He followed her through the automatic doors towards reception. These places always smelt the same. The unpleasant tang of disinfectant, synthetic citrus and bleach.
“Can you tell Dr. Anne Fitzgerald that Amanda Marshall is here please,” she said. The receptionist picked up the phone without looking up. They didn’t have to wait long. Dr. Fitzgerald burst through the door to their left, curly hair extending in an uncontrolled frizz from all angles, heavy-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose and a pair of slightly too large Birkenstock sandals on her feet.
“Hey Mands. God, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I thought Jack was the one that had been on the dodgy clinical trial.”
Amanda stood still, arms at her side as her friend embraced her warmly.
“You okay?” She said, hands on her shoulders, her gaze professional and assessing. Amanda nodded, but didn’t speak, didn’t make eye contact.
“We had a bit of a difficult journey. I’ll explain all about it once we get somewhere more private.” Jack said, aware the receptionist was beginning to register their presence.
“Ok sure, follow me,” Anne replied, swiping her card and leaning into the door. She placed a protective arm around Amanda, throwing a less-than-trusting glance over her shoulder at Jack.
They walked along innumerable corridors, through heavy swing doors, past lifts and trolleys and doctors engaged in ominously quiet conversations. Anne Fitzgerald’s lab was behind the in-patient department. An area with no public access. It was a good-sized room. Well lit. Functional and neat. Two work benches down the middle, two more at the side, microscopes at various intervals, trays of petri dishes racked up on the shelves. There was a separate room closed off at one end; Jack could see a great hulking piece of machinery through the door. The old x-ray machine.
“Nice lab” Jack said.
“Thanks, I share the place with two other research fellows. They don’t tend to come in on Sundays.”
“Um, I’m pretty sure it’s a Saturday.” Jack said, aware his own grasp on the day of the week was not entirely cast in iron. Anne frowned and scratched at her curls.
“Really? If you say so.” Jack noticed a small, foldable camp bed at one end of the room. An unmade blanket on top of it. Anne saw the direction of his gaze.
“Sometimes I lose track of time if I’m working late, so I crash over there. Let me see if I can get something for Amanda.” She opened a cupboard, nimbly catching the rolls of plaster and packets of aspirin that fell out.
“Here,” she said, handing Jack a bottle of brandy. “Pour her a sensible measure.” He looked around for a glass but there weren’t any.
“Just use a measuring beaker,” Anne said.
Amanda swallowed. Down in one, gasping as the heat of the liquor hit the back of her throat, the colour coming back to her cheeks.
“Now Amanda dear, what exactly has this brute been doing to you?” Anne pointed at Jack, only half joking. Amanda shook her head.
“I’m not sure if they wanted to kill us, kidnap us, or just frighten the hell out of us, but about half an hour ago I had the first fight I’ve ever had in my adult life with three men who looked like they were considerably more used to fighting than me.” Anne’s eyes bulged. “Shit. Where were you in all this Jacko?”
Amanda replied before he had the chance. “Oh, Jack got stuck in alright. I suspect he has a little more experience of fighting than I do. Possibly even more than they do. Than they did.” She corrected herself.
“Now you’re just being silly,” Jack said, relieved to see the more feisty Amanda coming back. “And it was definitely kidnap. Not kill. You should’ve seen how she handled a cricket bat. They literally did not know what had hit them.”
Amanda shook her head, pouring herself another measure of brandy, smaller this time.
“Anyway Anne, not to be rude, but may I suggest you power up the x-ray machine and we see if we can get this thing out of me,” he pointed at his belly.
“Very bossy isn’t he?” Anne said, leaning close to Amanda. She trotted over to the small room at the far end of the lab. “Come along then. Mands said she suspected the thing was somewhere between your stomach and your small intestine. Top off please. If we don’t find it first go I’m afraid that’s just too bad. I’m not going to blast you with two doses of radiation. We’ll have to cut you open and feel about till we’ve found it. Here, take this.” She handed him a lead lined jacket, open at the front, and put one on herself.
“Stand there.” She pointed to the middle of the floor, manoeuvred the wide grey tube so it was pointing at his belly and stepped out of the room. “Stay perfectly still”, she said. A whooshing sound. Picture taken.
Jack felt something inside of him give way. A moment of uncertainty. The sky before fireworks. He doubled over, crippled by an explosion of pain, a searing light before his eyes. Amanda burst through the door “Quick, onto one of the tables.” She said, dragging him by the arm. Jack was speechless, mouth open dumbly, stumbling after her. He heaved himself onto the work surface.
“The radiation must have done something to the device. Where’s the pain Jack? I need you to focus. Where’s the pain?” she asked, pushing him onto his back. Anne swabbed his stomach with disinfecting alcohol. From the corner of his eye he caught the surgical flash of a scalpel. He tried to reply but couldn’t. Something was stretching, pulling at his guts like a baker kneading dough.
Anne and Amanda stopped, staring at his stomach, a balloon inflating.
“Jack, I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt. Anne will pump some local anaesthetic into you but it isn’t going to work in time and I need to start cutting.” Amanda said. Her turn to be cool and efficient. Any other time he’d have been impressed. Right now he just wanted the agony to stop. Eyes wide, he gripped onto the sides of the bench, focus on the ceiling, focus on the ceiling. A needle stabbed into his side. A scalpel blade, hot and cold at the same time, a strange release of tension in his abdomen, tissue pulled from tissue. Anne clamped a pencil between his teeth. Crunched to pieces, something leathery instead, a belt? Breathe Jack, keep breathing. He clenched his teeth, looked up at the flames, the neon lights of the ceiling transformed into strips of fire. Then nothing. A welcome darkness. His body numbing the pain the only way it could.
12
Sir Clive looked down at the hospital, the helicopter circling high above it. Two concrete shoeboxes placed side to end in a ‘T’ shape. Tiny cars dotted around it, brightly coloured in neat rows, pieces of candy from this height. The pilot positioned for his descent, the large yellow ‘H’ of the heliport seeming to move upwards to meet them. A jolt as they touched down.
Sir Clive was out the door, running quickly across the heliport, blades still swirling above his head. He held out his hand in greeting. The hospital manager took it and nodded warily. To say he’d been surprised to receive a call only a few minutes earlier from the Director of Cyber Crime at MI6 would be an understatement.
“You said on the phone there was no danger to our staff or patients. Are you absolutely certain?” He shouted over the whir of the blades, still spinning. Sir Clive nodded.
“No danger, but time is of the essence. Take me to the main entrance.” The hospital manager led him inside, pressed the button to call the lift.