Robin Cook - Foreign Body

When he had hung up from the conference call, he’d felt reassured. Unfortunately, it hadn’t lasted, and the issue had slowly wormed its way back into his consciousness. What could it have been that the pesky medical student had come across that had initiated her suspicions? Even after the Hernandez woman’s departure, there were bound to be others who’d be just as curious and stumble on the same mysterious and potentially fatal flaw.

“Hey, man!” Durell called out from the library doorway.

Cal waved. “What’s up?”

“You want to come out and take a look at the organization’s new ride?”

“Why not,” he said. He let his feet fall to the floor with a plop and stood up.

The front door to the mansion then slammed shut.

“Can we hold off just for a few minutes?” Cal asked. “If that’s Veena and Samira, I’d like to get a debriefing. I’ve been worrying over that Hernandez chick all day, ever since you rightly said we should find out what made her suspicious. I imagine it has something to do with her being a medical student, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what it could be. I even called the two doctors we’ve originally consulted in Charlotte, North Carolina. As far as I can figure out, we’ve thought of everything.”

“I’m for finding out,” Durell admitted. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a constant worry, you know what I’m saying?”

“I know what you’re saying,” Cal agreed, as Veena, Samira, and Raj came into the library. They were in a good mood, singing a song they all knew from childhood. Samira broke off and went up to Durell for a hug and a real kiss. Veena went to Cal but availed herself of only a French-style peck on each cheek.

Raj literally threw himself laughing onto the couch as he finished the last refrain of the childhood ditty.

“You guys are happy,” Cal commented, with the suggestion he wasn’t.

“It was an easy day for all of us,” Veena said. “Raj was the only one assigned a patient, and he was just a hernia repair. Samira and I had to look for things to do.”

“How come?”

Veena and Samira looked at each other. “We’re not sure. Maybe a few cancellations. Maybe Nurses International is doing too good a job.” They laughed.

“Wouldn’t that be ironic,” Cal said. “Anyway, what’s the status with the Hernandez woman? Any feedback today?”

“I was free around two-thirty,” Veena said, “so I went down to talk to the case manager. I asked her about Maria Hernandez’s body and whether it had been taken care of. She cackled mockingly and said, ‘Of course not.’ Apparently, they had gone to the extent of offering to have the body taken to Varanasi to have it cremated on the banks of the Ganges, but the granddaughter turned it down, so they are completely frustrated. Tomorrow the medical examiner friend is coming to the hospital, which shouldn’t make the slightest difference because they absolutely refuse to do an autopsy. But there’s clear sailing in sight. The case manager told me they are getting a writ tomorrow from a magistrate to remove and cremate the body. So it should be over tomorrow sometime.”

“Same for Benfatti,” Samira said.

“Same for David Lucas,” Raj said. “The magistrate writ is to cover all three bodies.”

“You all haven’t been inquiring about your bodies, have you?” Cal asked, with mild alarm.

“Yes, we have,” Samira said. “Is that a problem? We will all feel better when the bodies are gone.”

“Please, no more! Don’t call any attention to yourselves by asking specifically about the bodies.”

All three shrugged. “We didn’t think we were causing undue attention,” Samira said. “The situation is general hospital gossip. It’s not as if we are the only ones talking about it.”

“Do me a favor and don’t participate,” Cal said.

“My patient’s death certificate was signed today,” Raj said. “But still the wife wants an autopsy on the advice of Jennifer Hernandez.”

“What was the official cause of death?” Cal asked.

“Heart attack,” Raj said. “Heart attack with emboli and stroke.”

“With all three bodies still around,” Cal said, “maybe we should put off doing any more patients for a few days.”

Veena sat up straight from where she’d collapsed into a leather club chair. “I agree wholeheartedly. No more deaths until all this chaos caused by Jennifer Hernandez is cleared up.”

“Someone should let Petra know,” Cal said. “One of her nurses called in today to say she had a good candidate.”

Veena bounded out of the chair. “I’ll do it. I didn’t even think we should have done one last night.” Without waiting for a response, she left the room.

Raj got up from the couch. “I think I’ll take a shower,” he said.

“Likewise,” Samira said. She gave Durell a final hug and followed Raj out of the room.

Cal glanced at Durell. “Let’s see those wheels,” he said.

“You got it,” Durell responded.

“I’m thinking we should do something proactive about this Jennifer Hernandez,” Cal said, as they passed out of the library and headed toward the front door.

“I told you, if we don’t find out what has made her suspicious, we’re always going to feel like we have our dicks hanging out. Someone else is going to see it and call us on it.”

“That’s exactly what has me worried. It’s a bummer it has to be now, just when everything else is going so smoothly.”

“What do you have in mind?” Durell asked. He opened the mansion’s front door and held it for Cal.

“I thought I’d call Sachin, Mr. Motorcycle Jacket. He handled Veena’s father perfectly. I thought of him because he called me yesterday to say he checked on Basant Chandra Wednesday and the guy panicked. He doesn’t think he has to see him again for a couple of weeks. I think he could handle Jennifer Hernandez with ease. It’s a much more simple job.”

“What would you have him do?”

“Snatch her and bring her here. We can lock her in that room under the garage until she talks.”

“Then what?” Durell asked. He was standing next to a burgundy Toyota Land Cruiser. It has seen some miles and had its share of dents, but the wear and tear only seemed to give it character.

Cal put his right hand lightly on the vehicle’s metallic surface and walked a complete circuit around it, letting his fingers trail along. He then opened the driver’s-side door and glanced inside. The interior was equally worn.

“I like it,” Cal said. “How does it run?”

“Just fine. It’s been a workhorse for an architectural firm.”

“Perfect,” Cal said. He shut the door firmly, and there was a reassuring click.

“So what will you do with Hernandez after you learn what you want her to tell us?”

“Nothing. I’d just pay Sachin to have her disappear. I don’t really want to know where, but my guess is that she’d end up somewhere at the bottom of the landfill.”

Durell nodded. He wondered how many people had already disappeared there. It was so convenient.

“Hey, man! I love the car,” Cal said, his spirits rising. He gave one of the front tires a kick. “If we need it, it will be perfect. Good job.”

“Thanks.”

October 18, 2007

Thursday, 10:32 p.m.

New Delhi, India

Juggling all her injection paraphernalia, Laurie made her way to one of the plane’s lavatories. After locking the door, she spread out her gonadotropin pharmacopeia on the tiny shelf. She deftly filled the syringe with the prescribed amount of follicular-stimulating hormone and then equally deftly gave herself the subcutaneous injection on the anterior aspect of her thigh. Ten-thirty p.m. Indian time was only an hour later than noon in New York City, which was when she gave herself her shot each and every day. At that moment they were flying over northwestern India, soon to begin their approach into New Delhi.