Now Claire watched Dr. Miles make the abdominal incision and she hoped they would find an answer, the answer, something that could explain why a perfectly healthy forty-five-year-old man had suddenly turned into a vomiting and feverish zombie.
"We'll do a checklist," Dr. Miles said without looking up, his large fingers gentle and confident. "We'll start with the gallbladder, appendix, pancreas, liver."
His voice was deep, calm, smooth and reassuring. Claire was reminded of the image she had of him when she was a resident, the image that they all had of him. He was a larger-than-life father figure and even his voice was like that of God's. If Dr. Jackson Miles couldn't find what was wrong with Markus Schroder, then no one could.
"Pancreas looks normal," he continued."There doesn't appear to be anything taking a ride on it."
Claire dabbed sponge laps at the blood while Miles's surgical nurse, a young Asian man named Urie, readjusted the suction. Blood continued to ooze up. More dabs from Claire. Urie applied clotting gel. Another small, wiry nurse reached up on tiptoe and swiped the sweat from Miles's brow. He added a hemo clip to the incision. Then he added another.
The incision filled up with blood again.
Usually during surgery the blood vessels the surgeon cuts through will clot up. Additional bleeding can be clamped off or gelled to stop. Periodically the wound and incision need to be suctioned. But that wasn't the case here. Something was very wrong.
Miles waited for Claire to dab again, but her sponges became soaked with blood faster than she could change them out. Same for Urie. As soon as he would apply more clotting gel, the blood would overtake the application. The other nurse added her hands, dabbing and collecting blood-soaked sponges. Even the anesthesiologist looked ready to jump in.
Miles's eyes met Claire's, avoiding the rest of the surgical team. There was a flicker of uncertainty that she had never seen before. Claire found herself thinking, It's like seeing God worried. Recognizing the alarm in Miles's face made her stomach take a brief plunge.
Urie suctioned off more blood while Miles tried to pinch off the blood vessels with another clamp. Claire continued to soak sponge laps. Nothing seemed to work. Markus Schroder's abdomen continue to fill up with blood. Claire couldn't help thinking it was like scooping sand out of a hole in the beach. As soon as you pulled up a handful the sand walls caved in, filling the hole as quickly as you could dig.
"This isn't good," Miles finally said."Let me cut a piece of tissue then let's get out of here."
He did the biopsy quickly, which was amazing to Claire, who could no longer differentiate anything through all the blood. Miles handed the sample off to the nurse. Then he and Claire began closing up, suturing quickly as Urie suctioned and dabbed.
Finally finished, the entire team of six stood back and exchanged looks. No one said anything. Claire could feel the sweat trickle down her back as she watched a stream slide down Miles's face. At one point his black eyes held Claire's and there was as much question and concern as there was alarm.
Urie was the one who broke the silence. "That dude's got some serious problems."
CHAPTER
45
The Slammer
When the telephone rang this time, Maggie wanted to wave it away. She kept her head bent, her eyes focused on the computer screen. As long as she lived inside that computer screen she didn't have to remember the room was only sixteen paces wide and fourteen paces deep. She didn't have to remember that the virus might be silently duplicating itself inside her body. Diving into her work had always helped her push aside her emotions, helped her to compartmentalize the stress, the chaos, the throbbing inside her chest. It would work. It could work, if that stupid phone would stop ringing.
After a half-dozen rings she finally looked up, more annoyed than resolved.
When she saw the woman on the other side of the glass Maggie slid back her chair and stared. Finally she realized she was holding her breath, afraid she was hallucinating. If she attempted to breathe, if she moved, would the image disappear?
She stood up. Took a quick swipe at her eyes, pretending they were tired and not moist with emotion.
This was ridiculous.
Twenty-four hours in this place and she was already letting it get the best of her. She left the sanctuary of the computer and snatched up the telephone receiver off the wall.
"Hey, kiddo," Gwen Patterson said with a smile that couldn't hide her concern.
The petite strawberry-blonde wore a black power suit, her makeup impeccable, never mind that it was Saturday. To the Army scientists that peopled USAMRIID she probably looked like a Wall Street power broker. To Maggie she looked like a lifeline and she found it difficult swallowing, the carefully compartmentalized emotion was now stuck in her throat. She could barely get out a simple response.
"How in the world did you get in here?"
"Are you joking? I'm the psychologist of choice to half the Army colonels in the District."
Maggie laughed…hard. It felt good. But she knew Gwen wasn't exactly joking. She did have a client list that included members of congress, senators and even colonels.
"God, it's good to see you," Maggie said with a sigh that ended up more a gasp for air. She didn't care that it sounded needy, not with Gwen, only with Gwen.
"Have you been able to get any sleep?" Gwen put her hand up against the glass as though she could recognize that Maggie needed at least the gesture of a touch. "What about food?"
Maggie smiled.
"Seriously, have you eaten? Is there anything you need?"
Maggie shook her head thinking, ever the mother hen. Gwen Patterson was fifteen years Maggie's senior and sometimes it showed up in their friendship.
Finally Gwen waved her hand for Maggie to sit down. Gwen sat in the plastic chair on her side of the glass at the same time that Maggie dropped into her own. Again, Maggie wiped at her eyes. Damn it. She would not cry. Funny how four walls behind a steel air-lock door had a way of shoving all your emotions to the edge and then pricking at them over and over again.
"You got my message.You talked to Tully," Maggie said.
"He should have called me last night."
"Don't be too hard on him," Maggie told her friend. "Cunningham and I missed this one. We should have seen it."
"Okay, so tell me everything," Gwen said, sitting back and crossing her legs as if they were back at Old Ebbitt Grill, their favorite hangout, getting ready for one of their chats. "And don't leave anything out."
CHAPTER
46
USAMRIID
Colonel Benjamin Platt couldn't be sure how long he had been sitting in his own office with the door shut and the lights off. He sat staring out his window, a much smaller version of the commander's, and he watched the wet gray daylight dissolve into blue twilight. Earlier he had leaned his head back and closed his eyes, waiting and hoping to silence the steady hum inside his brain. He needed to rest his eyes, rest his body and his mind for just a few minutes.
The exhaustion played games with him. Pieces of memories kept flicking images on the backside of his eyelids. Ali cuddling the white Westie puppy. Ali in her favorite white summer dress. She looked like a little angel. And just as quickly the image flashed to Ali with mud all over her, a huge grin on her dirt-smudged face and her hands presenting him with the ugliest frog he'd ever seen. "Daddy, look what Digger and I found."