far better if you had nabbed her when you should have.”

From force of habit before making the injection and with the idea of eliminating any air, Benton held up the syringe in front of his face, the needle pointing toward the ceiling. As he did so he caught sight of the double doors at the very end of the hall bursting open and what looked like a line of people surging into the OR suite. Benton moved the syringe out of his line of sight and focused to get a better view. He was mystified. It was a lot of people, a lot more than should be coming into the OR at that time in the morning.

Transfixed and not a little confused, Benton watched as this long line of people approached at a run. He could see that they were mostly men, which was also perplexing because he knew that the majority of the OR staff was female. And stranger still, like the hospital security men who were beside him, holding Lynn down on the gurney, these newcomers were wearing hospital gowns pulled on backward, with the opening in the front, not the back.

As this new group neared, Benton’s confusion began to metamorphose to fear. With each running step he got a glimpse that they were wearing uniforms, again like the hospital security men next to him, but with a difference. Benton could see that the color wasn’t brown, like the color of the uniforms worn by hospital security, but gray like the South Carolina Highway Patrol. Worse still, most had their service revolvers clutched in their hands...

Friday, May 22, 11:20 A.M.

Lynn Peirce tried to look on the bright side, as it was a bittersweet moment. A beautiful day had dawned, even though a week earlier the forecast had been for possible rain. If it had rained, it would have been a disappointment, since it would have forced Mason-Dixon University School of Medicine to hold its commencement ceremony indoors instead of in the glorious sunshine of the flower-filled medical center quadrangle. After four years of study, perseverance, and hard work, particularly in light of the horrific tribulations of the last month and a half, it seemed appropriate to be outside, in view of the hospital, the basic science building, the clinic building, and the Shapiro Institute just to be reminded that all these institutions were back to fulfilling their originally intended altruistic health care roles.

The investigation involving the mind-boggling malfeasance of Middleton Healthcare and their partner in crime, Sidereal Pharmaceuticals, was still ongoing, and the resultant indictments were continuing. So were the malpractice lawsuits, causing Middleton Healthcare to declare bankruptcy. As such, the scandalous affair continued to dominate Charleston’s Post and Courier newspaper and to be the talk of the town.

Lynn and Michael’s role in uncovering the shocking conspiracy had eventually leaked out. Ever since that fateful morning when she had been able to prevent the sham surgery on Michael, reporters had been trying to interview her, claiming she was a hero.

Lynn did not think of herself as a hero. She couldn’t, not in the face of the terrible personal losses that she had suffered and felt she had helped cause. If anything, she chided herself for not figuring out what was happening sooner than she did. In retrospect, she wished more than anything that she had not involved herself in Carl’s surgery, even though, had she not, the conspiracy would still be ongoing. She also wished she had been stronger and had not involved Michael, considering what happened to him because of her. Now, looking back, she wished she had not sought him out in a kind of Pavlovian reflex immediately after first seeing Carl comatose in the neuro ICU.

At that exact moment, 11:20 A.M., May 22, Lynn was standing at the foot of three steps leading up to the temporary stage that had been erected at the far end of the quadrangle lawn. It had a podium and three chairs, one of which was currently occupied by the commencement speaker. Standing behind the podium at the microphone was the dean of students. She was reading the names of the graduates, who had been organized alphabetically for the ceremony. Each time she read the name, the student mounted the steps and was given his or her diploma by the dean of the school. To expedite the process, the five students soon to be called were waiting at the steps so that they would be available instantly. Lynn was next, as Harold Parker, the classmate alphabetically ahead of her, was just being handed his certificate.