Robin Cook - Foreign Body

Pleased that the lobby was as deserted as it was, Raj half ran across the room to the main exit door and left the building. Outside, he forced himself to slow to a rapid walk, finding it difficult not to give in to his panic and bolt. He felt like a bank robber exiting a bank with all the cash and every eye on him. At any moment he half expected to hear a shrill whistle and a shouted command to stop.

Reaching the still-crowded street, Raj hailed an auto rickshaw, and it wasn’t until the Aesculapian Medical Center faded from view out the small rear window that he could begin to relax. Facing forward in a near trance, Raj terrorized himself by rehashing the whole unfortunate episode. He was afraid to tell the others, but he was more afraid not to tell them, unsure of what the ultimate fallout was going to be.

After passing through the front door of the bungalow, Raj stopped to listen. He could feel the vibration of the large sub-woofer of the video system pumping out the bass in the formal living room, so he headed in that direction. He found Cal, Durell, Petra, and Santana, along with Veena, Samira, and two other nurses, watching a taut action DVD. Durell was enthusiastically into it and cheering on the protagonists, who were facing insurmountable odds.

Raj went up behind Cal, and after a moment’s hesitation gently shook his shoulder.

Tense from the movie, Cal jumped when he felt the nudge, took one look at who’d caught his attention, and then paused the movie. “Raj! We’re glad to see you back. How did it go?”

“I’m afraid it did not go well at all,” Raj admitted, and dropped his eyes from Cal’s to the floor. “It was a disaster.”

There was a moment of silence as all eyes regarded Raj.

“I thought we shouldn’t have gone ahead with another so soon,” Veena blurted out. “You should have listened to me!”

Cal raised his hand to quiet her. “I think we should hear from Raj before we jump to any conclusions. Tell us what happened, Raj. Don’t spare the details.”

Without much embellishment, Raj told the whole story, from colliding with the doctor to being thanked by the doctor in the hospital corridor after the failed resuscitation attempt. When he was finished he fell silent, still looking down at the floor and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“That was it?” Cal asked, after a brief silence. Cal was relieved. He and everyone else had expected something a lot worse, like Raj being accused of doing what he in reality did do. “And let me review. The working diagnosis was heart attack and stroke of some sort. That’s what will be on the death certificate?”

Raj nodded. “That’s my understanding.”

“And you heard nothing about an inquest, an autopsy, or any investigation?”

“No. Nothing like that. What I did overhear from the surgeon was that an e-mail had come out that obligated him to call the hospital CEO and report the death immediately. Apparently there’s concern because of the two deaths at the Queen Victoria Hospital causing international attention. They are going to want to suppress any attention toward tonight’s death.”

“That sounds almost too good to me,” Cal said. “Under the circumstances I can’t imagine that this kind of potential disaster could have any better outcome. Raj, it seems as if you did a terrific job.”

Raj began to perk up. He even made eye contact with several people. Led by Cal, there was even spontaneous applause. “Let’s get a bunch of Kingfisher from the fridge and make a toast to Raj,” Cal said.

“What about stopping any more episodes?” Veena questioned. “I think we should decide now to stop them, at least for a few days. Let’s not push our luck.”

“That seems reasonable,” Cal said, “but let’s get full advantage of this one. Did you get the patient’s hospital record?” Cal asked Raj. Raj went into one of his pockets and pulled out his USB storage device and the succinylcholine syringe. Cal took the storage device and handed it to Santana. “Let’s get this death episode right to CNN. With the failed resuscitation attempt, it should make good copy and have even more impact. Encourage them to get it on the air ASAP.”

Santana took the storage device. “It will only take me a few minutes, then I’ll be back for that beer. How about waiting.”

October 17, 2007

Wednesday, 9:05 p.m.

New Delhi, India

Jennifer’s sleep pattern had never been so out of whack. When she’d returned to her room from having dinner with Lucinda Benfatti, she was so tired she’d almost fallen asleep brushing her teeth. But once she’d gotten into bed and turned out the lights, her mind started waking up. Before she knew it, she was anticipating Laurie and Jack’s arrival with great excitement and wondering whether she should have already reserved one of the hotel cars to pick them up. It seemed that ten p.m. to two a.m. was when most of the international flights arrived, so the demand for the hotel’s vehicles was the highest then.

Worried that she might already be out of luck, Jennifer sat up, turned on the light, and called down to the concierge’s desk. Talking with the concierge, she learned something she didn’t know. An airport pickup for Amal Palace guests was complimentary, and a vehicle was already scheduled to pick up Laurie and Jack. Asking if she could join the pickup, the concierge assured her she could, told her when it would be leaving, and promised to let transportation know that she would be going along.

With that job out of the way, Jennifer turned the light off again and wriggled down under the covers. At first she started out on her back with her hands comfortably folded on her chest. But with her mind activated from making the car reservation, she found herself puzzling over whether Laurie and Jack would have more luck dealing with the case manager than she did, and what that would mean in regard to a possible autopsy.

A few minutes later, Jennifer turned on her side while she thought about cyanosis and wondered if Herbert Benfatti had been cyanotic, and how she might find out.

Five minutes later, she was on her stomach thinking about what she should do the following day. She certainly had no intention of hanging around the Queen Victoria Hospital and being badgered all day. She thought she might try to do a bit of sightseeing, even though, as preoccupied as she was, she thought she might find it tedious. She knew herself well enough to know that even in the best of circumstances, she wasn’t much of the sightseeing type as far as old buildings and tombs were concerned. What she did find interesting was people.

At that point she started thinking about how little she knew about India, Indians, and Indian culture.

“Damn!” Jennifer suddenly said to the darkness. Despite her body’s insistence that it was exhausted, her mind was buzzing like a beehive. With frustration Jennifer sat up, turned the bedside lamp on, and got out of bed. In the walk-in closet she located the several Indian guidebooks she’d gotten at LAX, brought them back into the room, and tossed them onto the bed. She then went over to the TV and angled it from pointing at the couch to point at the bed. Leaping back into the bed, she used the remote to tune in CNN International. She then cursed again, realizing she’d forgotten water. Climbing back out of bed and going to the minibar refrigerator, she got herself a bottle of cold mineral water and popped the top. Back in the bed, she puffed the pillows and eased herself against the headboard. Finally comfortable, she cracked one of the guidebooks and turned to the section on Old Delhi.

As the CNN anchors droned on about clever French entrepreneurs dreaming up Disney-themed hotels for Dubai, Jennifer read about the Red Fort built by Mughal emperors. There were lots of facts and figures and names and dates. On the next page there was the description of the largest mosque in India, with equally boring statistics, such as how many people it could hold for Friday services. But then she came upon something that did really interest her: a lengthy description of the renowned bazaar of Old Delhi.