“Come on!” Melanie pleaded as if her urging could speed up the apparatus. Since it was a freight elevator, it was agonizingly slow. It was just passing the second floor when the door to the hallway rattled on its hinges followed by a muffled expletive.
The three exchanged panicky glances. “They’ll be in here in the next few seconds,” Kevin said. “Is there another way out?”
Melanie shook her head. “Only the elevator.”
“We have to hide,” Kevin said.
“What about the refrigerator?” Candace offered.
With no time to argue, the three darted to the refrigerator. Kevin got the door open. A cool mist flowed out to layer itself along the floor. Candace went in first, followed by Melanie and then Kevin. Kevin pulled the door shut. It’s hardware clicked soundly.
The room was twenty feet square, with stainless-steel shelving from floor to ceiling that lined the periphery as well as forming a central island. The hulks of a number of dead primates lay on the shelves. The most impressive was the body of a huge silver-back male gorilla on the middle shelf of the central island. The illumination in the room came from bare light bulbs within wire cages attached to the ceiling at intervals along the walkways.
Instinctively, the three rushed around to the back of the central island and squatted down. Their heavy breathing formed fleeting spheres of mist in the frigid temperature. The smell was not pleasant with a hint of ammonia, but it was tolerable.
Surrounded by heavy insulation, Kevin and the others could not hear a sound inside the refrigerator, not even the whine of the elevator. At least not until they heard the unmistakable click of the refrigerator door’s latch.
Kevin felt his heart skip a beat as the door was pulled open. Preparing himself to see the sneering face of Siegfried, Kevin slowly raised his head to look over the bulk of the dead gorilla. To his surprise it wasn’t Siegfried. It was two men in scrub suits carrying in the body of a chimpanzee.
Wordlessly, the men placed the remains of the dead ape on a shelf to the right just inside the door and then left. Once the door was closed, Kevin looked down at Melanie and sighed. “This has to have been the worst day of my life.”
“It’s not over yet,” Melanie said. “We still have to get out of here. But at least we got what we came for.” She opened her fist and held up the key. Light glinted off its chrome-colored surface.
Kevin looked at his own hand. Without realizing it, he was still clutching the detailed contour map of Isla Francesca.
Bertram turned on the light in the hallway as he exited the stairwell. He’d gone up to the second floor and had entered the pediatric unit. He’d asked the crew if anybody had just run through. The answer was no.
Entering his examination room, he switched on the light in there as well. Siegfried appeared at the door to Bertram’s office.
“Well?” Siegfried questioned.
“I don’t know if someone was in here or not,” Bertram said. He looked down at the stainless-steel pail that had moved from its normal position under the edge of the examining table.
“Did you see anyone?” Siegfried asked.
“Not really,” Bertram said. He shook his head. “Maybe the janitorial crew left the lights on.”
“Well, it underlines my concerns about the keys,” Siegfried said.
Bertram nodded. He reached out with his foot and pushed the stainless-steel bucket back to its normal position. He turned out the light in the examining room before following Siegfried back into his office.
Bertram opened the top drawer of the file cabinet and pulled out the Isla Francesca folder. He unsnapped the securing elastic and pulled out the contents.
“What’s the matter?” Siegfried asked.
Bertram had hesitated. As a compulsively neat individual he could not imagine having crammed everything into the folder so haphazardly. Fearing the worst, it was with some relief that he lifted the Stevenson Bridge envelope and felt the lump made by the ring of keys.
CHAPTER 12
MARCH 5, 1997
6:45 P.M.
NEW YORK CITY
“THIS is the damndest thing,” Jack said. He was peering into his microscope at one particular slide and had been doing so intently for the previous half hour. Chet had tried to talk with him but had given up. When Jack was concentrating, it was impossible to get his attention.
“I’m glad you are enjoying yourself,” Chet said. He’d just stood up in preparation to leave and was about to heft his briefcase.
Jack leaned back and shook his head. “Everything about this case is screwy.” He looked up at Chet and was surprised to see he had his coat on. “Oh, are you leaving? ”
“Yeah, and I’ve been trying to say goodbye for the last fifteen minutes.”
“Take a look at this before you go,” Jack said. He motioned toward his microscope as he pushed away from the desk to give Chet room.
Chet debated. He checked his watch. He was due at his gym for a seven o’clock aerobics class. He’d had his eye on one of the girls who was a regular. In an effort to build up the courage to approach her, he’d been taking the class himself. The problem was that she was in far better shape than he, so that at the end of the class he was always too winded to talk.
“Come on, sport,” Jack said. “Give me your golden opinion.”
Chet let go of his briefcase, leaned over, and peered into the eyepieces of Jack’s microscope. With no explanation from Jack, he first had to figure out what the tissue was. “So, you’re still looking at this frozen section of liver,” he said.
“It’s been entertaining me all afternoon,” Jack said.
“Why not wait for the regular fixed sections?” Chet said. “These frozen sections are so limiting.”
“I’ve asked Maureen to get them out as soon as she can,” Jack said. “But meanwhile this is all I have. What do you think of the area under the pointer?”
Chet played with the focus. One of the many problems with frozen sections was they were often thick and the cellular architecture appeared fuzzy.
“I’d say it looks like a granuloma,” Chet said. A granuloma was the cellular sign of chronic, cell-mediated inflammation.
“That was my thought as well,” Jack said. “Now move the field over to the right. It will show a part of the liver surface. What do you see there?”
Chet did as he was told, while worrying that if he was late to the gym, there wouldn’t be a spot in the aerobics class. The instructor was one of the most popular.
“I see what looks like a large, scarred cyst,” Chet said.
“Does it look at all familiar?” Jack asked.
“Can’t say it does,” Chet said. “In fact, I’d have to say it looks a little weird.”
“Well said,” Jack remarked. “Now, let me ask you a question.”
Chet raised his head and looked at his office mate. Jack’s domed forehead was wrinkled with confusion.
“Does this look like a liver that you’d expect to see in a relatively recent transplant?”
“Hell, no!” Chet said. “I’d expect some acute inflammation but certainly not a granuloma. Especially if the process could be seen grossly as suggested by the collapsed surface cyst.”
Jack sighed. “Thank you! I was beginning to question my judgment. It’s reassuring to hear you’ve come to the same conclusion.”
“Knock, knock!” a voice called out.
Jack and Chet looked up to see Ted Lynch, the director of the DNA lab, standing in the doorway. He was a big man, almost in Calvin Washington’s league. He’d been an all-American tackle for Princeton before going on to graduate school.
“I got some results for you, Jack,” Ted said. “But I’m afraid it’s not what you want to hear, so I thought I’d come down and tell you in person. I know you’ve been thinking you’ve got a liver transplant here, but the DQ alpha was a perfect match, suggesting it was the patient’s own liver.”