Implant. Part 11

"You know, " Duncan said slowly, "I've never been to one of these hearings. Do you think you could get me in to the opening session? "

Senator Vincent scratched his head. "I don't know. It's a pretty hot ticket. And the hearing room's not that big . . . " "Well, I have other patients on the committee who'll take care of it.

No problem."

"You do? " the senator said, his tone warbling between pique at Duncan's implication that there was someone on the committee with more juice than he and voracious curiosity as to who else was getting fixed up for the hearings. "Who? " Duncan wagged a finger.

"Now, now. You should know that's privileged information."

"Yes, of course. But if you truly want a seat, Dr. Lathram, you've got one.

I'll have my legislative director call you tomorrow. No problem. "

'"Thank you, Senator. I knew I could count on you. It promises to be quite a show. And I bet yours will be a household name from the very first day." I guarantee it.

* * * Later, Duncan stopped by Oliver's lab. He had to get down to D.

C.

General for The surgery on little Kanesha Green, but first he wanted to check his brother's progress on the latest refinement of the implant.

He found Oliver seated with a number of empty implants in a tray on the counter before him. He handed one to Duncan who rolled it back and forth in his palm. Light as a feather.

Duncan said, "How long can we count on the new model to sit in the subcutaneous fat without dissolving? " Oliver shrugged. "How can I say? Six months, two years, forever. We haven't tested them. We'll have to do animal studies. I mean, really, Duncan, we haven't even finished the clinical trials on the regular implants, and here you've got me working on a whole new type."

"Got to stay ahead, Oliver. If we don't keep innovating, the intellectual slovens and me-too artists will plunder our work."

"But why this new model? I thought the whole idea was to have it dissolve shortly after surgery."

"Because I foresee a time when I may want an implant that dissolves when I tell it to. In trauma cases, for instance, with wide, deep wounds, premature release of beta-3 could prove counterproductive." He had to choose his words carefully. Oliver was bright but he hadn't the faintest idea what lay behind Duncan's insistence on an implant that would dissolve on command, and no inkling of what Duncan had already done with it.

Duncan flipped the empty implant into the air and caught it.

"But you do think it's possible one of these things could nest in the fat for a couple of years? " "I guess so. But I couldn't imagine why anyone would want it to sit there that long. The time when its dissolution would be of any benefit would have long since pa.s.sed. "

Not exactly, Duncan thought. Not if it was filled with the right substance and hidden in the tissues of the right person.

"Just wondering, " Duncan said.

Oliver's eyes lit. "But you mentioned trauma repair. Are you thinking of returning to real surgery? " Duncan laughed. "You mean vascular surgery? G.o.d, no. Why would I want to go back to being on call twenty-four hours a day and getting rousted out of bed at all hours of the night? For what? What good would that do me? " "You're a great surgeon, Duncan. You'd be putting your talents to their best use. It wouldn't just be good for others, it would be good for you as well. "

Moved by his brother's concern, and afraid Oliver might see something in his eyes that he shouldn't, Duncan looked away. Oliver was a good soul, the most decent of men. Complaisant, a.s.siduous Oliver, his irenic presence, his lambent insight were a balm on Ouncan's soul.

And he so admires me.

At times like these Duncan hated himself for putting Oliver's discovery to uses that would horrify him. And Duncan himself was horrified by the knowledge that if his machinations were ever brought to light,Oliver's fulgent, indefectible character would be tainted.

But that doesn't stop me, does it.

Again he wondered what he'd do if Oliver found out. Or Gin. How far would he go to protect himself?

He tried not to think about it.

"Why would it be good for me, Oliver? You know what happened when I was in vascular surgery. The same thing might happen again. Why should I make myself vulnerable again? Look at me now. I'm working fewer hours, I have no calls to speak ofwhoever heard of an emergency tummy tuck in the middle of the night? I'm earning far more now with half the effort."

"You never cared about money."

"The public did.

' "And you were saving lives then."

"But while I was saving or improving all those lives, I was publicly stoned for unalloyed greed.

Remember that time, Oliver? Remember? ' Oliver nodded. "I remember.

" "Now I rake in seven figures simply for resuscitating the vanity of the local gentry, and no one says a word. No one even lifts an eyebrow.

Truly we live in a remarkable society, Oliver. A remarkable society.

" What a world, Duncan thought, straining to hide the lava of rage erupting in his chest, flowing through his gut. What a G.o.dd.a.m.n world.

Oliver was staring at him. "You shouldn't have let them drive you out, Duncan." '"Now, now, Oliver. We've been over this countless times.

I those to leave vascular surgery. And it's the best thing I ever did.

" "But you could have gone into another surgical field where your work actually meant something."

"But you had this new membrane you'd discovered, and then the Brits came up with beta-3. The writing was on the wall, cosmetic surgery was it. ' Actually, he had decided never again to deal with insurancecompanies, or governments, or any mixture of the two. Cosmetic surgery was perfect.

Only a rare insurance policy covered it anyway, and he could limit his patients to those who wanted it and exclude those who needed it.

"If that's the case, " Oliver said, "then I wish I'd never developed this membrane." Duncan gripped his brother's shoulder. "Don't ever say that, Oliver.

These implants are going to transform a host of lives. People all over the world, mothers of children who'd otherwise be scarred for life will bless your name. And as for me, I've made peace with the past. Trust me, Oliver. I'm at peace."

"I hope so, " Oliver said, searching Duncan's face. "I find it hard to believe, but I hope it's true." Duncan glanced at his watch. "Oops.

Time to run. Got to get over to the club." Oliver's expression was dismayed. "You can't play golf today. It's pouring. ' '"Poker, Oliver, " he said, nudging his brother's ribs. "When it rains we play poker. Want to join in? " '"No, " he sighed, turning back to his implants. "I've got work to do.

" For a moment Duncan was tempted to tell his brother where he was really going. It would make Oliver's day make his year. But dear Oliver was a blabbermouth. He'd be explaining to anyone who'd listen that his brother really wasn't the coldhearted, cash-up-front b.a.s.t.a.r.d he pretended to be. He was a saint in hiding.

No, Oliver would have to go on being disappointed in the older brother he had once admired. And Duncan prayed he never found out about how he was using the new implants.

"See you tomorrow, then." Duncan hurried across the wet parking lot, jumped in the Mercedes, and started the engine. But instead of putting it in gear, he sat staring at the hub of his steering wheel.

I've made peace with the past. Trast me, Oliver. I'm at pere.

How easily the lies come now. Peace? What was peace? He hadn't known a moment of it since the day he'd found Lisa Lying in the foyer in a pool of blood.

If only . . .

Bright light in Duncan's eyes brought him back to the present. The sun had broken through the clouds. He shook off the memory and threw the Mercedes into gear.I was all right, he thought. And I'd have stayed all right if not for the president's resurrection of the d.a.m.n Guidelines bill. It all came backall the pain, the ragebecause of him.

But he'll get his. His turn is coming.

ON THE HILL SENATOR MARSDEN MADE HER WAIT ONLY A FEW minutes, then Gin was ushered in.

The otrice was pretty much as she remembered itthe stacked files, overflowing bookcases, photos, plaques, and the miniature basketball hoop over the wastepaper tbasket.

Joe Blair was there, again in a white, short-sleeve s.h.i.+rt, a different but equally nondescript tie, and dark slacks. Strangely, he greeted her warmly, a smile beneath the wispy mustache as he moved forward to shake her hand and lead her toward the senator's battered old desk.

Gin wasn't sure what to make of theuncharacteristically gracious behavior. An act for his boss? It was in Blair's honor that she had worn a longer skirt today.

Senator Hugh Marsden leaned forward over his desk and extended his hand. He was average height, sixtyish, balding, portly, but possessed a commanding presence. It was his eyes, Gin decided, intensely, piercingly blue, they caught her and held her as firmly as his hand gripped hers. His voice was deep and commanding as well.

"Dr. Panzella. Welcome." A third person was in the room, a short, compact, darkhaired woman of about forty. She introduced herself.

"h.e.l.lo, Dr. Panzella, " she said, extending her hand. She had a warm, easy smile and bright brown eyff. Gin liked her immediately. "I'm Alicia Downs, the senator's press secretary."

"Gin. Please call me Gin."

"All right, Gin, " the senator said. "Pull up a chair. I hope you don't mind if we get right down to business. Senator Moynihan moved a five o'clock budget briefing up to four-thirty, so time is short." He seated himself in the straight-backed chair behind the desk and cleared the files from his desk blotter. Gin took one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk, Alicia took the other. Blair stayed on his feet, hovering. Positioning himself where he could get a good look at her legs, maybe?

"I can't help being intrigued by the fact that a young physician with your qualifications would want this position, " he said. "I'd say you were overqualified. What is it you hope to accomplish here? " Here we go again, Gin thought.

She went into her spiel of how she thought the impact of the Medical Ethics and Practice Guidelines Act would be so far-reaching, so important to the future of medical practice, that she couldn't sit idly by without attempting to have some input.

"You can't have guidelines that smother individuality, " she concluded.

"Do you want all doctors to be exactly the same? I hope not. Minimum standards of training and care, sure. But then allow variety in style of practice. Each practice should have its own personality, otherwise you've deprived patients of a critically important choice." The senator studied her a moment in silence, his blue eyes intent on her.

Gin was beginning to feel uncomfortable when finally he spoke.

"You realize that this is a part-time position for which I doubt we'll be able to squeeze twenty thousandif that out of the budget." '"I explained that to her, Senator, " Blair said. He seemed vaguely anxious, while not actually moving, he seemed to be pacing in place.

"The money's not important, " she said. "I've-got the rest of my life to make money. This is a chance to matter, to be part of something that will affect the rest of my professional life. If I were already in practice, with a mortgage, kids in school, I wouldn't be able to drop everything and devote months to this committee. But I'm not.

There's only me to worry about. This is something I want to do, something I can doand do well. And if I don't do it now, I'll never do it. And. . . "dare she say it? "your committee will be poorer for it."

"Is that so? " Senator Marsden said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Blair bite his upper lip and ever so slightly shake his head.

Had she overplayed it? "At least that's my opinion."

"Yes, well, you may have a point there. Will you give me a day to make a final decision? " "Of course." Do I have a choice?

'"Fine." He glanced at his watch, rose, and extended his hand.

"Sorry to cut this short, but that budget briefing, you know." Gin smiled as she shook his hand. "I understand."

"I'll walk you out, " Alicia said.

Gin glanced back as she exited and saw Joe Blair leaning over the senator's desk, yammering in a low voice.

'"I don't think your chief of staff is in my corner, " Gin said as she and Alicia wound through the cubicles.

Alicia snorted. "Joe's a d.i.c.khead. He's p.i.s.sed because he already told the senator you're not right for the job but the boss wanted to meet you anyway."

"So he's back there now trying to scuttle me? " "Maybe. Don't take it personally. He's a control freak. Wants it to be his staffhandpicked by Joe Blair."

"Fair enough, guess, " Gin said with far more equanimity than she felt.

"Maybe, but he's still a d.i.c.khead."

"Gin! " She was almost to the elevators. She turned and saw Joe Blair hurrying after her.

"Glad I caught you, " he said as he reached her.

"What's up? ' she said, watching him closely. "Has he made up his mind? " She didn't trust this guy. And there was something in his eyes .

"Despite my strong recommendation, the senator's still undecided. More of a budgeting problem than any difficulty with your qualifications.

" He unfolded the piece of paper in his hand and pa.s.sed it to her.

"But we need to figure out how to respond when he sees this." We?

Gin thought. Since when are we a we?

She looked at the sheet and suppressed a groan. It was a Xerox of an article she'd written for the New Orleans TimesPicayvne during the second year of her residency. She'd been in a particularly grouchy mood after reading that paper's series on what was wrong with American medicine. She'd fired off a long letter vehemently disagreeing with their delineation of the problems and the proposed solutions. The paper told her if she'd expand it they'd publish it as an op-ed piece.

Giddy with the prospect of having an audience, Gin had fired all herguns, sparing no one. It was a diatribe Duncan himself would have been proud of.

But . . . a very negative, even strident article, with no attempt at a balanced argument, and she'd cringed when she'd reread it on the day it was published. If only she'd put it in a drawer for a week before sending it in, she certainly would have leavened some of her remarks.

She hadn't given it much thought since, and yet here it was, resurrected and staring her in the face.

"This isn't really me, " she said.

"I'm sure it isn't." Blair touched her hand solicitously. "But we've got to do some brainstorming to a.s.sess our options if it reaches the senator's desk." She backed up an inch and his hand broke contact.

There it was again, we.

"What do you suggest? " "Oh, " he said so casually, "how about my place? Tonight. And wear something nice." Gin felt her hands close into fists. She wanted to ram one of them into his nose, and then yank out that wimpy mustache one hair at a TIME "Sorry, " she said calmly, moving her jaw so she wouldn't be talking through gritted teeth. "I've got plans for tonight."

"Tomorrow night, then. We haven't much TIME" We have no TIME She regarded him coolly, levelly. "Nope. Sorry. I'm busy. Tonight, tomorrow night, every night. ' He stared back at her, obviously confused. Then his eyes narrowed, but only for a second. He shrugged carelessly and turned away.