After gorging himself on the pecuniary viands, he withdrew the bills from committee. The procedure had been imitated by his colleagues many times since.
But none of that had anything to do with why Duncan was here today.
He watched Allard nod to a few of the passing lobbyists, but the congressman was more interested in conferring with his aides, he looked like a quarterback huddling with his coaches, only they were all in suits.
Duncan wondered if he was the only one on Capitol Hill wearing something other than a business suit.
"Good morning, Kent," Duncan said as he neared the group.
Allard looked up at the sound of his sobriquet and squinted at Duncan. An instant of confusion, Duncan could almost hear him thinking Who the hell? and then recognition.
"Doc," He cleared his throat. "Duncan! What are you doing up here? Welcome to the Hill." His expression was wary instead of welcoming.
Doesn't want to call me Dr. Lathram. Probably afraid someone will recognize the name and want to know what fixups I performed on him.
Duncan stuck out his hand and delivered his lines smoothly.
"Waiting for some relatives from out of town. Promised to show them the sights . . . tour guide for a day. You know the drill, I'm sure."
Chicklet caps flashed. "I sure do." Casually, Duncan reached into his blazer pocket and gripped the oblong bulk of his pager. He felt the sweat collecting under his arms. He was close now, but he wanted to be closer still. Just to be sure.
"You're looking good, Kent. The cameras down there are going to love you." But nowhere near as mach as you love them.
The smile faded. The wariness reemerged. "Thank you."
Don't worry, Congressman, Duncan thought. I'm not going to say anything about the liposuction.
But he couldn't resist turning the screw a little tighter.
"How do you stay so young looking?"
Allard's smile returned, but looked forced now. "Clean living." You son of a bitch.
"I must try that sometime.
They both laughed. Duncan flipped the ON switch on his pager and it began to beep. He pulled it from his pocket. A vintage model, considerably larger than the new ones. He stared at the blank message window, trying to still the ague tremor of his hand.
"Looks like my service wants me. I'd better find a phone and see what they want." He edged past Allard and his aides, coming within a few inches of the congressman.
This is as close as I'm going to get, he thought.
His finger found another button on his pager. The special button. But he hesitated. No turning back once he pressed it.
Old questions assailed him again. Isn't this going too far? Is it really worth the risk? What if I'm caught? And the most disturbing of all, Is this something a sane man would do?
Then he remembered what Allard had participated in five years ago . . . and today's clean-living remark.
Duncan pressed the button.
This time the pager made no sound, but he felt it vibrate against his palm.
Allard winced and rubbed his right thigh.
"Good luck with the TV folks, Kent," Duncan said. "And think of an eighteen-year-old named Lisa."
"Pardon?" Allard said.
"Her name was Lisa. Keep that in mind." I want it to be your last coherent thought.
He turned and almost bumped into a dark-haired young woman.
Gin tried to speak but found her voice locked. Not from the shock of seeing Duncan on the Capitol steps, but from the look on his face as he'd turned away from Congressman Allard. His eyes, arctic cold, cobalt hard, full of rage and hatred so intense she thought they'd leap from their sockets. Never in her life had she seen an expression like that.
For an instant she thought she was facing a feral stranger.
And suddenly it was gone. As soon as he spoke her name his face changed, metamorphosed into the Duncan Lathram she knew.
And then she could speak.
'"Duncan. You're the last person I expected to run into down here." He stared at her for a few heartbeats. When he finally spoke, his voice was cool, distant.
"I might have said the same about you . . . until yesterday. How long have you been standing here?"
She'd arrived early at the Rayburn Building for her meeting and had been told that Congressman Allard would be slightly delayed because of his television interview. Rather than sit cooling her heels, Gin had opted to stroll across Independence to catch the interview live.
Staying a discreet distance from the congressman's group she'd noticed a man who reminded her of Duncan, but she couldn't be sure from the rear, and besides, what would Duncan be doing down here? She'd edged closer, had been almost on top of him when he'd turned and they'd come nose to nose.
How long have you been standing here? The answer seemed important to him. Very important.
Long enough to hear you say something very strange, she thought.
"Just a few seconds. But what on earth are you doing here?"
"Me?" He looked around. "I love the Capitol area . . . the Mall . . . the monuments . . . they're beautiful."
"Knowing how you feel about politicians"
"Let's just say I consider it a beautiful mansion that happens to be infested by termites and all sorts of vermin." His eyes bored into her. "So why are you here?"
The question she'd been dreading. "I, uh, have an appointment with Congressman Allard this morning."
He grimaced. "You want to be on his staff?"
"I'll be on anybody's staff. I want to be on this committee."
He stared at her again. "Yes. Yes, I see you do. Why didn't you mention this yesterday?"
"You didn't exactly give me a chance." He made a soft guttural sound and glanced at the old-fashioned beeper clutched in his hand, a dinosaur of a beeper, at least six inches long.
Odd, she thought. She hadn't realized Duncan carried a pager. He wasn't on emergency call, but she guessed there was always the chance of a postsurgical complication.
Suddenly he seemed in a rush. He spoke quickly.
"I want to discuss something with you, Gin, but I have to make a call and this is neither the time nor the place. I will see you in my office after lunch this afternoon. Can you be there? "
Something to discuss with you . . . She didn’t like the sound of that. "I think so."
"Good. See you then." He turned and headed for one of the doors into the south wing. Gin watched him for a few seconds, then turned her attention to where Congressman Allard continued to huddle with his aides. The totaled ages of the three younger men probably exceeded Allard's by very little, yet they were doing all the talking. Good haircuts, expensive suits, six-figure incomes or close to it for many of the more experienced aides, and a smug we're-where-it's-at look.
Too many of the Hill rats she'd met seemed to adopt that attitude after a couple of years on the job. She promised, swore, that wouldn't happen to her.
No doubt doing some last-minute fine tuning of his remarks before the camera.
Finally he seemed ready. He nodded to his aides, straightened his tie, adjusted his suit coat, patted his toupee, then started down the steps.
Gin sidled to her right to where she had an unobstructed view of the steps. She watched Allard descend on an angle toward the waiting camera and reporter. His movements were smooth and fluid during the first two flights, then he stopped on the landing halfway down.
He paused and rubbed his eyes, shook his head as if to clear it, then continued down. At the top of the last flight he stopped again.
A warning bell sounded in Gin's brain. Something was wrong.
Allard leaned against the bronze handrail and pressed a hand over his eyes. Even from here Gin could see that the hand was shaking.
He lowered his hand and began to sway. He grasped the rail and turned around to stare back up at the Capitol. His expression was frightened.
He looked lost, confused, as if he didn't know where he was. He took a faltering step to his le
ft but wobbled backward instead.
God, he's going to fall!
As his arms windmilled for balance, his aides cried out and rushed down to him. But Allard was already toppling. He managed to twist around but could not break his fall. He hit the granite steps and began to roll.
Shouts now from the TV crew as the reporter rushed toward the falling legislator. The cameraman followed her, taping all the way. A couple of Capitol Police started running from the other end of the steps.
Gin was already on her way down as Congressman Allard landed in a heap at the base of the steps and lay still, arms akimbo, his toupee skewed so that it hung over his left ear. His aides, the TV crew, and the cops converged on him from three directions.
Gin reached the growing knot and forced her way in.
"I'm a doctor," she said. "Let me through." The onlookers made way for her and soon she was kneeling at Allard's side. He was on his back, his face was a mess, blood everywhere. Gin dug her index and middle fingers into the side of his throat, probing for a carotid. She found it, pulsing rapidly, but strong and regular.
She saw his chest moving with respirations, small bubbles of saliva fluttering at the corner of his bloodied lips as air flowed in and out.
Pulse and respiration okay. Good. But he did seem to be in shock.
"All right," she announced to the onlookers. "His heart's beating and he's breathing. No need for CPR. But nobody move him. He may have a spinal injury." She looked around. "Is somebody calling an ambulance?"
One of the Capitol cops pointed to his partner who was babbling into his radio. "We're on it," he said.
Gin returned her attention to Allard. She couldn't do a neurological evaluation here, but if she had to bet she'd put her money on a stroke.
Maybe he'd flipped an embolus to his brain.
She glanced up and saw someone standing at the railing along the edge of the west portico, looking down. She blinked. It was Duncan. She couldn't read his expression. He stood there staring for a moment, then turned and disappeared from view.
Duncan? she thought. Aren't you going to help?
5
COFFEE
GINA DIDN'T GET BACK TO THE SURGICENTER until shortly before noon. She'd hovered by Congressman Allard's side until the E.M.Ts arrived. She watched them bandage his face, strap him to a back board, load him into their rig, and howl away toward G. W. Medical Center.
She stopped back at Allard's office to let them know what had happened, and after that she'd been at loose ends, wandering around the Capitol area, thinking, wondering . . .
Duncan had acted so strange this morning, and he hadn't shown the slightest concern for the fate of the congressman, who wasn't just some stranger, he was one of Duncan's patients. And who was this Lisa he'd been talking about to Allard? It had seemed like such a non sequitur.
She took the Metro Red Line up to Friendship Heights and walked the rest of the way, still thinking, still wondering.
By the time she reached the surgicenter she still didn’t have an answer.
"He wanted to see me," she told Barbara as she paused at her reception desk.
"He mentioned it, but right now he's conferencing with another doctor. Strict orders not to disturb."
"Really? Anybody we know?"
Barbara shrugged. "All he tells me is to block out half an hour for Dr. V. Now you know as much as I do. But he's very good-looking." Barbara's eyebrows oscillated as her voice took on a Mae West tone. "This is his second visit, and I hope it's not the last." Why so mysterious about the name? A doctor who wanted cosmetic surgery maybe?
Gin shrugged. Not her business.
"Let him know I'm here."
"Will do." A few minutes later she was sitting in the basement lab across the workbench from Oliver, diffidently watching him fill the next batch of a dozen or so implants for tomorrow's surgery. She already had a headache, and the residual olfactory tang of solvents was conspiring with the bright overhead fluorescents to make it worse. She should have been working with Oliver, learning the technique, but she couldn't muster the concentration.
Her chin rested on her hands and her elbows were propped on the marred black counter. She felt leaden, as if someone had siphoned off all her energy . . . the aftermath of the morning's events, and the certainty that Duncan was going to fire her.
'"He's not going to fire you," Oliver said.
She glanced up at him. He sat calmly in his white coat, his pudgy hands folded in front of him. But she read genuine sympathy in the round, pale face and in the blue eyes behind the thick horn-rimmed lenses. Hard to believe he and Duncan shared the same gene pool.
"How can you be so sure?"
"He tends to fly off the handle lately. Ever since they reconvened that darn committee."
"What is it with him and that committee?"
"Well, years ago he had a bit of trouble . . . " His voice trailed off.
"What sort of trouble?"
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
Gin wasn't forgetting anything. Especially after this morning. Another question was burning through her brainpan.
"All right then. Tell me this, Who's Lisa?"
"Lisa?"
"Yes. I heard Duncan mention something about a Lisa this . . . morning."
The implant Oliver was filling suddenly burst. "I . . . I don't know. He had a daughter named Lisa."
"Had?"
"Yes, well," The phone rang.
Oliver picked it up and listened. "She's right here," he said, then handed it across to her. Duncan's voice, "Gin, please come to my office."
Her mouth went dry. "Okay. Sure." The other end clicked dead. That in itself was not indicative of anything, Duncan rarely said hello or good-bye on the phone, but she could feel her insides coiling into knots. She handed the receiver back to Oliver. "He wants to see me."
Oliver smiled. "See? He's cooled down already."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that."
"I'll talk to him if you want."
"Thanks, but I'd better handle this myself." With the knots inside pulling even tighter, she rose and headed for Duncan's office. This was it. She'd been in his office before, many times, but usually just a quick stop before surgery to discuss some potential problem with one of his patients. This was the first time he'd actually called and asked her to his office.
He's going to fire me.
Financially, that would not be a catastrophe. She wasn't getting paid all that much here and she could take an extra shift as house doctor at Lynnbrook. But still . . . Her throat constricted.
Fired . . . being fired by anyone from any job would hurt. But to be kicked out by Duncan Lathram . . .
Devastating.
She wasn't going to back down, though. Not when she was doing the right thing. But how to explain it to him? From what she could see, the days when doctors could focus solely on their patients and ignore what Washington was up to were gone. Dead as the Jurassic age.
For their patients' sake as well as their own, doctors had to get involved in the process. And any doctor who thought otherwise was a dinosaur, already extinct but simply unaware of the fact.
Sure, she thought. That's it. Tell Duncan he's the best surgeon alive, but he's a dinosaur. He'll definitely want to keep me on then.
Gin forced a smile as she approached Barbara's desk.
"He's expecting me."
"I know, " Barbara said. "He told me to hold his calls." Oh, great.
Gin hesitated at the door, then pushed through.
Duncan's officer was a spacious quadrangle with floor-to ceiling glass along most of the far wall. The last of the morning sun was slipping from the room but still shining brightly on the oriental rock garden and koi pond outside.
Very little of the off-white walls was visible, the few sections not obscured by mahogany bookcases filled with medical texts and surgical journals were studded with plaques, degrees, diplomas, and certificates from licensing and specialty boards. An oversized antique pa
rtners desk stretched before the window-wall. A glorious Persian rug covered most of the hardwood floor.
The wall on the far right angled to a large cabinet custom-built for the narrow corner. Duncan had the cabinet open and stood before it now, his back to her, engrossed in whatever he was doing.
He half turned as she closed the door behind her.
'"Good. You're just in time" He motioned her closer. "Come watch this." A little off balance from the casual greeting, he seemed a changed man since this morning, and more than a little unsure of herself, she complied. As she approached she heard a whirring noise, like an electric drill. When she reached his side she was startled to see what he was up to.
Grinding coffee.
'"Just got these in," he said. "Costa Rican La Minita Tarrazu. A superb batch of beans." He dumped the ground coffee into the open end of a chrome funnel set in the top of an insulated carafe.
Gin didn't see any white inside the funnel. "You forgot the filter."
"Don't worry. It's in there. I use a gold mesh filter. Paper soaks up too many of the oils that give a coffee its character. Remember that. Always use a gold filter. And here's something else to remember." He reached into the little microwave to his left and removed a half-quart Pyrex cup full of steaming water. He took two tablespoons of water and added them to the cone.
"Always wet your grounds first. Give them about thirty seconds to swell, then add the rest of the water. But not boiling water. You don't want scalded coffee. Bring the water to a boil and let it sit for about a minute, then pour it over the damp grounds. But not just any water. Use spring water. Don't use that chemical-laden junk from the tap." He emptied the Pyrex cup into the cone, then rubbed his . . . . . . hands in anticipation.
"You're about to have a real experience, Gin. Just possibly the best cup of coffee in the world." He turned to her. "Any news from Marsden's office yet?"
"No. I'm not terribly sanguine about my chances." Sanguine? She never used that word. Must be Duncan's influence. "My interview wasn't with Senator Marsden, you know. It was with his chief of staff. We didn't exactly hit it off."
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