Implant. Part 21

"I'll sc-e what we can arrange. But if you want me to use the accelerated healing procedures, you'll have to watch a videotape and sign a stack of release forms.

The implants I employ are still considered investigational at this point."

"Whatever you say."

"Excellent." As Duncan led him out into the hall, he spotted Gin pa.s.sing by.

She glanced his way, then did a double take.

"Senator Marsdent" Something flickered across her face. Somewhere in the moment between her surprise of recognition and smile of greeting her features twisted with an odd expression. Was it fear, concern, or consternation?

Whatever, it was plain that Gin was anything but happy to see the senator here.

Why?

She'd seen nothing but good results.e.xcellent results during her time here. Why on earth should she have the slightest concern about her senator's having surgery here?

Unless . . .

No. How could she suspect? How could she even guc-ss?It had to be something else. Maybe he'd misinterpreted her expression.

But he didn't think so. Something there, something very much like fear.

Duncan tried to shrug off the feeling but it wouldn't let go. Why on earth should the sight of him with Senator Marsden strike terror into Gin?

Unsettling thoughts whirled through Gin's mind as she watched Senator Marsden sign the consent forms, thoughts about three members of Marsden's committee, all Lathram patients, all either dead, damaged, or demented . . .

She did her best to keep calm.

"What a surprise to see you here, " she said after Duncan was gone.

He tapped the tip of his ear with his finger. "Well, it seems it's unanimous that this has got to go. And didn't you say he was the best?

" "Yes, but I never meant you should come here. . . I mean, he doesn't take cases like yours."

"He said he'd make an exception in my case." Gin felt a cold lump form in her stomach. Duncan never made exceptions.

"Really. I'm surprised."

"Maybe you should be flattered. He said it was because of you." He clapped her on the upper arm. "See. I knew I'd be glad I hired you."

I hope so, Senator, she thought. She made what she hoped was a graceful exit and hurried away. She had someplace to go.

She sat in the periodicals section of the D. C. Public Library's main branch on G Street. She'd remembered something Oliver had said about the Guidelines committee . . . shortly after Duncan had exploded at the news that she was looking for a post on the committee.

. . . years ago he had a bit of trouble . . .

Trouble with the Guidelines committee? How many years? Oliver wasn't talking. Maybe the microfilm would.

She ran a search of the Was.h.i.+ngton Post the year of Lisa's death, looking for Duncan.

The earliest was dated May 7th, about a week before the first anti-Duncan article in the Alexandria Banner. Front page, lower right corner.

Gin's stomach lurched as she read the heading, "Committee Decries Gross Overcharging' by Surgeon." She scanned the article until she spotted his name, then backtracked.

From his seat beside the committee chairman, ranking member Senator Harold Vincent said his staff had uncovered a case of "flagrant abuse of the current system, right here in our own backyard." He went on to excoriate Dr. Duncan Lathram, a vascular surgeon in Alexandria, for collecting over a million dollars from Medicate last year. "This sort of gouging is a prime example of a profession running wild, lining their pockets with millions of taxpayers' hard-earned money. If ever there was a doubt that the medical profession needs guidelines imposed on it, that doubt should be banished by the likes of Dr. Lathram. "

Gin sat rigid in her seat before the microfilm screen, shocked not only by the words, but by their speaker. Senator Vincent . . . Duncan had operated on him just a few weeks ago, they'd been bantering in the committee hearing room moments before his seizures. And though he'd attacked Duncan in public five years before, neither had ever mentioned it. Had they both forgotten?

No. Not Duncan. Vincent, maybe. In a quarter century on the Hill, this was simply another in an endless series of remarks prepared by one of his aides and tossed away after they were read into the record.

But Duncan . . . those words no doubt were branded on his brain. He'd never forget something like this. Nor would he forgive.

She went back and read the article from the beginning. Vincent had attacked Duncan from his seat on the Committee for Medical Practice Guidelinesthe original Guidelines committee under Senator McCready.

The article listed the other members of that first committee. Besides Vincent and McCready, it named Lane, Allard, and Schulz.

Schalz! Schulz had been on the original committee. Gin hadn't known that.

'"Oh . . . my . . . Ciod, " she whispered. That was the connection between the four dead or injured legislatorsall had been members of the McCready committee.

She found another mention of Duncan, deeper in the paper, a week later.

This time it was Congressman Allard pillorying this price-gougingsurgeon and calling him "the tip of the iceberg." Something must be done on the federal level. He demanded a Medicate audit of Duncan's officer and hospital records.

Gin leaned back. So this was where Duncan's h.e.l.l had begun, ignited by a spark from the original Guidelines committee. He must hate these men . . . yet he'd done cosmetic surgery on four of them.

And now those four were either dead or hospitalized.

It was all circ.u.mstantial, all four cases were different, and she couldn't see how any grand jury could indict on the available evidence . . . yet only a fool could deny the obvious and terrifying pattern.

But where was the connection to Lisa?

And did it matter?

At the moment, no. What did matter was that Senator Marsden was going under Duncan's knife next week.

She remembered him signing the surgical consent forms a few hours ago.

Wasn't there an expression about signing your life away?

GINA GINA DIDN'T T WAKE UP SAt.u.r.dAY MORNING. SHE DIDN"T have to. She never got to sleep.

A night of endless tossing and turning. She'd tried everything short of a sleeping pill. She didn't have one around and it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Her racing mind was stuck in overdrive and refused to downs.h.i.+ft.

Something's going to happen Jo Senator Marsden.

The thought had ricocheted off the walls of her brain like a racquetball. She'd countered it with every explanation she could dredge up. It all came down to the fact that despite a seemingly obvious pattern, all the evidence was circ.u.mstantial. Yes, the committee had initiated a series of events that had ruined Duncan's practice, but it would take more than that to set him on a murderous vendetta.

Yet every time she thought she'd laid the fear to rest, some dark, formless dread from her hindbrain, that ancestral home of primal instincts, would rear up and slam it into wild, random motion again.

So now she sat in her bay window and looked down on the Sat.u.r.day-morning quiet of Kalorama Road. G.o.d, what was she going todo?

She'd have to do something.

Stop the surgery? How? What reason could she give? No, she'd have to find a way to ease her mind so she wouldn't go crazy waiting for something to happen.

But anything bad that happens to Marsden after the surgery, even if he gets. .h.i.t by a meteor while raking leaves in his front yard, I'm going to blame on Duncan.

Gin could handle just about every question except the one about Duncan's desk drawer.

She had seen the vial and the oversized trocar. And she couldn't explain them.

What was in that vial? What was a trocar doing in there?

Only one way to find out. Did she dare?

She headed for the bedroom to throw on some clothes.

Gin let herself into the surgicenter through the private rear entrance and coded off the alarm. She felt more than a little guilty about this.

After all, Duncan had entrusted her with a set of keys and here she was sneaking in to snoop through his desk.

It's not as if I'm going to steal anything, she thought. I'm just going to borrow a little rea.s.surance.

She locked the door behind her, then set up her excuse for being here.

Not much chance that anyone else would be in on a Sat.u.r.day, and her car was in the rear lot, hidden from the street, but you never knew. So, first thing, she trotted down to the records room and left her Senate ID badge on the floor under the dictation desk. Should anybody ask, that was why she was here, looking for her lost badge.

Back upstairs, she let herself into Duncan's officer. She noticed her hands were sweaty. What if Duncan popped in and caught her here? Not likely. He couldn't wait to get out of here weekday afternoons, so why would he show up on a Sat.u.r.day? Oliver was a different story. But he'd mentioned a trip to Virginia Beach for the weekend, so it was unlikely he'd show up.Through the picture window she saw that the rock garden was half in shadow. The shrubbery s.h.i.+elded her from anyone outside, but also blocked her view of the rear parking lot, so she left the office door open to hear anyone unlocking the private entrance.

She moved to Duncan's desk, praying she'd find the top right drawer sitting open.

No such luck.

Okay, another prayer that he'd forgotten to lock it. She pulled on the handle. The drawer wiggled but wouldn't slide.

d.a.m.n! She slapped her palm against the drawer. She wanted this over with. She couldn't stand it.

She slumped into Duncan's chair and stared at the drawer. The putting-to-bedor G.o.d forbid, confirmationof all her distress lay on the far side of half an inch of wood. She stared at the bra.s.s face of the lock. She'd seen Duncan's key ring hanging from that lock, which meant the drawer key went wherever he went. But maybe there was a spare around.

She went through each of the remaining drawers carefully and did find two keys, but neither fit the lock. She tried prying it open with a letter opener but was getting nowhere, and she was afraid to exert too much leverage for fear of scratching the wood.

If only she knew how to pick a lock . . . or knew someone who did .

They made love first.

Gerry arrived a few minutes early and, as much as Gin wanted to learn how to pick a lock, the sight of him standing inside her door swept away thoughts of locked drawers. After about three words they were in each other's arms and leaving a trail of clothing between the front door and the bedroom. Nicer making love on a bed instead of a couch, and this time Gerry took charge, running his lips around her nipples, then between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down along her scar to her navel, circling that, and continuing downward. She whimpered with delight and thrust herself against his probing tongue.

Afterward, they lay breathless and sweaty in each other's arms. Gin fought the urge to fall into a contented doze. She got up, threw on a robe, and opened a bottle of merlot. They snuggled together on the couch, sipping their wine.

"That was wonderful."

"For both of us, " she said, nuzzling his neck.

"By the way, did I say h.e.l.lo? " Gin laughed. "That was a hectic scene, wasn't it? " "Where's this lock you can't open? " he said finally.

Gin was uncomfortable with the lie she'd told him about a lost key, so she was glad she didn't have to remind him. She pointed to the far corner of the room.

"That little oak filing cabinet over there. I don't even know why I locked it. And now the key is gone." She hated Lying, but she couldn't tell Gerry the real reason. He was too much of a straight arrow to let her go through with her plan.

She'd chosen the little oak filing cabinet because its lock looked to be about the same size as the one on Duncan's drawer.

"No spare key? " She looked sheepish. "I think it's inside." That, at least, was true.

Gerry laughed as he picked v oblong box from the pocket.

"A lock-picking kit?" Even better." He opened up his jacket and pulled an _ the box and showed her . , something that looked like a miniature cordless screwdriver. "A battery-operated lock pick. "

"Really? I didn't even know there was such a thing."

"They've been around for a while. This one's the E.P.GElectropick.

It'll open just about any pin-and-disk tumbler qlinder lock in under a minute." -"What about picking locks the old-fas.h.i.+oned way? " "Let's hope that won't be necessary, " Gerry said. "I never learned how.

Lock picking isn't a skill required by the Bureau.

"Then why this electro-thing? " "For when we're in a big hurry and we can't get a locksmith right away." He tried a number of little black metal instruments in the keyhole until he found one that fit, then he fixed that into the end of the Electropick and began adjusting a thumbscrew atop the device.

"Once we find the right-sized raking tool, we adjust the up-and-down motiona narrow range for a small lock like thisput it into the lock, and turn her on. ' Gin watched the metal tool begin moving rapidly up and down inside the lock. Gerry moved the Electropick in and out a few times, then removed it.

"Okay. All the pins are in position. Now I just insert this tens...o...b..r"he slipped a fine, L-shaped metal rod into the keyhole"and twist.

" She heard a click. He removed the tension bar and gestured toward the drawer.

"Okay. Give her a tug." The cabinet drawer easily pulled open. She kissed him.

"My hero! A man of many talents." He held up the Electropick. "Just me and my handy E.P.G- I .

'"Wait a minute. ' She rummaged in the bottom of the cabinet drawer.

"Here's the spare."

"Great place for it>" Gerry said with a wry smile. "How about sticking it xnder the cabinet for safekeeping? " "Good idea. But first . .