by Robin Cook
Emerging from the lean-to, they looked at each other’s faces and, despite the continued threat from Cal et al., they laughed. They were both a mess, with their hair in tangles and actual dirt smeared on their faces, as though they were commandos. “You look like you’ve been through a battle,” Jennifer commented, especially since Veena’s garments were as dirty as her face. Jennifer reached back into the lean-to and pulled out the bathrobe. When she shook it out, it looked every bit as bad as Veena’s clothing.
As they walked back through the colony, other people were just emerging from the rickety, impermanent shelters. There were mothers with infants, fathers with toddlers, children, and old people.
“When you see this, doesn’t it make you sad?” Jennifer questioned.
“No,” Veena said. “It’s their karma.”
Jennifer nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t.
As the women approached the road, which was already busy with morning traffic, they became progressively leery. Although at that point in time both thought it unlikely that the Nurses International people would still be out patrolling for them, there was always a chance. To be safe rather than sorry, they kept themselves behind trees while looking up and down the road, which was choked not only with vehicles but also with people. The pedestrians were either walking toward the city or lounging in the morning sun.
“What do you think?” Jennifer asked.
“I think we’re free and clear.”
“What are you going to do?” Jennifer asked. “Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know,” Veena admitted.
“Then I’ll tell you where you are going. You’re coming back with me and staying in my room until we figure it out. Do we have a deal?”
“We have a deal,” Veena said.
It took a while to catch a taxi, but they finally got a driver en route into town to start his day. When they got to the Amal Palace Hotel, Jennifer asked him if he could wait while she got some cash, but Veena paid.
As they walked in, Sumit, the head concierge, caught sight of her and was beside himself. He called out to her with great eagerness: “Welcome, Miss Hernandez! Your friends just came in.” He rushed out from behind his desk and with tails flapping ran down to the elevators. A moment later he reappeared with a triumphant look on his face and with Laurie and Jack in tow. He’d nabbed them before they’d managed to catch an elevator.
When Laurie caught sight of Jennifer, she broke into a run. Her smile was from ear to ear. “Jennifer, my goodness!” she shouted, giving Jennifer a sustained hug. Jack did the same.
Jennifer introduced Veena as her savior. “We’re going to have showers and then come down for a big breakfast,” she added. “You guys want to join us?”
“We’d love to,” Laurie said, still shocked but utterly pleased at Jennifer’s unexpected arrival. “I’m sure Neil would like to as well.”
The foursome proceeded on to the elevators.
“I have a feeling you have quite a story to tell,” Laurie said.
“Thanks to Veena, I do,” Jennifer said.
They boarded, and the operator pressed seven for Jack and Laurie and nine for Jennifer. He had an impressive memory.
“I learned a new Indian legal term this morning on the way here in the taxi,” Jennifer said. “To turn approver.”
“That sounds curious,” Laurie said. “What does it mean?”
“It means to turn state’s evidence, and Veena is going to do just that.”
Epilogue
OCTOBER 20, 2007
SATURDAY, 11:30 P.M.
RAXAUL, INDIA
The atmosphere inside the Toyota Land Cruiser had varied throughout the duration of the drive. When they’d first started out early that morning in New Delhi, there’d been near panic to get under way. Santana in particular had been remarkably agitated, exhorting in a tense voice for the others to hurry. Her big concern was not to wake any of the nurses other than Samira who’d been sleeping with Durell.
After they’d been in the car for three hours, everyone had significantly mellowed, including Santana. Cal even began to question if they had overreacted, saying there was no way Veena would implicate herself.
“I’d rather be sitting in Kathmandu and be told we overreacted than be sitting in New Delhi and learn we underreacted,” Petra had said.
They had had lunch in Lucknow and had tried to hear if there had been any news involving Nurses International that morning. But there had been nothing: no news whatsoever, stimulating a discussion of where Veena had gone, and whether she had gone with the Hernandez woman after freeing her or by herself. There was even talk about what the Hernandez woman knew to tell the authorities. She certainly had limited knowledge of where she’d been held, having escaped in the dead of night, unless Veena specifically told her. Samira doubted she would have, emphasizing that Veena was a team player.
Ultimately, they all had agreed they’d made the best decision to get out of town and out of India until the dust settled, and until they could rationally evaluate the damage they could expect from Veena’s flight and Hernandez’s escape.
“I’d always had a nagging concern about her,” Cal admitted from the third-row seat. “I suppose in retrospect we should have dropped her when we found out about her history. Man, living like that for sixteen years has to knock a few marbles loose.”
“If Nurses International is out of business, what do you think SuperiorCare Hospital Corporation and CEO Raymond Housman are going to say?” Petra called from the driver’s seat.
“I think they are going to be very disappointed,” Cal said. “The program has had a terrific impact on medical tourism this week. It’s going to be a tragedy of sorts for them not to get more bang for their buck. Unfortunately, we’ve burned through a fair amount of cash to get where we are right now.”
“It’s a good thing you arranged for this contingency plan, Durell,” Santana said. “Otherwise, we’d still be in New Delhi.”
“It was Cal’s idea,” Durell said.
“But you did the work,” Cal said.
“We’re coming up on Raxaul,” Santana said.
Durell cupped his hands around his face and pressed them against the window. “Certainly is flat and tropical, and the opposite of what I had assumed when I started looking into it as the place for us to cross the border.”
“What do you think the chances of us having trouble here are?” Petra asked. It was the question they had all avoided asking themselves or the group, but now that they were bearing down on the town, it was becoming progressively more difficult to ignore.
“Minuscule,” Cal said finally. “This is such a backwater, people don’t even need visas to move in and out of the country. Isn’t that what you said, Durell?”
“It’s a border crossing, mostly for trucks,” Durell said.
“How long do you think we’ll have to stay in Kathmandu?” Petra asked.
“Let’s see how we feel,” Cal said.
“We’re now officially in Raxaul,” Santana called out. She pointed to a city sign that whipped past.
Silence settled over the hulking SUV. Petra gradually slowed the vehicle. Signs were plentiful. Trucks were parked everywhere. The town itself appeared run-down and dirty. The only people walking the dark streets appeared to be prostitutes.
“Beautiful place,” Durell commented, to break the silence.
“We’re approaching the customs building,” Santana said. Ahead, built in the center of the road, was a nondescript building with areas for vehicles to pull up on either side. A few uniformed border officials sat on empty boxes beneath a bare overhead bulb. A single policeman sat by himself off to one side. He wasn’t even holding his rifle. It was leaning against the building. A hundred yards beyond the customs house was a large arched structure spanning the road and defining the border. A half-dozen people were walking unimpeded in each direction.
As the Land Cruiser approached, one of the uniformed agents stood up
and held up his hand for Petra to stop. Petra lowered her window.
“Car documents,” the agent said in a bored voice, “and passports.”
They all handed their passports up to Petra. Santana got the car documents from the glove compartment. Petra handed everything out the window.
Without a word, the agent disappeared inside the building. A minute went by, then two. At five minutes Santana spoke up. “Do you think everything is okay?”
No one spoke. Everyone was becoming more and more tense with every passing minute. Their initial optimism of an easy border crossing was rapidly eroding.
Petra was the first to see the police Jeeps in the rearview mirror. There were four of them, and they came rapidly. In the blink of an eye, they boxed in the Toyota. Out of each jumped four policemen. All except two had their pistols drawn. The last two had assault rifles.
“Out of the vehicle!” the obvious commander barked. His left breast was covered with ribbons. “Hands raised! You are all under arrest.”
NOVEMBER 1, 2007
THURSDAY, 6:15 A.M.
NEW YORK CITY, USA
From Laurie’s perspective, the worst part of the whole infertility nightmare was the wait. In the first part of the cycle, you were occupied taking the pills or taking the shots and checking the progress with the ultrasound. One way or the other, you were busy and had limited time to obsess. But in the second half of the cycle, it was different. All you could do was wonder: Is this the cycle I’m going to become pregnant, or am I destined to be barren? Even the sound of the word barren was disturbing, as though there was something wrong with you, something missing.
As Laurie woke up on that early November morning with the rat-a-tat-tat of rain hitting the window, she wondered if she was pregnant. Like the ten or so preceding cycles, she had high hopes. The hormone shots she’d given herself that month had produced a bumper crop of good-sized follicles.
At the same time, Laurie felt depressed. She’d not become pregnant in all the other cycles deemed to be equally promising. Why would this one be any different? Wasn’t it best to lower hope and expectation? Last month when she’d finally gotten her period, loudly proclaiming she was not pregnant, she’d been ready to give up completely. She feared pregnancy just wasn’t going to happen to the over-forty Laurie Montgomery Stapleton.
As she lay there in her warm bed, she could hear Jack singing in the shower. His blitheness in the face of her struggles made them that much more difficult to endure.
“Screw it,” Laurie finally called out. She was resigned. She threw back the covers and hurried into the bathroom, where it was warm and steamy. Trying to keep her mind blank and devoid of expectation, Laurie got out one of her hated pregnancy tests. Squatting over the toilet, she wet the wick as the instructions advised. She set the timer and put the stick on the ceramic back of the toilet.
Heading back to the bathroom from the kitchen after turning on the coffeemaker and putting several English muffins in the toaster, Laurie picked up the pregnancy stick but purposefully avoided looking at it so she could devote more attention to turning off the irritating buzzing timer.
Having convinced herself it was negative, Laurie allowed a quick glance at its reading window but then had to look back when her brain said it was positive. For the first time there was a second stripe, and it was loud and clear. Laurie let out a whoop. Instinctively, she knew when the conception had happened. In India, right after Jennifer had happily appeared at the hotel, Laurie and Jack had made love, and even though later in the day they’d also done intrauterine insemination, Laurie knew it had been the natural way that had produced the happy outcome.
Twisting around, Laurie grabbed the towel bar on the shower door and whipped the door open. She then jumped in, pajamas and all, joining a totally surprised Jack. “We did it!” she yelled. “I’m pregnant!”
MARCH 20, 2008
THURSDAY, 11:45 A.M.
LOS ANGELES, USA
Jennifer got her envelope and resisted the strong urge to tear it open on the spot. After all, its contents would influence the rest of her life. On the front, all it said was Jennifer M. Hernandez, UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine. Inside was the result of the match: the process by which the desires of fourth-year medical students and those of the academic medical institutions were correlated to give the most satisfaction to both parties.
The match was so important for the students because where they trained was the biggest single determinant to where they would spend their professional lives.
A number of Jennifer’s friends who had already learned about where they were going tried to pressure her into opening her envelope, but she refused. Resisting all manner of persuasion, she broke free of the mostly happy group and dashed out of the auditorium. For mostly superstitious reasons, she was bent on sharing the discovery with her closest friend, Neil McCulgan.
After returning from India, their relationship had blossomed. Although Jennifer rarely had much free time, with her medical student responsibilities amalgamated with her medical-center gainful-employment jobs, what little time she did have she wanted to spend with Neil, provided he wasn’t off surfing in some exotic locale.
With her envelope burning a hole in her hand, Jennifer took off for the emergency room. When she arrived, she chased Neil down to a cubicle, where he was working with several residents, practicing intubation on a recently deceased ER patient. Concentrating on his students, he didn’t notice her immediately, but when he did, she held up the envelope and coyly waved it. He knew what it was immediately and felt a twinge of depression. He was enjoying their growing friendship even though the physical realm was still very much a work in progress. He knew things had to move on and change, but he wasn’t happy with her returning to the East Coast, where he knew she had been set on going since her first year in L.A.
As for Neil’s trying the East Coast, the thought had occurred to him, but he fought against it. As much as she liked New York, he liked L.A., especially with his spiritual relationship with surfing. He knew she’d get the match she wanted. She was too good a student and had done particularly well during the fourth-year surgery rotation she’d completed on their return from India.
Cupping his hand over his mouth, he silently and definitely enunciated, “Go to my office.”
Jennifer indicated she’d gotten the message. Leaving the cubicle, she walked back to his office. She sat down in his side chair and lifted the envelope up to the overhead light to see if she could make out what the note said. She knew it was like cheating herself, but she couldn’t help it.
Neil showed up in just a few minutes. “Well, did you get Columbia?” he asked.
“I haven’t opened it yet. I’m superstitious. I wanted to do it in your presence.”
“Silly woman! You’re going to get what you want.”
“I wish I were as confident as you are.”
“Well, open it!”
Taking a deep breath, Jennifer ravished the envelope, rudely yanked out the note, opened it, and then cheered. She threw the note into the air and let it waft down to the floor.
“See!” Neil said. “Columbia is lucky to have you.” He bent down and picked up the note, glancing at it in the process. He did a double take, shocked. It said “UCLA Medical Center Department of Surgery.”
Neil switched from confusedly regarding the note to looking into Jennifer’s eyes. “What is this?” he sputtered.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. I changed my order of preference. I realized I didn’t want to leave now that we’re just getting to know each other, but don’t worry, there’s no pressure.”
Neil reached out, grabbed Jennifer in a bear hug, and by rocking back lifted her off the ground. “I’m thrilled,” he said. “And you know what? You’re never going to regret it.”
AUGUST 5, 2008
WEDNESDAY, 6:20 P.M.
LOS ANGELES, USA
Jennifer Hernandez was so excited she had trouble standing in one place. She was pac
ing outside customs in the arrival area of Los Angeles International Airport. In just a few minutes she’d witness the culmination of months of effort on her part, along with the aid of a number of other people.
“It’s hard to imagine that Veena Chandra is about to walk out that door,” Neil McCulgan commented. He’d driven Jennifer to the airport.
“There had been a number of times when I was convinced it wasn’t going to happen,” Jennifer agreed. Almost from the day Jennifer and Neil had returned from India, Jennifer had mounted a crusade to convince UCLA to grant Veena a medical-school scholarship, and the U.S. government to grant a student visa. It was not easy, especially since both institutions initially refused even to consider her application.
At first the biggest hurdle had been Veena’s involvement in the Nurses International criminal trial, but that had been ultimately resolved when Veena and the other nurses had been granted immunity by turning state’s evidence and testifying against Cal Morgan, Durell Williams, Santana Ramos, and Petra Danderoff.
Next had been the difficulty in arranging for Veena to take the MCAT exam. As it turned out, the effort was well worthwhile, since Veena aced the tests. Her near-perfect score significantly aided her own cause, and once the university began to look favorably on her application, the government was willing to change its tune.
And last but not least had been the effort to raise enough money for airfare and other expenses. Incredibly enough, a significant portion of all this effort had to be accomplished while Jennifer had been immersed in her surgical residency.
“There she is!” Neil called out excitedly, pointing to where Veena had emerged. She was carrying two small cloth bags with all her worldly possessions. She was dressed in ill-fitting jeans and a simple cotton shirt. Regardless, she looked radiant.
Jennifer waved wildly to catch Veena’s attention. Veena waved back and started in their direction. As she approached with a broad smile, Jennifer tried to imagine what was going on in her mind. She was finally totally free of her selfish, repulsive, and licentious father, facing the fabulous opportunity to study medicine, which her father had tried to deny her, yet at the same time she was accepting life in a totally different, nonsupportive culture and giving up everything she’d known since she was an infant.
