GODPLAYER

BY 

ROBIN COOK

        
      A SIGNET BOOK
 SIGNET
 Published by the Penguin Group
 Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
 New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
 Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,
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 Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,
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 Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue,
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 Published by Signet, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin
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 This is an authorized reprint of a hardcover edition published by G. P.
 Putnam's Sons. The hardcover edition was published simultaneously in
 Canada by General Publishing Co. Ltd., Toronto

 First Signet Printing, June, 1984
 23 22 21 20

 Copyright @ 1983 by Robert Cook All rights reserved. This book, or parts
 thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing
 from the publisher. For information address G. P. Putnam's Sons, Inc., 200
 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016
 0 REGISTERED TRADEMARK-MARCA REGISTRADA

 Printed in the United States of America

 PUBLISHER'S NOTE This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
 incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used
 fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
 events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this
 book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the
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To BARBARA AND FLUFFY
my constant companions
and
my most willing listeners.
                                              PROLOGUE

 BRUCE WILKINSON WENT from dead asleep to full awake with such suddenness
 that he felt overwhelmed with a sense of fear, like a child awakening from
 a nightmare. He had no idea what had awakened him but guessed it was some
 noise or movement. He wondered if something had touched him. He stayed
 still, holding his breath, and stared straight ahead, listening. At first he
 was disoriented, but as his mind took in his limited field of vision, he
 remembered he was in the Boston Memorial Hospital: in room 1832 to be exact.
 At about the same instant that he realized where he was, Bruce perceived
 that it was the middle of the night. The hospital was clothed in a heavy
 stillness.
  On his current admission for cardiac bypass surgery, Bruce had been in the
  hospital for over a week. But a month or so before he'd spent three weeks
  several floors down, recovering from his unexpected heart attack. As a
  consequence Bruce had become accustomed to the hospital routine. Such
  things as the squeak of the nurse's medication cart as it was pushed up the
  hall, or the distant sounds of an arriving ambulance, or even the hospital
  page calling a doctor's name had become reassuring phenomena. In fact,
  Bruce could often tell merely by listening to these familiar sounds what
  time of day it

                7
 8         Robin Cook

 was without looking at his watch. They all signified that help for any
 medical emergency was close at hand.
  Bruce had never worried much about his health even though he was a victim
  of multiple sclerosis. The problem with his vision that had brought him to
  the doctor five years ago had cleared, and Bruce had made a conscious
  effort to forget the diagnosis because hospitals and doctors tended to
  frighten him. Then, out of the blue, came the heart attack with its
  attendant hospitalization and the current major surgery. His doctors
  assured him that the heart problem was not related to the multiple
  sclerosis, but that disclaimer had done little to buoy his sagging courage.
  Now, as Bruce awoke in the middle of the night and heard none of the usual
  reassuring hospital sounds, the hospital seemed like an ominous and lonely
  place, evoking fear rather than hope. The silence was intimidating,
  providing no immediate explanation for his sudden wakefulness. Bruce felt
  himself inexplicably paralyzed by a sensation of acute terror.
  As the seconds passed, Bruce's mouth became dry, exactly as it had been
  after his preop medication five days earlier. He attributed this to fear,
  as he continued to lie perfectly still like a wary animal, his senses
  straining for any disturbance. He'd done the same thing as a boy after
  awakening in the night from bad dreams. If he didn't move, perhaps the
  monsters would not see him. Lying on his back, he couldn't see much of the
  room, especially since the only illumination came from a small floor-level
  night-light behind his bed. All he could see was the indistinct juncture of
  ceiling and wall. Silhouetted against it was the magnified shadow of his IV
  pole, bottle, and tubing. The bottle seemed to be swaying slightly.
  Trying to dismiss his fears, Bruce began monitoring his internal messages.
  The big question loomed in his
            GODPLAYER            9

 mind: Am I all right? Having been rudely betrayed by his body by the heart
 attack, he wondered if some new catastrophe had awakened him. Could his
 stitches have split? That had been one of his fears immediately after the
 operation. Could the bypass have come loose?
  Bruce could feel his pulse in his temples, and, despite a clamminess to his
  palms and a somewhat disagreeable sensation in his head that he associated
  with fever, he felt okay. At least there was no pain, particularly not the
  crushing, searing pressure that had come with the initial heart attack.
  Tentatively Bruce took a breath. There was no stabbing knifelike pain
  although it seemed to take extra effort to inflate his lungs.
  In the semidarkness, a throaty, phlegm-laden cough reverberated within the
  confines of the room. Bruce felt a new surge of fright, but he quickly
  realized that it was just his roommate. Perhaps Mr. Hauptman's coughing had
  been the sound that had awakened him, Bruce thought, feeling a modicum of
  relief. The old man coughed anew, then noisily turned over in his sleep.
  Bruce entertained the idea of calling a nurse to check Mr. Hauptman, more
  for the opportunity for Bruce to speak to someone than because lie thought
  there was a real problem. The truth of the matter was that Mr. Hauptman
  coughed like that all the time.
  The disagreeable feverish sensation became more intense and began to
  spread. Bruce could feet it in his chest like a hot liquid. The concern
  that something had gone wrong on the "inside" reasserted itself.
  Bruce tried to turn to locate the nurse's call button that was looped
  through the side rails of the bed. His eyes moved, but his head felt heavy.
  Out of the comer of his eye he saw quick, staccato movement. Looking up he
  could see his IV bottle. The movement he'd seen was coming from the rapid
  running of his IV. The
 10         Robin Cook

 drops in the micropore chamber were falling in quick succession, and the
 night-light glinted off the liquid with an explosive sparkle.
  That was strange! Bruce knew that his IV was only being maintained for
  emergencies and was supposed to run as slowly as possible. It should not
  be running quickly. Bruce could remember having checked it as he always
  did before turning out his reading light.
  He tried to reach out and find the nurse's call button. But he couldn't
  move. It was as if his right arm had not gotten the command. He tried
  again with the same result.
  Bruce felt his terror become panic. Now he was certain something terrible
  was happening to him! He was surrounded by the best medical care but
  unable to reach it. He had to get help. He had to get help instantly. It
  was like a nightmare from which he could not awaken.
  Yanking his head off the pillow, Bruce screamed for a nurse. His voice
  surprised him with its weakness. He'd intended to yell but instead he
  whispered. At the same time he became aware that his head felt
  tremendously heavy, requiring all his strength to keep it off the pillow.
  The exertion caused a trembling that rattled the bed.
  With a barely audible sigh, Bruce collapsed back onto his pillow,
  compounding his panic. Trying again to call out, he heard an
  incomprehensible hiss almost devoid of vocalization. Whatever was wrong
  with him was rapidly worsening. He felt as if an invisible lead blanket
  was settling over him, pressing him flat against the bed. His attempts
  to breathe were pitiful, uncoordinated heaves of his chest. With utter
  terror Bruce comprehended he was being suffocated.
  Somehow he organized his thoughts enough to remember again the nurse's
  call button. With horrendous effort he lifted his arm from the bed, and
  in an uncoordinated, spastic fashion pulled it across his chest.
             GODPLAYER          11

 It was as if he were immersed in some viscous liquid. His fingers brushed
 the rails, and he grasped vainly for the button. It wasn't there. With the
 last vestiges of strength, he heaved himself onto his left side, rolling
 over and thudding up against the rail. His face pressed heavily against the
 cold steel, occluding the view from his right eye, but he did not have the
 strength to move. With his left eye he saw the emergency button. It was on
 the floor, curled on itself like a snake.
  Panic and desperation filled Bruce's consciousness, but the oppressive
  weight on his body increased, precluding all movement. In his terror he
  guessed that something had happened to his heart; perhaps all the stitches
  had burst. The sense of being smothered intensified as Bruce's brain
  screamed for life-giving oxygen. Yet Bruce was totally paralyzed, able only
  to grunt in agony as he desperately tried to breathe. Yet through all of
  this, Bruce's senses were sharp, his mind painfully clear. He knew he was
  dying. There was a ringing in his ears, a sense of revolving, nausea. Then
  blackness ...

               El

  Pamela Breckenridge had been working from eleven to seven for over a year.
  It wasn't a popular shift, but she liked it. She felt it gave her more
  freedom. During the summer she'd go to the beach by day and sleep in the
  evenings. In the winter she slept days. Her body had no problem making the
  adjustment as long as she slept at least seven hours. And as far as her
  work was concerned, she preferred night duty. There was less hassle. Days
  sometimes made a nurse feel like a traffic cop, trying to get patients to
  and from their numerous X rays, EKGs, lab tests, and surgeries. Besides,
  Pamela liked the responsibility of being alone.
 Tonight as she walked down the empty, darkened
 12         Robin Cook

 corridor all she heard were a few murmurs, the hiss of a respirator, and
 her own footsteps. It was 3:45. No doctors were immediately on hand, nor
 even other RNs for that matter. Pamela worked with two LPNs, both skilled
 veterans of the ward. The three of them had learned to deal with any
 number of potential catastrophes.
  Passing room 1832, Pamela stopped. During report that evening, the charge
  nurse going off the shift had mentioned that Bruce Wilkinson's IV was
  probably low enough to think about hanging a new bottle of D5W before
  morning. Pamela hesitated. It was probably a job she should delegate, but
  since she was right outside the room and no stickler for protocol, she
  decided to do it herself.
  A wet cough rattled a greeting in the dimly lit room, making Pamela want
  to clear her own throat. Silently she slipped alongside Wilkinson's bed.
  The level of the bottle was low, and she was startled to see the IV
  running at a very rapid rate. A fresh bottle of D5W was on the
  nightstand. As she changed the IV and adjusted its rate, she felt
  something hard under her foot. She looked down and saw the call button.
  It was only as she bent to retrieve it that she looked at the patient,
  noticing his face pressed up against the side rail. Something was wrong.
  Gently she eased Bruce onto his back. Instead of the expected resistance,
  Bruce flopped over like a rag doll, his right hand coming to rest in a
  totally unnatural position. She bent closer. The patient was not
  breathing!
  With trained efficiency, Pamela pressed the call button, switched on the
  bedside light, and pulled the bed away from the wall. Under the harsh
  fluorescent light, she saw that Bruce's skin was a deep grayish blue like
  a fine Chinese porcelain, suggesting that he had choked on something and
  had asphyxiated himself. Immediately Pamela bent over, pulled Bruce's
  chin back with her left hand, covered his nose with her right hand, and
  force-
               GODPLAYER          13

 fully blew into his mouth. Expecting an airway obstruction, Pamela was
 surprised when Bruce's chest rose effortlessly. Obviously if he had choked
 on something, it was no longer in his trachea.
  She felt Bruce's wrist for a pulse- nothing. She tried for a carotid
  pulse: nothing. Taking the pillow from beneath Bruce's head, she struck
  his chest with the palm of her hand. Then she bent over and reinflated
  the lungs.
  The two practical nurses raced into the room at the same time. Pamela
  said one word, "code," and they went into action like a crack drill team.
  Rose quickly had the emergency paged over the loudspeaker while Trudy got
  the sturdy two-by-three-foot board used for support under a patient
  during cardiac massage. As soon as Bruce was settled on the board, Rose
  climbed onto the bed and began to compress his chest. After every fourth
  compression Pamela reinflated Bruce's lungs. Meanwhile, Trudy ran for the
  emergency crash cart and EKG machine.
  Four minutes later when the medical resident, Jerry Donovan, arrived,
  Pamela, Rose, and Trudy had the EKG machine hooked up and running.
  Unfortunately it traced a flat, monotonous line. On the positive side,
  Bruce's color had improved slightly from its former grayish blue.
  Jerry saw the flat EKG indicating no electrical activity, and, like
  Pamela, he hit the patient on the chest. No response. He checked the
  pupils- widely dilated and fixed. Behind Jerry was an intem named Peter
  Matheson, who climbed up on the bed and relieved Trudy. A disheveled
  medical student with long hair stood by the door.
 "How long has this been going on?" asked Jerry.
 "It's been five minutes since I found him," replied
 14         Robin Cook

 Pamela. "But I have no idea when he arrested. He wasn't on the monitor.
 His skin was dark blue."
  Jerry nodded. For a split second he debated continuing resuscitation. He
  suspected the patient was already brain dead. But he still hadn't come
  to terms with denying treatment. It was easier to go ahead.
  "I want two amps of bicarbonate and some epinephrine," barked Jerry as
  he took an endotracheal tube from the crash cart. Stepping behind the
  bed, he let Pamela inflate the lungs once more. Then he inserted the
  laryngoscope, an endotracheal tube, and attached an ambu bag, which he
  connected to the wall oxygen source. Resting his stethoscope on the
  patient's chest and telling Peter to hold up for a second, he compressed
  the ambu bag. Bruce's chest rose immediately.
  "At least his airway is clear," said Jerry, as much to himself as anyone.
 The bicarbonate and epinephrine were given.
  "Let's give him calcium chloride," said Jerry, watching Bruce's face
  slowly turn a normal pink.
  "How much?" asked Trudy, standing behind the crash cart.
  "Five ccs of a ten-percent solution." Turning back to Pamela he said,
  "What's the patient in for?"
  "Bypass surgery," said Pamela. Rose had brought down the chart and Pamela
  flipped it open. "He's four days postop. He's been doing well."
  "Was doing well," corrected Jerry. Bruce's color looked almost normal but
  the pupils stayed widely dilated and the EKG ran out a flat line.
  "Must have had a massive heart attack," said Jerry. "Maybe a pulmonary
  embolus. Did you say he was blue when you found him?"
 "Dark blue," Pamela affirmed.
 Jerry shook his head. Neither diagnosis should have
            GODPLAYER           15

 produced deep cyanosis. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a
 surgical resident, groggy with sleep.
  Jerry outlined what he was doing. As he spoke, he held up a syringe of
  epinephrine to get rid of the air bubbles, then pushed it into Bruce's
  chest, perpendicular to the skin. There was an audible snap as the needle
  broke through some fascia. The only other sound was the EKG machine spewing
  out paper with the straight line. When Jerry pulled back on the plunger,
  blood entered the syringe. Confident he was in the heart, Jerry injected.
  He motioned for Peter to recommence compressing the chest and for Rose to
  reinflate the lungs.
  Still there was no cardiac activity. As Jerry opened the outer cover of the
  sterile packaging holding a transvenous pacemaker electrode, he wished he
  had never begun the charade. Intuitively he knew the patient was too far
  gone. But now he had started, he had to finish.
  "I'm going to need a fourteen-gauge intercath," said Jerry. With betadine
  on a cotton sponge, he began to prepare the entry site on the left side of
  Bruce's neck.
  " Would you like me to do that?" asked the surgical resident, speaking for
  the first time.
  "I think we have it under control," said Jerry, trying to project more
  confidence than he felt.
  Pamela began helping him on with a pair of surgical gloves. They were just
  about to drape the patient when a figure appeared at the doorway and pushed
  past the medical student. Jerry's attention was drawn by the surgical
  resident's response: the ass-kisser did everything but salute. Even the
  nurses had perceptively straightened up as Thomas Kingsley, the hospital's
  most noted cardiac surgeon, strode into the room.
  He was dressed in scrub clothes, obviously having come directly from the
  OR. He approached the bed and
 16         Robin Cook

 softly laid a hand on Bruce's forearm as if through the mere touch he
 could divine the problem.
 "What are you doing?" he asked Jerry.
  "I'm passing a transvenous pacemaker," said Jerry, shocked and impressed
  by Dr. Kingsley's presence. Staff members usually did not respond to
  cardiac arrests, especially in the middle of the night.
  "Looks like total cardiac standstill," said Dr. Kingsley, running a
  portion of the voluminous EKG tape through his hands. "No evidence of any
  type of AV block. The chance of a transvenous pacemaker being successful
  is infinitesimally small. I think you're wasting your time." Dr. Kingsley
  then felt for a pulse at Bruce's groin. Glancing up at Peter, who was
  perspiring by this time, Dr. Kingsley said, "Pulse is strong. You must
  be doing a good job." Turning to Pamela he said: "Size eights, please.
  "
  Pamela produced the gloves without delay. Dr. Kingsley pulled them on and
  asked for the crash cart scalpel.
  "Could you pull off the dressing?" said Dr. Kingsley to Peter. To Pamela
  he said he needed some sterile heavy dressing scissors.
  Peter glanced at Jerry for confirmation, then paused in his massage, and
  pulled off the tangle of adhesive and gauze over the patient's sternum.
  Dr. Kingsley stepped up to the bed and fingered the scalpel. Without
  further delay he buried the tip of the knife in the top of the healing
  wound and decisively drew it down to the base. There was an audible snap
  as he cut each of the translucent blue nylon sutures. Peter slid off the
  bed to get out of the way.
  "Scissors," said Dr. Kingsley calmly as his audience watched in shocked
  silence. This was the kind of scene they'd read about but had never seen.
  Dr. Kingsley snipped through the wire sutures holding the split sternum
  together. Then he pushed both
             GODPLAYER          17

 hands into the wound and forcibly pulled the sternum apart. There was a
 sharp cracking noise. Jerry Donovan tried to glance into Bruce's chest but
 Dr. Kingsley had obscured the view. The one thing Jerry could tell was that
 there was no bleeding whatsoever.
  Dr. Kingsley eased his hand, fingers first, into Bruce's chest and cupped
  the apex of the heart. Rhythmically he began to compress it, nodding to
  Rose when she should inflate the lungs. "Check the pulse now," said Dr.
  Kingsley.
 Peter dutifully stepped forward. "Strong," he said.
  "I'd like some epinephrine, please," said Dr. Kingsley. "But it doesn't
  look good. I think this patient arrested some time ago."
  Jerry Donovan thought about saying he had the same impression but decided
  against it.
  "Call the EEG lab," said Dr. Kingsley, continuing to massage the heart.
  "Let's see if there's any brain activity at all."
 Trudy went to the phone.
  Dr. Kingsley injected the epinephrine but could see that there was no
  effect on the EKG. "Whose patient is this?" he asked.
 "Dr. Ballantine's," said Pamela.
  Bending over, Dr. Kingsley peered into the wound. Jerry guessed he was
  assessing the surgical repair. It was common hospital knowledge that on a
  scale of one to ten, as far as operative technique was concerned, Kingsley
  was a ten, and Ballantine, despite the fact that he was chief of the
  cardiac surgery department, was about a three.
  Dr. Kingsley abruptly looked up and stared at the medical student as if
  he'd seen him for the first time. "How can you tell at the moment this
  isn't a case of an AV block, Doctor?"
 18        Robin Cook

  All color drained from the student's face. "I don't know," he managed
  finally.
  "Safe answer," smiled Dr. Kingsley. "I wish I had had the courage to admit
  not knowing something when I was a medical student." Turning to Jerry he
  asked: "What are his pupils doing?"
  Jerry moved over and lifted Bruce's eyelids. "Haven't budged. "
  "Run in another amp of bicarbonate," ordered Dr. Kingsley. "I assume you
  gave some calcium."
 Jerry nodded.
  For the next few minutes there was silence as Dr. Kingsley massaged the
  heart. Then a technician appeared at the doorway with an ancient EEG
  machine.
  "I just want to know if there's any electrical activity in the brain," said
  Dr. Kingsley. The technician attached the scalp electrodes and turned on
  the machine. The brain wave tracings were flat, just like the EKG.
  "Unfortunately, that's that," said Dr. Kingsley as he withdrew his hand
  from Bruce's chest and stripped off his gloves. 1 think someone better call
  Dr. Ballantine. Thank you for your help." He strode from the room.
  For a moment no one spoke or moved. The EEG technician was first.
  Self-consciously he said he'd better get back to the lab. Ile unhooked his
  paraphernalia and left.
  "I've never seen anything like that," said Peter, staring at Bruce's gaping
  chest.
  "Me neither," agreed Jerry. "Kinda takes your breath away."
  Both men stepped up to the bed and peered into the wound.
  Jerry cleared his throat. "I don't know what you need more, competence or
  self-confidence, to cut into someone like that."
 "Both," said Pamela, pulling the plug on the EKG
            GODPLAYER           19

 machine. "How about you fellows giving us some room to get this place in
 order. By the way, one thing I forgot to mention. When I found Mr.
 Wilkinson, his IV was running rapidly. It should have been barely open."
 Pamela shrugged. "I don't know if it was important or not but I thought I'd
 let you know."
  "Thanks," said Jerry absently. He wasn't listening. Daintily he stuck his
  index finger into the wound and touched Bruce's heart. "People say Dr.
  Kingsley is an arrogant son of a bitch, but there is one thing I know for
  sure. If I needed a bypass tomorrow, he is the one I'd have do it."
  "Amen," said Pamela, pushing her way between Jerry and the bed to begin
  preparation of the body.
CHAPTER
1

 "THERE WAS ONE new admission last night," said Cassandra Kingsley, glancing
 down at her preliminary work-up. She felt distinctly ill at ease, having
 been thrust into the spotlight of the early morning team meeting on the
 psychiatry ward, Clarkson Two. "His name is Colonel William Bentworth. He's
 a fortyeight-year-old Caucasian male, thrice divorced, who'd been admitted
 through the ER after an altercation in a gay bar. He was acutely intoxicated
 and abusive to the ER personnel."
  "My God!" laughed Jacob Levine, the chief psychiatric resident. He took off
  his round, wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Your first night on
  psychiatry call and you get Bentworth!"
  "Trial by fire," said Roxane Jefferson, the black, no-nonsense head nurse
  for Clarkson Two. "No one can say psychiatry at the Boston Memorial is a
  boring rotation. "
  "He wasn't my idea of a perfect patient," admitted Cassi with a weak smile.
  Jacob's and Roxane's comments made her feel a bit more relaxed, sensing
  that if she made an ass of herself with her presentation, everyone would
  excuse her. Bentworth was no foreigner to Clarkson Two.
 Cassi had been a psychiatry resident for less than a

               20
             GODPLAYER          21

 week. November wasn't the usual time for people to begin a residency, but
 Cassi had not decided to switch from pathology to psychiatry until after the
 beginning of the medical year in July and had only been able to do so
 because one of the first-year residents had quit. At the time C assi thought
 she'd been extraordinarily lucky. But now she wasn't so sure. Starting a
 residency without other colleagues equally as inexperienced was more
 difficult than she'd anticipated. The other first-year residents had almost
 a five-month jump on her.
  "I bet Bentworth had some choice words for you when you showed up,"
  sympathized Joan Widiker, a third-year resident who was currently running
  the psychiatric consultation service and who had taken an immediate liking
  to Cassi.
  "I wouldn't want to repeat them," admitted Cassi, nodding toward Joan. "In
  fact he refused to talk with me at all, other than to tell me what he
  thought of psychiatry and psychiatrists. He did ask for a cigarette, which
  I gave him, thinking it might relax him, but instead of smoking it he
  proceeded to press the lighted end against his arms. Before I could get
  some help, he'd burned himself in six places."
  "He's a charmer all right," said Jacob. "Cassi, you should have called me.
  What time did he come in?"
 "Two-thirty A.M.," said Cassi.
  "I take that back," said Jacob. "You did the right thing."
  Everyone laughed, including Cassi. For once there wasn't that substratum of
  hostile competition that had colored all her years of training. And none of
  the half-respectful, half-jealous commentary that had surrounded her
  relations at Boston Memorial since her marriage to Thomas Kingsley. Cassi
  hoped she would be able to repay their support.
 "Anyway," she said, trying to organize her thoughts.
 22         Robin Cook

 "Mr. Bentworth, or I should say Colonel Bentworth, U.S. Army, presented
 with acute alcohol intoxication, diffuse anxiety alternating with a
 depressionlike state, ftilminating anger, self-mutilating behavior, and
 an eightpound chart of his previous hospitalizations."
 The group erupted with renewed laughter.
  "One point to Colonel Bentworth's credit," said Jacob, "is that he has
  helped train a generation of psychiatrists."
  "I had that feeling," admitted Cassi. "I tried to read the most important
  parts of the chart. I think it's about the same length as War and Peace.
  At least it kept me from making a fool of myself and hazarding a
  diagnosis. He's been classified as a borderline personality disorder with
  occasional brief psychotic states.
  "On physical examination he had multiple contusions on his face and a
  small laceration of his upper lip. The rest of the physical examination
  was normal except for his recent self-inflicted bums. There were slight
  scars across both wrists. He refused to cooperate for a full neurological
  exam, but he was oriented to time, place, and person. Since the present
  admission mirrored the last admission in terms of symptoms and since
  amytal sodium was used on the previous admission with such success, half
  a gram was given slowly IV."
  At almost the exact instant that Cassi finished her presentation, her
  name floated out of the hospital page system. By reflex she started to
  get up, but Joan restrained her, saying the ward clerk would answer.
  "Did you think Colonel Bentworth was a suicide risk?" asked Jacob.
  "Not really," said Cassi, knowing she was hedging. Cassi was well aware
  that her ability to estimate suicide risk was approximately the same as
  the man in the street's. "Burning himself with his cigarette was self-
  mutilating rather than self-destructive."
 Jacob twirled a lock of his frizzed hair and glanced at
             GODPLAYER          23

 Roxane, who had been on Clarkson Two longer than anyone else. She was
 recognized as an authority of sorts. That was another reason why Cassi
 enjoyed the psychiatry service. There wasn't the stiff structure that
 existed elsewhere in the hospital, with physicians implacably at the top.
 Doctors, nurses, aides, everyone was part of the Clarkson Two team and
 respected as such.
  "I've tended to ignore the distinction," said Roxane, "but I supl--#ose
  there is a difference. Still we should be careful. He's an extremely
  complex man."
  "That's an understatement," said Jacob. "The guy had a meteoric rise in the
  military, especially during his multiple tours of duty in Vietnam. He was
  even decorated several times, but when I looked into his army record, it
  always seemed as if a disproportionate number of his own men were killed.
  His psychiatric problems didn't seem to show up until he'd reached his
  present rank of colonel. It was as if success destroyed him. "
  "Getting back to the risk of suicide, " said Roxane, turning to Cassi. "I
  think the degree of depression is the most important point."
  "It wasn't typical depression," said Cassi, knowing she was venturing out
  on thin ice. "He said he felt empty rather than sad. One minute he acted
  depressed and the next he'd erupt with anger and abusive language. He was
  inconsistent."
  "There you go," said Jacob. It was one of his favorite phrases, and its
  meaning was related to how he stressed the words. In this instance he was
  pleased. "If you had to pick one word to characterize a borderline patient,
  I think 'inconsistency' would be the most appropriate."
  Cassi happily absorbed the praise. Her own ego had had very little to feed
  on during the previous week.
  "Well, then," said Jacob. "What are your plans for Colonel Bentworth?"
 24         Robin Cook

 Cassi's euphoria vanished.
  Then one of the residents said, "I think Cassi should get him to stop
  smoking."
 The group laughed and her tension evaporated.
  "My plans for Colonel Bentworth," said Cassi, 44are . . . " she paused,
  "that I'm going to have to do a lot of reading over the weekend."
  "Fair enough," said Jacob. "In the meantime I'd recommend a short course of
  a major tranquilizer. Borderlines don't do well on extended medication, but
  it can help them over transient psychotic states. Now then, what else
  happened last night?"
  Susan Cheaver, one of the psychiatric nurses, took over. With her usual
  efficiency, Susan summarized an the significant events that had taken place
  since late afternoon the previous day. The only happening out of the
  ordinary was an episode of physical abuse suffered by a patient called
  Maureen Kavenaugh. Her husband had come for one of his infrequent visits.
  The meeting had seemingly gone well for a while, but then there were angry
  words followed by a series of vicious openhanded slaps by Mr. Kavenaugh.
  The episode occurred in the middle of the patient lounge and severely upset
  the other patients. Mr. Kavenaugh had to be subdued and escorted from the
  ward. His wife had been sedated.
  "I've spoken with the husband on several occasions," said Roxane. "He's a
  truck driver with little or no understanding of his wife's condition."
 "And what do you suggest?" asked Jacob.
  "I think," said Roxane, "that Mr. Kavenaugh should be encouraged to visit
  his wife but only when someone can be with them. I don't think Maureen will
  be able to retain a remission unless he's brought into the therapy in some
  capacity, and I think it's going to be hard to get him to cooperate."
 Cassi watched and listened as the whole psychiatric
             GODPLAYER          25

 team participated. After Susan had finished, each of the residents had an
 opportunity to discuss their patients. Then the occupational therapist,
 followed by the psych social worker, had a chance to speak. Finally Dr.
 Levine asked if there were any other problems. No one moved.
  "Okay," said Dr. Levine, "see you all at afternoon rounds. "
  Cassi did not get tip immediately. She closed her eyes and took a deep
  breath. The anxiousness engendered by the team meeting had hidden her
  exhaustion, but now that the excitement was over she felt it with a
  vengeance. She'd had only three hours of sleep. And for Cassi rest was
  important. Oh, how nice it would have felt to just lay her head down on her
  arm right there on the conference table.
  "I bet you're tired," said Joan Widiker, placing her hand on Cassi's arm.
  It was a warm, reassuring gesture.
  Cassi managed a smile. Joan was genuinely interested in other people. More
  than anyone, she had taken time to make Cassi's first week as a psychiatry
  resident as easy as possible.
 "I'll make it," said Cassi. Then she added: "I hope."
  "You'll make it fine," assured Joan. "In fact you did marvelously this
  morning."
  "Do you really think so?" asked Cassi. Her hazel eyes brightened.
  "Absolutely," said Joan. "You even drew a compliment of sorts out of Jacob.
  He liked your description of Colonel Bentworth as inconsistent."
  "Don't remind me," said Cassi forlornly. "The truth is I wouldn't know a
  borderline personality disorder if I met one at dinner."
  "You probably wouldn't," agreed Joan. "Nor would many other people,
  provided the patient was not having a psychotic episode. Borderlines can be
  fairly well
 26        Robin Cook

 compensated. Look at Bentworth. He's a colonel in the army. "
  "That did bother me," said Cassi. "It didn't seem to be consistent,
  either."
  "Bentworth can upset anyone," said Joan, giving Cassi's arm a supportive
  squeeze. "Come on. I'll buy you some coffee in the coffee shop. You look
  like you could use it. "
  "I can use it all right," agreed Cassi. "But I'm not sure I should take
  the time."
  "Doctor's orders," said Joan, getting up. As they walked down the
  corridor, she added, "I got Bentworth when I was a first-year resident,
  and I had the same experience as you did. So I know how you feel."
  "No kidding," said Cassi, encouraged. "I didn't want to admit it at the
  meeting, but I found the colonel frightening. "
  Joan nodded. "Look, Bentworth's trouble. He's vicious, and he's smart.
  Somehow he knows just how to get at people: find their weaknesses. That
  power, combined with his pent-up anger and hostility, can be
  devastating."
 "He made me feel completely worthless," said Cassi.
 "As a psychiatrist," corrected Joan.
  "As a psychiatrist," agreed Cassi. "But that's what I'm supposed to be.
  Maybe if I could find some similar case histories to read."
  "There is plenty of literature," said Joan. "Too much. But it's a little
  like learning to ride a bike. You could read everything about bicycles,
  for years, yet when you finally tried to ride it yourself, you wouldn't
  be able to. Psychiatry is as much a process as it is knowledge. Come on,
  let's get that coffee."
 Cassi hesitated. "Maybe I should get to work."
  "You don't have any scheduled patient meetings right now, do you?" asked
  Joan.
 "No, but . . . "
             GODPLAYER          27

  "Then you're coming." Joan took her arm and they started walking again.
  Cassi allowed herself to be led. She wanted to spend a little time with
  Joan. It was encouraging as well as instructive. Maybe Bentworth would be
  willing to talk after a night's rest.
  "Let me tell you something about Bentworth," said Joan, as if reading
  Cassi's mind. "Everyone that I know who has taken care of him, myself
  included, was certain they would cure him. But borderlines in general and
  Colonel Bentworth in particular don't get cured. They can get progressively
  better compensated but not cured. "
  As they passed the nurses' station, Cassi left Bentworth's chart and asked
  about her page. "It was Dr. Robert Seibert," said the aide. "He asked for
  you to call as soon as possible."
 "Who's Dr. Seibert?" asked Joan.
 "He's a resident in pathology," answered Cassi.
  "As soon as possible sounds like you'd better call," said Joan.
 "Do you mind?"
  Joan shook her head, and Cassi went around the counter to use the phone
  next to the chart rack. Roxane came over to Joan. "She's a nice kid," the
  nurse said. "I think she's going to be a real addition around here. " Joan
  nodded, and they both agreed that Cassi's insecurity and anxiety were a
  function of her commitment and dedication.
  "But she worries me a little," added Roxane. "She seems to have a special
  vulnerability."
  "I think she'll be fine," said Joan. "And she can't be too weak being
  married to Thomas Kingsley."
  Roxane grinned and walked down the hall. She was a tall, elegant black
  woman who commanded respect for her intellect and sense of style. She'd wom
  her hair braided in corn rows long before it was fashionable.
 28         Robin Cook

  As Cassi put down the phone, Joan eyed her carefully. Roxane was right.
  Cassi did seem delicate. Perhaps it was her pale, almost translucent
  skin. She was slender but graceful, only slightly over five-feet-two. Her
  hair was fine and varied in color from a shiny walnut to blond depending
  upon the angle and the light. At work she wore it loosely piled on her
  head, held in place with small combs and hairpins. But because of its
  texture, wisps spilled down around her face in gossamer strands. Her
  features were small and narrow, and her eyes turned up ever so slightly
  at the outer comers, giving them a mildly exotic appearance. She wore
  little makeup, which made her look younger than her twenty-eight years.
  Her clothes were always neat even if she'd been up most of the night, and
  today she was dressed in one of her many high-necked white blouses. To
  Joan, Cassi appeared like a young woman in an old Victorian
  photograph-
  "Instead of going for coffee," said Cassi with enthusiasm, "how about
  coming with me to pathology for a few minutes?"
 "Pathology," said Joan, with some reluctance.
  "I'm sure we can get coffee up there," said Cassi, as if that was the
  explanation of Joan's hesitation. "Come on.You might find it
  interesting."
  Joan allowed herself to be led down the main corridor to the heavy fire
  door which led into the hospital proper. There were no locked doors on
  Clarkson Two. It was an "open" ward. Many of the patients were not
  allowed to leave the floor, but compliance was up to them. They knew if
  they ignored the rules they risked being sent to the State Hospital.
  There the environment was significantly different and much less pleasant.
  As the door closed behind her, Cassi felt a sense of relief. In sharp
  contrast to the psychiatry ward, here in the main hospital building it
  was easy to distinguish the
             GODPLAYER          29

 doctors and nurses from the patients. The doctors wore either suit jackets
 or their white coats; the nurses, their white uniforms; and the patients,
 their hospital johnnies. Back in Clarkson Two everyone wore street
 clothes.
  As Cassi and Joan threaded their way toward the central elevators, Joan
  asked, "What was it like being a resident in pathology? Did you like it?"
 "I loved it," said Cassi.
  "I hope you don't take this as an insult," laughed Joan. "But you don't
  look like any pathologist I know."
  "It's the story of my life," said Cassi. "First nobody would believe I
  was a medical student, then they said I looked too young to be a doctor,
  and last night Colonel Bentworth was kind enough to tell me I didn't look
  like a psychiatrist. What do you think I look like?"
  Joan didn't answer. The truth was Cassi looked more like a dancer or a
  model than a doctor.
  They joined the crowd of people in front of the bank of elevators serving
  Scherington, the main hospital building. There were only six elevators,
  which turned out to be an architectural blunder. Sometimes you could wait
  ten minutes for a car and then have to stop at every floor.
  "What made you switch residencies?" asked Joan. As soon as the question
  left her lips, she regretted it. "You don't have to answer that. I don't
  mean to pry. I guess it's the psychiatrist in me."
  "It's quite all right," said Cassi equably. "And actually it's quite
  simple. I have juvenile diabetes. In choosing my medical specialty, I've
  had to keep that reality in mind. I've tried to ignore it, but it is a
  definite handicap."
  Joan's embarrassment was increased by Cassi's candor. Yet as
  uncomfortable as Joan felt, she thought it would be worse not to respond
  to Cassi's honesty. "I would have thought under the circumstances
  pathology would have been a good choice."
 30         Robin Cook

  "I thought so too, at first," said Cassi. "But unfortunately during the
  past year I began to have trouble with my eyes. In fact, at the moment
  I can only distinguish light and dark with my left eye. I'm sure you know
  all about diabetic retinopathy. I'm not a defeatist but if worse comes
  to worst, I could practice psychiatry even if I became blind. Not so with
  pathology. Come on, let's get that first elevator."
  Cassi and Joan were swept into the car. The door closed, and they started
  up.
  Joan had not felt so uncomfortable in years, but she felt she had to
  respond. "How long have you had diabetes?" she asked.
  The simple question hurled Cassi back in time. Back to when she was eight
  and her life began to change. Up to that point, Cassi had always liked
  school. She was an eager, enthusiastic child who seemed to look forward
  to new experiences. But in the middle of the third grade it all changed.
  In the past she'd always been ready for school early; now she had to be
  pushed and cajoled by her mother. Her concentration dwindled and notes
  to that effect began to arrive from her teacher. One of the central
  issues, something that no one recognized, not even Cassi herself, was
  that Cassi had to use the girls' room more and more frequently. After a
  time the teacher, Miss Rossi, began on occasion to refuse Cassi's
  requests, suspecting that she was using trips to the toilet to avoid her
  work. When this happened, Cassi experienced the awful fear that she would
  lose control of her bladder. In her mind's eye she could picture what it
  would look like if she had "an accident," and her urine dripped down from
  her seat and puddled under her desk. The fear brought on anger and the
  anger, ostracism. The kids began to make fun of Cassi.
  At home an episode of bedwetting surprised and shocked both Cassandra and
  her mother. Mrs. Cassidy
             GODPLAYER          31

 demanded an explanation, but Cassandra had none and was, in fact, equally
 appalled. When Mr. Cassidy suggested they consult the family doctor, Mrs.
 Cassidy was too mortified to do so, convinced as she was that the whole
 affair was a behavioral disorder.
  Various punishments had no effect. If anything they exacerbated the
  problem. Cassi began to throw temper tantrums, lost her few remaining
  friends, and spent most of her time in her room. Mrs. Cassidy reluctantly
  began to think about the need for a child psychologist.
  Things came to a head in the early spring. Cassi could remember the day
  vividly. Only a half hour after a recess, she began to experience a
  combination of mounting bladder pressure and thirst. Anticipating Miss
  Rossi's response so close to recess, Cassi tried vainly to wait for class
  to end. She squirmed in her seat and clutched her hands into tight fists.
  Her mouth became so dry she could barely swallow, and despite all her
  efforts, she felt the release of a small amount of urine.
  In terror she walked pigeon-toed up to Miss Rossi and asked to be excused.
  Miss Rossi, without a glance, told her to take her seat. Cassi turned and
  walked deliberately to the door. Miss Rossi heard it open and looked up.
  Cassi fled to the he girls' room with Miss Rossi at her heels. She had her
  panties down and her dress bunched in her arms before Miss Rossi caught up
  to her. With relief, the little girl sank onto the toilet. Miss Rossi stood
  her ground, putting her hands on her hips, and waited with an expression
  that said: "You'd better produce or else . . ."
  Cassi produced. She began to urinate and continued for what seemed like an
  incredible duration of time. Miss Rossi's angry expression mellowed. "Why
  didn't you go during recess?" she demanded. "I did," said Cassi
  plaintively.
 32         Robin Cook

  "I don't believe you," said Miss Rossi. "I just don't believe you, and
  this afternoon after school, we are going to march down to Mr.
  Jankowski's office."
  Back in the classroom, Miss Rossi made Cassi sit by herself. She could
  still remember the dizziness that came over her. First she couldn't see
  the blackboard. Then she felt strange all over and thought she was going
  to vomit. But she didn't. Instead she passed out. The next thing Cassi
  knew was that she was in the hospital. Her mother was bending over her.
  She told Cassi she had diabetes.
  Cassi turned to Joan, bringing her mind back to the present.
  "I was hospitalized when I was nine," said Cassi hurriedly, hoping Joan
  hadn't noticed the fact that she had been daydreaming. "The diagnosis was
  made then."
  "That must have been a difficult time for you," said Joan.
  "It wasn't so bad," said Cassi. "In some respects it was a relief to know
  that the symptoms I had been having had a physical basis. And once the
  doctors stabilized my insulin requirements, I felt much better. By the
  time I reached my teens I even got used to giving myself the injections
  twice a day. Ah, here we are." Cassi motioned them off the elevator.
  "I'm impressed," said Joan with sincerity. "I doubt if I'd have been able
  to handle my medical training if I had had diabetes."
  "I'm certain you would have," said Cassi casually. "We're all more
  adaptable than we give ourselves credit for."
  Joan wasn't sure she agreed, but she let it go. "What about your husband?
  Having known a few surgeons in my life, I hope he's understanding and
  supportive."
  "Oh, he is," said Cassi, but she answered too quickly for Joan's
  analytical mind.
             GODPLAYER          33

  Pathology was its own world, completely separate from the rest of the
  hospital. As a psychiatric resident, Joan hadn't visited the floor in the
  two years she'd been at Boston Memorial. She had prepared herself for the
  dark, nineteenth-century appearance of the department of pathology in her
  medical school, complete with dingy glass-fronted cabinets filled with
  round specimen jars containing bits of horror in yellowing Formalin.
  Instead, she found herself in a white, futuristic world composed of tile,
  Formica, stainless steel, and glass. There were no specimens and no clutter
  and no strangely repulsive smells. At the entrance there were a number of
  secretaries with earphones typing onto word-processing screens. To the left
  were offices, and down the center was a long white Formica table supporting
  double-headed microscopes.
  Cassi led Joan into the first office where an impeccably dressed young man
  leaped up from his desk and greeted Cassi with a big, unprofessional hug.
  Then the man thrust Cassi away so he could look at her.
  "God, you look good," he said. "But wait. You haven't colored your hair,
  have you?"
  "I knew you'd notice," laughed Cassi. "No one else has."
  "Of course I'd notice. And this is a new blouse. Lord and Taylor?"
 "No, Saks.
  -ieswonderful. " He fingered the material. "It's all cotton. Very nice."
  "Oh, I'm sorry!" said Cassi, remembering Joan and introducing her. "Joan
  Widiker, Robert Seibert, secondyear pathology resident."
  Joan took Robert's outstretched hand. She liked his engaging, forthright
  smile. His eyes twinkled, and Joan had the feeling she'd been instantly
  inspected.
 "Robert and I went to the same medical school,"
 34        Robin Cook

 explained Cassi as Robert put his arm around her again. "And then by chance
 we both ended up here at the Boston Memorial for first-year pathology."
  "You two look like you could be brother and sister," said Joan.
  "People have said that," said Robert, obviously pleased. "We had an
  immediate affinity for each other for a lot of reasons including the fact
  that we both had serious childhood diseases. Cassi had diabetes, and I had
  rheumatic fever."
  "And we're both terrified of surgery," said Cassi, causing herself and
  Robert to burst out laughing.
 Joan assumed it was some kind of private joke.
  "Actually, it's not so funny," said Cassi. "Instead of mutually supporting
  each other, we've ended up making each other more seared. Robert is
  supposed to have his wisdom teeth removed, and I'm supposed to have the
  hemorrhage in my left eye cleared."
  "I'm going to have mine taken care of soon," said Robert defiantly. "Now
  that I've got you out of my hair."
 "I'll believe that when it happens," laughed Cassi.
  "YoWlI see," said Robert. "But meanwhile let's get down to business. I've
  saved the autopsy until you got here. But first I promised to call the
  medical resident who tried to resuscitate the patient."
  Robert stepped back to his desk and picked up his phone.
  "Autopsy!" Joan whispered, alarmed. "I didn't bargain on an autopsy. I'm
  not sure I'm up for that."
  "It might be worthwhile," said Cassi innocently, as if watching an autopsy
  was something people did for amusement. "During my time as a pathology
  resident, Robert and I became interested in a series of cases that we've
  labeled SSD, for sudden surgical death. What we found was a group of
  cardiac surgery patients who had
             GODPLAYER          35

 died less than a week after their operations even though most had been
 doing well and who, on autopsy, had no anatomical cause of death. A few
 might be understandable, but counting what turned up in the records for
 the last ten years, we found seventeen. The case Robert is going to
 autopsy now could make eighteen."
  Robert returned from the phone saying Jerry Donovan would he right down
  and offered his guests coffee. Before they had a chance to drink it,
  Jerry arrived on the run. The first thing he did was give Cassi a hug.
  Joan was impressed. Cassi seemed to be on friendly terms with everyone.
  Then he slapped Robert on the shoulder and said, "Hey, man, thanks for
  the call,"
  Robert winced at the impact of the blow and forced a smile.
  To Joan, Jerry was dressed like the usual house officer. His white
  jacket, rumpled and soiled, hung askew due to the weight of an
  overstuffed black notebook in the right pocket. His pants were spotted
  with a line of bloodstains across the thighs. Next to Robert, Jerry
  looked like a floor sweeper in a meat-packing house.
  "Jerry went to the same medical school as Robert and I," explained Cassi.
  "Only he was an upper classman."
  "A distinction that is still painfully obvious," kidded Jerry.
  "Let's go," said Robert. "I've had one of the autopsy rooms on hold long
  enough."
  Robert left first, followed by Joan. Jerry stepped aside for Cassi, then
  caught up to her.
  "You'll never guess who I had the pleasure of watching do his thing last
  night," said Jerry as they skirted the microscope table.
  "I wouldn't even try," said Cassi, expecting some off-color humor.
 "Your husband! Dr. Thomas Kingsley."
 36        Robin Cook

  "Really?" said Cassi. "What was a medicine man like you doing in the OR?"
  "I wasn't," said Jerry. "I was on the surgical floor trying to resuscitate
  the patient we're going to autopsy. Your husband responded to the code. I
  was impressed. I don't think I've ever seen such decisiveness. He ripped
  this guy's chest open and gave open-heart massage right on the bed. It blew
  my mind. Tell me, is your husband that impressive at home?"
  Cassi shot Jerry a harsh glance. If that comment had come from anybody but
  Jerry, she probably would have snapped back. But she expected off-color
  humor and there it was. So why make an issue? She decided to let it drop.
  Ignoring Cassi's less-than-positive reaction, Jerry continued: "The thing
  that impressed me was not the actual cutting open of the guy's chest but
  rather the decision to do it in the first place. It's so goddamn
  irreversible. It's a decision I don't know how anybody could make. I
  agonize over whether or not to start a patient on antibiotics."
  "Surgeons get used to that sort of thing," said Cassi. "That kind of
  decision making becomes a tonic. In a sense they enjoy it."
  "Enjoy it?" echoed Jerry with disbelief. "That's pretty hard to believe,
  but I suppose they must; otherwise we wouldn't have any surgeons. Maybe the
  biggest difference between an internist and a surgeon is the ability to
  make irreversible decisions."
  Entering the autopsy room, Robert donned a black rubber apron and rubber
  gloves. The others grouped around the pale corpse whose chest still gaped
  open. The edges of the wound had darkened and dried. Except for an
  endotracheal tube that stuck rudely out of the mouth, the patient's face
  looked serene. The eyes were thankfully closed.
             GODPLAYER          37

  "Ten to one it was a pulmonary embolism," said Jerry confidently.
  "I'll put a dollar on that," said Robert, positioning a microphone which
  hung from the ceiling at a convenient height. It was operated by a foot
  pedal. "You told me yourself the patient initially had been very
  cyanotic. I don't think we're going to find an embolism. In fact, if my
  hunch is correct, we're not going to find anything."
  As Robert: began his examination, he started dictating into the mike.
  "This is a well-developed, well-nourished Caucasian male weighing
  approximately one hundred sixty-five pounds and measuring seventy inches
  in length who appears to be of the stated age of forty-two . . ."
  As Robert went on to describe the other visible evidence of Bruce
  Wilkinson's surgery, Joan stared at Cassi, who was placidly sipping her
  coffee. Joan looked down at her own cup. The idea of drinking it made her
  stomach turn.
  "Have all these SSD cases been the same?" asked Joan, trying not to look
  at the table where Robert was arranging scalpels, scissors, and bone
  clippers in preparation of opening and eviscerating the corpse.
  Cassl shook her head. "No. Some have been cyanotic like this case, some
  seemed to have died from cardiac arrest, some from respiratory failure,
  and some from convulsions. "
  Robert began the usual Y-shaped autopsy incision, starting high on the
  shoulder and connecting with the open-chest incision. Joan could hear the
  blade scrape across the underlying bony structures.
  "What about the kind of surgery?" asked Joan. She heard ribs crack and
  closed her eyes.
  "They've all had open-heart surgery but not necessarily for the same
  condition. We've checked anesthesia, duration of pump time, whether or
  not hypothermia
 38         Robin Cook

 was used. There were no correlations. That's been the frustrating part."
 "Well, why are you trying to relate them?"
  "That's a good question," said Cassi. "It has to do with the mentality of
  a pathologist. After you've done an autopsy, it's very unsatisfying not to
  have a definitive cause of death. And when you have a series of such cases,
  it's demoralizing. Solving the puzzle is what makes pathology rewarding."
  Involuntarily Joan's eyes stole a quick glance at the table. Bruce
  Wilkinson appeared as if he'd been unzipped. The skin and subcutaneous
  structures of the chest and thorax had been folded back like the leaves of
  a gigantic book. Joan felt herself swaying.
  "The knowledge is important," Cassi went on, unaware of Joan's
  difficulties. "It can have a direct benefit to future patients if some
  preventable cause is discovered. And in this situation, we've noticed an
  alarming trend. The initial patients seemed to have been older and much
  sicker. In fact, most were in irreversible coma. Lately though, the
  patients have been under fifty and generally healthier, like Mr. Wilkinson
  here. Joan, what's the matter?" Cassi had turned and finally noticed that
  her friend seemed about to faint.
  "I'm going to wait outside," said Joan. She turned and started for the
  door, but Cassi caught her arm.
 "Are you all right?" asked Cassi.
  "I'll be fine," said Joan. "I just need to sit down." She fled through the
  stainless steel door.
  Cassi was about to follow when Robert called for her to look at something.
  He pointed at a quarter-sized contusion on the surface of the heart.
 "What do you think of that?" asked Robert.
 "Probably from the resuscitation attempt," said Cassi.
  "At least we agree on that," said Robert as he directed his attention back
  to the respiratory system and
            GODPLAYER           39

 the larynx. Deftly he opened the breathing passages. "No obstruction of any
 sort. If there had been, that would have explained the deep cyanosis."
  Jerry grunted and said, "Goin' to be pulmonary embolism. I'm sure of it."
 "It's a bad bet," said Robert, shaking his head.
  Switching his attention lower, Robert examined the main pulmonary vessels
  and the heart itself. "These are the bypass vessels sewn in place." He
  leaned back so Cassi and Jerry could take a look.
  Hefting a scalpel, Robert said: "Okay, Dr. Donovan. Better put your money
  on the table." Robert bent over and opened the pulmonary arteries. There
  were no clots. Next he opened the right atrium of the heart. Again the
  blood was liquid. Finally he turned to the vena cava. There was a bit of
  tension as the knife slipped into the vessels, but they too were clear.
  There were no emboli.
 "Crap!" said Jerry in disgust.
 "That's ten dollars you owe me," said Robert smugly.
  "What the hell could have bumped this guy off?" asked Jerry.
  "I don'i think we're going to find out," said Robert. "I think we've got
  number eighteen here."
  "If we are going to find anything," said Cassi, "it will be inside the
  head."
 "How do you figure?" asked Jerry.
  "If the patient was really cyanotic," said Cassi, "and we haven't found a
  right-to-left circulatory shunt, then the problem has to be in the brain.
  The patient stopped breathing, but the heart kept pumping unoxygenated
  blood. Thus cyanosis."
  "What's that old saying?" said Jerry. "Pathologists know everything and do
  everything but too late."
  "You forgot the first part," said Cassi. "Surgeons know nothing but do
  everything. Internists know every-
   40         Robin Cook

 thing but do nothing. Then comes the part about pathologists. "
 "And what about psychiatrists?" asked Robert.
  "That's easy," laughed Jerry. "Psychiatrists know nothing and do
  nothing!"
  Quickly Robert finished the autopsy. The brain appeared normal on close
  examination. No sign of clot or other trauma.
  "Well?" asked Jerry, staring at the glistening convolution of Bruce's
  brain. "Do you two hotshots have any other bright ideas?"
  "Not really," said Cassi. "Maybe Robert will find evidence of a heart
  attack."
  "Even if I do," said Robert, "it wouldn't explain the cyanosis. "
  "That's true," said Jerry, as he scratched the side of his head. "Maybe
  the nurse was wrong. Maybe the guy was just ashen."
  "Those nurses on cardiac surgery are awfully competent," said Cassi. "If
  they said the patient was dark blue, he was dark blue."
  "Then I give up," said Jerry, taking out a ten-dollar bill and slipping
  it into the pocket of Robert's white jacket.
  "You don't have to pay me," said Robert. "I was just kidding. "
  "Bullshit," said Jerry. "If it had been a pulmonary embolism I'd have
  taken your money," Jerry walked over to where he'd hung his white jacket.
  "Congratulations, Robert," said Cassi. "Looks like you got case number
  eighteen. Compared to the number of open-heart surgery cases they've done
  over the last ten years, that's getting close to being statistically
  significant. You'll get a paper out of this yet."
  "What do you mean 'nie'?" asked Robert. "You mean us,' don't you?"
             GODPLAYER          41

  Cassi shook her head. "No, Robert. This whole thing has been your idea from
  the start. Besides, now that I've switched to psychiatry, I can't hold up
  my end of the work."
 Robert looked glum.
  "Cheer up," said Cassi. "When the paper comes out, you'll be glad you
  didn't have to share authorship with a psychiatrist. "
  "I was hoping this study would get you to come up here frequently."
  "Don't be silly," said Cassi. "I'll still come up, especially when you find
  new SSD cases."
  "Cassi, let's go," called Jerry impatiently. He had the door held open with
  his foot.
  Cassi gave Robert a peck on the check and ran out. Jerry took a playful
  swipe at her as she passed through the door. Not only did she evade the
  blow, but she managed to give Jerry's necktie a sharp tug as she passed.
  "Where's your woman friend?" asked Jerry as they reached the main part of
  the pathology department. He was still struggling to straighten his tie.
  "Probably in Robert's office," said Cassi. "She said she needed to sit
  down. I think the autopsy was a little much for her."
  Joan had been resting with her eyes closed. When she heard Cassi she got
  unsteadily to her feet. "Well, what did you learn?" She tried to sound
  casual.
 "Not much," said Cassi. 'Joan, are you all right?"
  'Just a mortal wound to my pride," said Joan. "I should have known better
  than watch an autopsy."
 "I'm terribly sorry . . ." began Cassi.
  "Don't be silly," said Joan. "I came voluntarily. But I'd just as soon
  leave if you're ready."
  They walked down to the elevators where Jerry decided to use the stairs
  since it was only four flights to
 42         Robin Cook

 the medical floor. He waved before disappearing into the stairwell.
  'Joan," said Cassi, turning back to her. "I really am sorry I forced you up
  here. I'd gotten so accustomed to autopsies as a path resident that I'd
  forgotten how awful they can be. I hope it didn't upset you too much."
  "You didn't force me up here," said Joan, "Besides, my squeamishness is my
  problem, not yours. It's just plain embarrassing. You'd think after four
  years of medical school I'd have gotten over it. Anyway, I should have
  admitted it and waited for you in Robert's office. Instead I acted like a
  fool. I don't know what I was trying to prove."
  "Autopsies were hard for me at first," said Cassi, "but gradually it became
  easier. It is astounding what you can get used to if you do it enough,
  especially when you can intellectualize it."
  "For sure," said Joan, eager to change the subject. "By the way, your men
  friends do run the gamut. What's the story with Jerry Donovan? Is he
  available?"
  "I think so," said Cassi, punching the elevator button again. "He was
  married back in med school but then divorced."
 "I know the story," said Joan.
  "I'm not sure if he's dating anyone in particular," said Cassi. "But I
  could find out. Are you interested?"
  "I wouldn't mind asking him to dinner," said Joan pensively. "But only if
  I could be sure he'd put out on the first date."
  It took a moment for Joan's comment to penetrate before Cassi burst out
  laughing. "I think you sized him up pretty well," she said.
  "The macho medicine man," said Joan. "What about Robert?" Joan lowered her
  voice as they got on the elevator. "Is he gay?"
 "I suppose so," said Cassi. "But we've never discussed it.
            GODPLAYER           43

 He's been such a good friend, it has never mattered. He used to rate my boy
 friends back in medical school, and I used to listen until I met my husband
 because Robert was always right. But he must have been jealous of Thomas
 because he never liked him."
 "Does he still feel that way?" asked Joan.
  I can't say," said Cassi. "That's the only other subject that we never talk
  about."
CHAPTER
2

 "THE PATIENT IS READY for you in No. 3 cardiac cath room," said one of the
 X-ray technicians. She didn't come into the office but rather just stuck her
 head around the door. By the time Dr. Joseph Riggin turned to acknowledge
 the information, the girl was gone.
  With a sigh, Joseph lifted his feet off his desk, tossed the journal he'd
  been reading onto the bookshelf, and took one last slug of coffee. From a
  hook behind the door he lifted his lead apron and put it on.
  The radiology corridor at 10:30 A.M. reminded Joseph of a sale day at
  Bloomingdale's. There were people everywhere waiting in chairs, waiting in
  lines, and waiting on gurneys. Their faces had a blank, expectant look.
  Joseph felt an unwelcome sense of boredom. He'd been doing radiology now
  for fourteen years and he was beginning to admit to himself that the
  excitement had gone out of it. Every day was like every other day. Nothing
  unique ever happened anymore. If it hadn't been for the arrival of the CAT
  scanner a number of years ago, Joseph wondered if he'd have quit. As he
  pushed into No. 3, he tried to imagine what he could do if he left clinical
  radiology. Unfortunately he didn't have any bright ideas.
 The No. 3 cath room was the largest of the five

               44
             GODPLAYER          45

 rooms so equipped. It had the newest equipment as well as its own built-in
 viewer screens. As Joseph entered, he saw that someone else's X rays had
 been left up. If he'd told his technicians once, he'd told them a thousand
 times that he wanted his room cleared of previous films before he did a
 study. Then, as if that wasn't enough, Joseph noticed there was no
 technician.
  Joseph felt his blood pressure soar. It was a cardinal rule that no
  patients were ever to be left unattended. "Dammit," snarled Joseph under
  his breath. The patient was lying on the X-ray table, covered by a thin
  white blanket. He looked about fifteen years old, with a broad face and
  close-cropped hair. His dark eyes were watching Joseph intently. Next to
  the table was an IV bottle, and the plastic tube snaked under the
  blanket.
  "Hello," said Joseph, forcing a smile despite his frustration.
  The patient did not stir. As Joseph took the chart, he noticed that the
  boy's neck was thick and muscular. Another glance at the boy's face
  suggested that this was no ordinary patient. His eyes were abnormally
  tilted and his tongue, which partially protruded from his lips, was
  enormous.
  "Well, what do we have here?" said Joseph with a wave of uneasiness. He
  wished the boy would say something or at least look away. Joseph flipped
  open the chart and read the admitting note.
  "Sam Stevens is a twenty-two-year-old muscular Caucasian male
  institutionalized since age four with undiagnosed mental retardation, who
  is admitted for definitive work-up and repair of his congenital cardiac
  abnormality thought to be a septal defect . . ."
  The door to the cath room banged open, and Sally Marcheson breezed in
  carrying a stack of cassettes. "Hi, Dr. Riggin," she called.
 "Why has this patient been left alone?"
 46         Robin Cook

 Sally stopped short of the X-ray machine. "Alone?" "Alone," repeated Joseph
 with obvious anger.
 "Where's Gloria? She was supposed . . ."
  "For Christ's sake, Sally," shouted Joseph. "Patients are never to be left
  alone. Can't you understand that?"
  Sally shrugged. "I've only been gone fifteen or twenty minutes. "
  "And what about all these X rays? Why are they out?"
  Sally glanced at the viewers. "I don't know anything about them. They
  weren't here when I left."
  Quickly Sally began pulling the X rays down and stuffing them in the
  envelope on the countertop. It was someone's coronary angiogram, and she
  had no idea whatsoever why the X rays were there.
  Still grumbling to himself, Joseph opened a sterile gown and pulled it on.
  Glancing back at the patient, he saw that the boy had not moved. His eyes
  still followed him wherever he moved.
  With a frightful banging noise, Sally succeeded in loading the cassettes
  into the machine, then came back to pull off the sterile cover over the
  cath tray.
  While Joseph pulled on rubber gloves, he moved over closer to the patient's
  face. "How are you doing, Sam?" For some reason, knowing the boy was
  retarded made Joseph think he should speak louder than usual. But Sam
  didn't respond.
  "Do you feel okay, Sam?" called Joseph. "I'm going to have to stick you
  with a little needle, okay?"
 Sam acted as if he were carved from granite.
 "I want you to stay very still, okay?" persisted Joseph.
  True to form, Sam didn't budge. Joseph was about to return his attention to
  the cath tray when Sam's tongue once again caught his attention. The
  protruding portion was cracked and dried. Looking closer, Joseph could see
             GODPLAYER          47

 that Sam's lips weren't much better off. The boy looked like he'd been
 wandering around in a desert.
 "You a little thirsty, Sam?" queried Joseph.
  Joseph glanced up at the IV, noticing that it wasn't running. With a flick
  of his wrist he turned it on. No sense in the kid becoming dehydrated.
  Joseph stepped over to the cath tray and took the gauze out of the prep
  dishes.
  A high-pitched, inhuman scream shattered the stillness of the cath room.
  Joseph whirled around, his heart in his mouth.
  Sam had thrown off his blanket and was clawing at the arm that had the IV.
  His feet began to hammer up and down on the X-ray table. A shrill cry still
  issued from his lips.
  Joseph collected himself enough to pull the fluoroscopy unit back away from
  Sam's thrashing legs. He reached up and put his hands on Sam's shoulders to
  push him back onto the table. Instead Sam grasped Joseph's arm with such
  power that Joseph yelped out in pain. Powerless to prevent it, Joseph
  watched with horror as Sam pulled Joseph's hand up to his mouth, then sank
  his teeth into the base of Joseph's thumb.
  It was now Joseph's turn to scream. He struggled to pull his arm from Sam's
  grasp, but the boy was far too strong. In desperation Joseph lifted a foot
  to the side of the X-ray table and pushed. He stumbled back and fell,
  pulling Sam on top of him.
  Joseph felt Sam release his arm only to feel the boy's hands close around
  his throat. Pressure built up inside of his head as the boy squeezed.
  Desperately he tried to pull Sam's hands away, but they were like steel.
  The room began to spin. With a last reserve of strength, Joseph brought his
  knee up into the boy's groin.
  Almost simultaneously, Sam's body heaved with a sudden contraction. It was
  rapidly followed by another
 48         Robin Cook

 and then another. Sam was having a grand mal seizure, and Joseph lay pinned
 to the floor beneath the heaving, convulsing body.
  Sally finally recovered from shock and helped Joseph squirm free. Sam's
  eyes had disappeared up inside his head and blood sprayed in a gradually
  widening circle from his mangled tongue
  "Get help," gasped Joseph as he grasped his own wrist to stem the bleeding.
  Within the jagged edges of the wound he could see the glistening surface of
  exposed bone.
  Before help arrived, Sam's wrenching spasms weakened and all but stopped.
  By the time Joseph realized the boy was not breathing, the medical
  emergency team arrived. They worked feverishly but to no avail. After
  fifteen minutes, a reluctant Dr. Joseph Riggin was led away to have his
  hand sutured while Sally Marcheson removed the misplaced X rays.

                F-I

  As Thomas Kingsley scrubbed, he felt the surge of excitement that always
  possessed him before an operation. He had known he was born to be a surgeon
  the first time he'd assisted in the OR as an intern, and it hadn't been
  long before his skill had been acknowledged throughout the hospital. Now as
  Boston Memorial's foremost cardiovascular surgeon, he had an international
  reputation.
  Rinsing off the suds, Thomas lifted his hands to prevent water from running
  down his arms. He opened the OR door with his hip. As he did so, he could
  hear the conversation in the room trail off into awed silence. He accepted
  a towel from the scrub nurse, Teresa Goldberg. For a second their eyes met
  above their face masks. Thomas liked Teresa. She had a wonderful body that
  even the bulky surgical gown she was wearing
             GODPLAYER          49

 could not hide. Besides, he could yell at her if need be, knowing she
 wouldn't burst into tears. She was also smart enough not only to recognize
 that Thomas was the best surgeon at the Memorial but to tell him so.
  Thomas methodically dried his hands while he checked out the patient's
  vital signs. Then, like a general reviewing his troops, he moved around the
  room, nodding to Phil Baxter, the perfusionist, who stood behind his
  heart-lung machine. It was primed and humming, ready to take over the job
  of oxygenating the patient's blood and pumping it around the body while
  Thomas did his work.
  Next Thomas eyed Terence Halainen, the anesthesiologist.
  "Everything is stable," said Terence, alternately squeezing the breathing
  bag.
 "Grood," said Thomas.
  Disposing of the towel, Thomas slipped on the sterile gown held by Teresa.
  Then he thrust his hands into special brown rubber gloves. As if on cue,
  Dr. Larry Owen, the senior cardiac surgery fellow, looked up from the
  operative field.
  "Mr. Campbell is all ready for you," said Larry, making room for Thomas to
  approach the OR table. The patient lay with his chest fully opened in
  preparation for the famous Dr. Kingsley to do a bypass procedure. At Boston
  Memorial it was customary for the senior resident or fellow to open as well
  as close such operations.
  Thomas stepped up to his position on the patient's right. As he always did
  at this point, he slowly reached into the wound and touched the beating
  heart. The wet surface of his rubber gloves offered no resistance, and he
  could feel all the mysterious movement in the pulsating organ.
 The touch of the beating heart took Thomas's mind
 50         Robin Cook

 back to his first major case as a resident in thoracic surgery. He had
 been involved in many operations prior to that, but always as the first
 assistant, or second assistant, or somewhere down the line of authority.
 Then a patient named Walter Nazzaro had been admitted to the hospital.
 Nazzaro had had a massive heart attack and was not expected to live. But
 he did. Not only did he survive his heart attack, but he survived the
 rigorous evaluation that the house staff doctors put him through. The
 results of the work-up were impressive. Everyone wondered how Walter
 Nazzaro had lived as long as he had. He had occlusive disease in his main
 left coronary artery, which had been responsible for his heart attack. He
 also had occlusive disease in his right coronary artery with evidence of
 an old heart attack. In addition he had mitral and aortic valve disease.
 Then, as if that weren't enough, Walter had developed an aneurysm, or a
 ballooning of the wall, of his left ventricle of his heart as a result of
 the most recent heart attack. He also had an irregular heart rhythm, high
 blood pressure, and kidney disease.
  Since Walter was such a fund of anatomic and physiologic pathology, he
  was presented at all the conferences with everyone offering various
  opinions. The only aspect of his case that everyone agreed upon was the
  fact that Walter was a walking time bomb. No one wanted to operate except
  a resident named Thomas Kingsley, who argued that surgery was Walter's
  only chance to escape the death sentence. Thomas continued to argue until
  everyone was sick of hearing him. Finally the chief resident agreed to
  allow Thomas to do the case.
  On the day of surgery, Thomas, who had been working with an experimental
  method of aiding cardiac function, inserted a helium-driven
  counterpulsation balloon into Walter's aorta. Anticipating trouble with
  Walter's left ventricle, Thomas wanted to be prepared.
             GODPLAYER          51

 Only after the operation had begun did the reality of the situation dawn
 on him. Excitement had changed to anxiety as Thomas began to follow the
 plan he had outlined in his mind. He would never forget the sensation he
 experienced when he stopped Walter's heart and held the quivering mass of
 sick muscle in his hand. At that moment he knew it was in his power to
 restore life. Refusing to consider the possibility of failure, Thomas
 first performed a bypass, an experimental procedure in those days. Then
 he excised the ballooned area of Walter's heart, oversewing the defect
 with rows of heavy silk. Finally, he replaced both the mitral and aortic
 valves.
  The instant the repair was complete, Thomas tried to take Walter from the
  heart-lung machine. By this time, unknown to Thomas, a significant
  audience had gathered. There was a murmur of sadness when it was obvious
  that Walter's heart did not have the strength to pump the blood.
  Undaunted, Thomas started the counterpulsation device he had positioned
  before the operation.
  He would always remember his elation when Walter's heart responded. Not
  only was Walter taken off the heart-lung machine, but three hours later
  in the recovery room even the counterpulsation assist was no longer
  needed. Thomas felt as if he had created life. The excitement was like
  a fix. For months afterward he was carried away by open-heart surgery.
  Reaching in, touching the heart, defying death with his own two hands-it
  was like playing God. Soon he found he became deeply depressed without
  the excitement of several such operations a week. When he went into
  practice he scheduled one, two, three such procedures a day. His
  reputation was so great that there was an endless stream of patients. As
  long as the hospital allowed him sufficient time in the OR, Thomas was
  supremely happy. But if another department or the boys in full-time
  academic medicine attempted to cut back his operating hours, Thomas
 52        Robin Cook

 became as tense and angry as an addict deprived of his daily drug. He needed
 to operate in order to survive. He needed to feel Godlike in order not to
 consider himself a failure. He needed the awed approval of other people, the
 unquestioning approval that was in Larry Owen's eyes this moment as he
 asked, "Have you decided if you're going to do a double or triple bypass?"
 The question brought Thomas back to the present.
  "It's a good exposure," said Thomas, appreciating Larry's work. "We might
  as well do three provided you got enough saphenous vein."
  "More than enough," said Larry with enthusiasm. Prior to opening the chest,
  Larry had carefully removed a length of vein from Mr. Campbell's leg.
  "All right," said Thomas with authority. "Let's get this show on the road.
  Is the pump ready?"
  "All ready," said Phil Baxter, checking his dials and gauges.
 "Forceps and scalpel," said Thomas.
  Swiftly but without haste, Thomas began to work. Within minutes the patient
  was on the heart-lung machine. Thomas's operative technique was deliberate
  and without wasted motion. His knowledge of the anatomy was encyclopedic,
  as was his sense of feel for the tissue. He handled sutures with an economy
  of precise motion that was a joy for the aspiring surgeons to watch. Every
  stitch was perfectly placed. He'd done so many bypass procedures, he could
  almost function by rote, but the excitement of working on the heart never
  failed to stir him.
  When he was through and convinced the bypasses were 211 sound and there was
  no excessive bleeding, Thomas stepped back from the table and snapped off
  his gloves.
  "I trust you'll be able to put back the chest wall the way you found it,
  Larry," said Kingsley, turning to
             GODPLAYER          53

 leave. "I'll be available if there is any trouble." As he left, he heard
 an audible sigh of appreciation from the residents.
  Outside the operating room, the corridor was jammed with people. At that
  time of day, midafternoon, most of the thirty-six operating rooms were
  still occupied. Patients, either going to or coming from their surgery,
  were wheeled through on gurneys, sometimes with teams of people in
  attendance. Thomas moved among the crowd, occasionally hearing his name
  whispered.
  As he passed the clock outside of central supply, he realized that he'd
  done Mr. Campbell in less than one hour. In fact, he'd done three bypass
  cases that day in the time it took most surgeons to do one or two at
  best.
  Thomas told himself that he could have scheduled another operation
  although he recognized this was not true. The reason he had scheduled
  only three cases was the bothersome new rule that all surgeons attend
  Friday afternoon cardiac surgical conference, a relatively recent
  creation of the chief of the department, Dr. Norman Ballantine. Thomas
  went, not because he was ordered to do so, but because it had become the
  ad hoc admitting committee for the department of cardiac surgery. Thomas
  tried not to think about the situation, because whenever he did so, it
  made him furious.
  "Dr. Kingsley," called a harsh voice, interrupting Thomas's thoughts.
  Priscilla Grenier, the overbearing director of the OR, was waving a pen
  at him. Thomas gave her credit for being a hard worker and putting in
  long hours. It was no picnic keeping the thirty-six operating rooms at
  the Boston Memorial working smoothly. Yet he could not tolerate it when
  she insinuated herself in his affairs, something that she seemed eager
  to do. She always had some order or instruction.
 "Dr. Kingsley," called Priscilla. "Mr. Campbell's
 54         Robin Cook

 daughter is in the waiting room, and you should go down and see her before
 you change." Without waiting for a reply, Priscilla turned back to her
 desk.
  With difficulty, Thomas contained his annoyance and continued down the
  hall without acknowledging the comment. Some of the euphoria he had felt
  in the OR left him. Lately he found the pleasure in each surgical success
  increasingly fleeting.
  At first Thomas thought he'd ignore Priscilla, change into his suit, then
  stop in to see Mr. Campbell's daughter. However, the fact remained that
  he felt obligated to remain in his scrub clothes until Mr. Campbell had
  reached the recovery room, just in case there were unforeseen
  complications.
  Banging open the door to the surgical lounge with his hand, Thomas
  stopped at the coat rack and rummaged for a long white coat to put over
  his scrub clothes. As he pulled it on, he thought about the unnecessary
  frustrations he was forced to endure. The quality of the nurses had
  definitely gone down. And Priscilla Grenier! It seemed like only
  yesterday that people like her knew their place. And compulsory Friday
  afternoon conferences ... God!
  In a distracted state, Thomas walked down to the waiting room. This was
  a relatively new addition to the hospital, which had been created out of
  an old storeroom. As the number of bypass procedures done by the depart-
  ment had soared, it was decided that there should be a special room close
  by where family members could stay until their loved ones were out of the
  OR. It had been the brainchild of one of the assistant administrators and
  turned out to be a gold mine for public relations.
  When Thomas entered the room, which was tastefully decorated with pale
  blue walls and white trim, his attention was caught by an emotional
  outburst in the comer.
             GODPLAYER          55

 "Why, why?" shouted a small, distraught woman.
  "There, there," said Dr. George Sherman, trying to calm the sobbing
  woman. "I'm sure they did all they could to save Sam. We knew his heart
  was not normal. It could have happened at any time."
  "But he'd been happy at the home. We should have let him be. Why did I
  let you talk me into bringing him here. You told me there was some risk
  if you operated. You never told me there was a risk during the catheter-
  ization. Oh God."
  The woman's tears overwhelmed her. She began to sag, and Dr. Sherman
  reached out to catch her arm.
  Thomas rushed over to George's side and helped support the woman. He
  exchanged glances with George, who rolled his eyes at the outburst. As
  a member of the full-time cardiac staff, Thomas did not have a high
  regard for Dr. George Sherman, but under the circumstances he felt
  obligated to lend a hand. Together they sat the bereaved mother down. She
  buried her face in her hands, her hunched-over shoulders jerking as she
  continued to sob.
  "Her son arrested down in X ray during a catheterization," whispered
  George. "He was badly retarded and had physical problems as well."
  Before Thomas could respond, a priest and another man, who was apparently
  the woman's husband, arrived. They all embraced, which seemed to give the
  woman renewed strength. Together they hurriedly left the room.
  George straightened up. It was obvious that the situation had unnerved
  him. Thomas felt like repeating the woman's question about why the child
  had been taken from the institution where he'd apparently been happy, but
  he didn't have the heart.
  "What a way to make a living," said George selfconsciously as he left the
  room.
 Thomas scanned the faces of the people remaining.
 56         Robin Cook

 They were looking at him with a mixture of empathy and fear. All of them had
 family members currently undergoing surgery, and such a scene was extremely
 disquieting. Thomas looked for Campbell's daughter. She was sitting by the
 window, pale and expectant, arms on her knees, hands clasped. Thomas walked
 over to her and looked down. He'd seen her once before in his office and
 knew her name was Laura. She was a handsome woman, probably about thirty,
 with fine light brown hair pulled back from her forehead in a long ponytail.
 "The case went fine," he said gently.
  In response, Laura leaped to her feet and threw herself at Thomas, pressing
  herself against him and flinging her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she
  said, bursting into tears. "Thank you."
  Thomas stood stiffly, absorbing the display of emotion. Her outburst had
  taken him by complete surprise. He realized that other people were watching
  and tried to disengage himself, but Laura refused to let go. Thomas
  remembered that after his first open-heart success, Mr. Nazzaro's family
  had been equally hysterical in their thanks. At that time Thomas had shared
  their happiness. The whole family had hugged him and Thomas had hugged them
  back. He could sense the respect and gratitude they felt toward him. It had
  been an unbelievably heady experience, and Thomas recalled the event with
  strong nostalgia. Now he knew his reactions were more complicated. He often
  did three to five cases a day. More often than not he knew little or
  nothing about his patients save for their preoperative physiological data.
  Mr. Campbell was a good example.
  "I wish there was something I could do for you," whispered Laura, her arms
  still tightly wrapped around Thomas's neck. "Anything."
 Thomas looked down at the curve of her buttocks,
             GODPLAYER          57

 accentuated by the silk dress that hugged her form. Disturbingly he could
 feel her thighs pressed against his own, and he knew he had to get away.
 Reaching up, he detached Laura's encircling arms.
  "You'll be able to talk with your father in the morning," said Thomas.
 She nodded, suddenly embarrassed by her behavior.
  Thomas left her and walked from the waiting room with a feeling of
  anxiety that he did not understand. He wondered if it was fatigue,
  although he had not felt tired earlier even though he'd been up a good
  portion of the previous night on an emergency operation. Returning the
  white coat to the rack, he tried to shrug off his mood.
  Before going into the lounge, Thomas paid a visit to the recovery room.
  His two previous cases, Victor Marlborough and Gwendolen Hasbruck, were
  stable and doing predictably well, but as he looked down at their faces
  he felt his anxiety increase. He wouldn't have recognized them in a crowd
  although he'd held their hearts in his hand just hours before.
  Feeling distracted and irritated by the forced camaraderie of the
  recovery room, nomas retreated to the surgical lounge. He didn't
  particularly care for the taste of coffee, but he poured himself a cup
  and took it over to one of the overstuffed leather armchairs in the far
  corner. The living section of the Boston Globe was on the floor, and he
  picked it up, more as a defense than for what it contained. Thomas didn't
  feel like being trapped into small talk with any of the OR personnel. But
  the ploy didn't work.
 "Thanks for the help in the waiting room."
  Thomas lowered the paper and looked up into the broad face of George
  Sherman. He had a heavy beard, and by that time in the afternoon it
  appeared as if he'd forgotten to shave that morning. He was a stocky,
 58         Robin Cook

 athletic-l(x)king man an inch or two shorter than Thomas's six feet, but his
 thick, curly hair made him look the same height. He had already changed back
 to his street clothes, which included a wrinkled blue button-down shirt that
 appeared as if it had never felt the flat surface of an iron, a striped tie,
 and a corduroy jacket somewhat threadbare on the elbows.
  George Sherman was one of the few unmarried surgeons. What put him in a
  unique class was that at age forty he'd never been married. The other
  bachelors were either separated or divorced. And George was a particular
  favorite among the younger nurses. They loved to tease him about his errant
  bachelor's life, offering help in various ways. George's intelligence and
  humor took all this in stride, and he milked it for all it was worth.
  Thomas found it all exceedingly irritating.
  "The poor woman was pretty upset," said Thomas. Once again he had to
  refrain from making some comment concerning the advisability of bringing
  such a case into the hospital. Instead he raised his paper.
  "It was an unexpected complication," said George, undeterred. "I understand
  that good-looking chick in the waiting room was your patient's daughter."
 Thomas slowly lowered his paper again.
  "I didn't notice she was particularly attractive," Thomas said shortly.
  "Then how about sharing her name and phone number?" said George with a
  chuckle. When Thomas failed to respond, George tactfully changed the
  subject. "Did you hear that one of Ballantine's patients arrested and died
  during the night?"
 "I was aware of it," said Thomas.
 "The guy was an admitted homosexual," said George.
  "That I didn't know," said Thomas with disinterest. "I also didn't know
  that the presence or absence of
             GODPLAYER          59

 homosexuality was part of a routine cardiac surgical work-up. "
 "It should be," said George.
 "And why do you think so?" asked Thomas.
  "You'll find out," said George, raising an eyebrow. "Tomorrow in Grand
  Rounds."
 "I can't wait," said Thomas.
  "See you in conference this afternoon, sport," said George, giving Thomas
  a playful thump on the shoulder.
  Thomas watched the man saunter away from him. It annoyed him to be
  touched and pummeled like that. It seemed so juvenile. While he watched,
  George joined a group of residents and scrub nurses slumped over several
  chairs near the window. Laughter and raised voices drifted across the
  room. The truth was that Thomas could not stand George Sherman. He was
  convinced George was a man bent on accumulating the trappings of success
  to cover a basic mediocrity in surgical skill. It was all too familiar
  to Thomas. One of the seemingly inadvertent evils of the academic medical
  center was that appointments were more political than anything else. And
  George was political. He was quick-witted, a good conversationalist, and
  socialized easily. Most important, he thrived within the bureaucratic
  committee system of hospital politics. He'd learned early that for
  success it was more important to study Machiavelli than Halstead.
  Thomas knew that the root of the problem was an antagonism between the
  doctors on the teaching staff like himself, who had private practices and
  earned their incomes by billing their patients, and the doctors like
  George Sherman, who were full-time employees of the medical school and
  received salaries instead of fees for service. The private doctors had
  substantially higher incomes and more freedom. They did not have to sub-
  mit to a higher authority. The full-time doctors had
 60        Robin Cook

 more impressive titles and easier schedules, but there was always someone
 over them to tell them what to do.
  The hospital was caught in the middle. It liked the high census and money
  brought in by the private doctors, and, at the same time, it enjoyed the
  credibility and status of being part of the university medical school.
  "Campbell's chest is closed," said Larry, interrupting Thomas's thoughts.
  "The residents are closing the skin. All signs are stable and normal."
  Tossing the newspaper aside, Thomas got up from the chair and followed
  Larry toward the dressing room. As he passed behind George, Thomas could
  hear him talking about forming some kind of new teaching committee. It
  never stopped! Nor did the pressure that George, as head of the teaching
  service, and Ballantine, as head of the department, applied to Thomas,
  trying to convince him to give up his practice and join the full-time
  staff. They tried to entice him by offering him a full professorship, and
  although there'd been a time when that might have interested Thomas, now it
  held no appeal whatsoever. He'd keep his practice, his autonomy, his
  income, and his sanity. Thomas knew if he went fulltime it would only be a
  matter of time before he was told who he could and who he could not operate
  on. Before long he'd be assigned ridiculous cases like the poor mentally
  retarded kid in the cath room.
  Tense and angry, Thomas went into the dressing area and opened his locker.
  As he pulled off his scrub clothes and tossed them into the hamper, he
  recalled Laura Campbell's pliant body pressed against his own. It was a
  welcome and pleasant image and had the effect of mollifying his frazzled
  nerves. Ever since he'd left the OR, his pleasure in operating had
  dissipated, leaving him increasingly tense.
  "As usual, you did a superb job today," said Larry, noting Thomas's grim
  face and hoping to please him.
             GODPLAYER          61

  Thomas didn't respond. In the past he would have loved such a compliment,
  but now it didn't seem to make any difference.
  "It's too bad that people can't appreciate the details," said Larry,
  buttoning his shirt. "They'd have a totally different idea of surgery if
  they did. They'd also be more careful who they let operate on them."
  Thomas still did not say anything, although he nodded at the truth of the
  comment. As he pulled on his own shirt, he thought of Norman Ballantine,
  that white-haired, friendly old doc whom everyone loved and applauded.
  The fact of the matter was that Ballantine probably shouldn't still be
  operating, although no one had the nerve to tell him. It was common
  knowledge in the department that one of the chief thoracic resident's
  jobs was to assign himself to all of Ballantine's cases so that he could
  help the chief when he blundered. So much for academic medicine, thought
  Thomas. Ballantine, thanks to the residents, got reasonable results, and
  his patients and their families worshipped him despite what went on when
  the patient was anesthetized.
  Thomas had to agree with Larry's comment. He also thought that it would
  be infinitely more appropriate if he, Dr. Thomas Kingsley, was chief.
  After all, he did most of the surgery, for God's sake. It was he, more
  than any other single person, who had made Boston Memorial the place to
  have any cardiac surgery. Even Time magazine had said as much.
  Yet Thomas did not know if he wanted to be chief any longer. At one time
  it was all he could think about. It had been one of his driving forces,
  pushing him on to greater efforts and more personal sacrifice. It had
  seemed part of a natural progression, and colleagues had started talking
  about it while he was still a fellow. But that was quite a few years ago,
  before all the administrative
 62         Robin Cook

 bullshit had reared its ugly head and showed just how much it could
 interfere in his practice.
  Thomas stopped dressing and stared ahead into the distance. fie felt an
  emptiness inside of him. Comprehending that one of his long sought-after
  goals was potentially no longer attractive was depressing, especially when
  the goal was finally within his grasp. Maybe there was no place to go ...
  maybe he'd reached his apogee. God, what an awful thought!
  "I'm awfully sorry to hear about your wife," said Larry as he sat down to
  put on his shoes. "It really is a shame."
  "What do you mean?" asked Thomas, pronouncing each word with deliberate
  precision. He took immediate offense that a subordinate like Larry would
  presume to be so familiar.
  Larry, oblivious to Thomas's response, bent to tie his shoes. "I mean about
  her diabetes and her eye problem. I heard she's got to have a vitrectomy.
  That's terrible."
 "The surgery is not definite," snapped Thomas.
  Hearing the anger in Thomas's voice, Larry looked up. "I didn't mean it was
  necessarily definite," he managed. "I'm sorry I brought it up. It must be
  difficult for you. I just hoped that she was okay."
  "My wife is perfectly fine," said Thomas angrily. "Furthermore, I don't
  think that her health is any of your business."
 "I'm sorry."
  There was an uncomfortable silence as Larry quickly finished with his
  shoes. Thomas tied his tie and splashed on Yves St. Laurent cologne with
  rapid, irritated motions.
 "Where did you hear this rumor?" asked Thomas.
  "From a pathology resident," said Larry. "Robert Seibert. "
  Larry closed his locker and told Thomas he'd be in the recovery room if he
  was needed.
            GODPLAYER           63

  Thomas ran a comb through his hair, trying to calm down. It just wasn't his
  day. Everyone seemed intent on upsetting him. The idea that his wife's ill
  health was a topic of idle conversation among the resident staff seemed
  inexplicably galling. It was also humiliating.
  Placing the comb back in his locker, Thomas noticed a small plastic
  container. Feeling a rising inner tension and the stirrings of a headache,
  he flipped open the lid of the bottle. Snapping one of the scored yellow
  tablets in two, he popped the half into his mouth. Hesitant, he then popped
  in the other half as well. After all, he deserved it.
  The tablets tasted bitter, and he needed a drink from the fountain to wash
  them down. But almost immediately he felt relief from his growing anxiety.

               El

  The Friday afternoon cardiac surgery conference was held in the Turner
  surgical teaching room diagonally across the hall from the surgical
  intensive care unit. It had been donated by the wife of a Mr. J. P. Turner,
  who'd died in the late nineteen-thirties, and the decor had an Art Deco
  flavor. The room provided seating for sixty, half the medical school class
  size in 1939. In the front there was a raised podium, a dusty blackboard,
  an overhead rack of ancient anatomy charts, and a standing skeleton.
  It had been at Dr. Norman Ballantine's insistence that the Friday meeting
  be held in the Turner teaching room because it was close to the ward, and,
  as Dr. Ballantine put it, "It is the patients that it's all about." But the
  small group of a dozen or so looked lost among the sea of empty seats and
  distinctly uncomfortable behind the spartanly designed desks.
 "I think we should get the meeting under way,"
 64         Robin Cook

 called Dr. Ballantine over the hum of conversation. The people took their
 seats. Present at the meeting were six of the eight cardiac surgeons on
 staff, including Ballantine, Sherman, and Kingsley, as well as various
 other doctors and administrators, and a relatively new addition, Rodney
 Stoddard, philosopher.
  Thomas watched Rodney Stoddard sit down. He looked like he was in his
  late twenties despite the fact that he was mostly bald and his remaining
  hair was such a light color that it was difficult to see it. He wore thin
  wire-rimmed glasses and an expression of constant self-satisfaction. To
  Thomas it seemed as if the man were saying, "Ask me about your problem
  because I know the answer."
  Stoddard had been hired at the university's insistence. Until recently
  doctors were committed to trying to save all their patients. But now,
  with the advent of such expensive and complicated procedures as
  open-heart surgery, transplants, and artificial organs, hospitals had to
  pick and choose to whom to give these life-saving operations. For the
  time being, these techniques were limited by extraordinary costs and by
  the space available in the sophisticated units needed for aftercare. In
  general the teaching staff tended to favor patients with multisystemic
  disease, who did not always do well, while private physicians such as
  Thomas leaned toward otherwise healthy, productive members of society.
  Looking at Rodney, Thomas allowed an ironic smile to steal across his
  face. He wondered just how selfconfident Rodney would feel if he held a
  man's heart in his hand. That was a time for decision, not discussion.
  As far as Thomas was concerned, Rodney's presence at the meeting was one
  more indication of the bureaucratic soup in which medicine was drowning.
  "Before we start," said Dr. Ballantine, extending his arms with hands
  spread out as if to quiet a crowd, "I
            GODPLAYER           65

 want to be sure that everyone has seen the article in this week's Time
 magazine rating the Boston Memorial as the center for cardiac bypass
 surgery. I think we deserve it, and I want to thank each and every one of
 you for helping us reach this position." Ballantine clapped, followed by
 George and a smattering of others.
  Thomas, who'd sat near the door in case he was called to the recovery
  room, glowered. Ballantine and the other doctors were taking credit for
  something that was due largely to Thomas and to a lesser extent to two
  other private surgeons who happened to be absent. When he had gone into
  surgery, Thomas thought he would avoid the bullshit that surrounded most
  other professions. It was going to be him and the patient against
  disease! But as Thomas looked around the room, he realized that almost
  everyone at the meeting could interfere with his work because of one
  aggravating problem--the limited number of cardiac surgical beds and
  associated OR time. The Memorial had become so famous that it seemed as
  if everyone wanted to have their bypass there. People literally had to
  wait in line. Especially in Thomas's practice. He had been limited to
  nineteen OR slots a week and he had a backlog of more than a month.
  "While George passes out the schedule for next week," said Dr.
  Ballantine, extending a stack of stapled papers to George, "I'd like to
  recap this week."
  He droned on as Thomas turned his attention to the schedule. His own
  patients were scheduled by his nurse, who collated the necessary
  information and got it over to Ballantine's secretary, who typed it up.
  It contained a capsule medical history of each patient, a listing of
  significant diagnostic data, and an explanation of the need for surgery.
  The idea was that everyone at the conference would go over each patient
  and make sure that the operation was needed or advisable. But in reality
  it rarely happened, except if you missed the meeting.
 66         Robin Cook

 Once when Thomas had been absent, the anesthesiology department had canceled
 several of his cases, resulting in a row no one was likely to forget. Thomas
 continued reviewing the sheets until Ballantine mentioned something about
 deaths. Thomas looked up.
  "Unfortunately there were two surgical deaths this week," said Dr.
  Ballantine. "The first was a case on the teaching service, Albert Bigelow,
  an eighty-two-yearold gentleman who could not be weaned from the pump after
  a double-valve replacement. He'd been scheduled as an emergency. Is there
  word on the autopsy yet, George?"
  "Not yet," said George. "I must point out that Mr. Bigelow was a very sick
  cookie. His alcoholism had seriously affected his liver. We knew we were
  taking a risk going to surgery. You win some and you lose some."
  There was a silence. Thomas commented sarcastically to himself that Mr.
  Bigelow's untimely demise had prompted a stimulating discussion. The
  galling part was that it was this kind of patient that was keeping Thomas's
  patients waiting.
  Ballantine glanced around, and when no one spoke he continued: "The second
  death was a patient of mine, Mr. Wilkinson. He died last night. He was
  autopsied this morning."
  Thomas saw Ballantine look over at George, who shook his head almost
  imperceptibly.
  Ballantine cleared his throat and said that both cases would be discussed
  at the next death conference.
  Thomas wondered at the silent communication. It brought to mind the weird
  comment George had made up in the lounge. Thomas shook his head.
  Something was going on between Ballantine and George, and Thomas felt a
  twinge of uneasiness. Ballantine had a unique position in the medical
  center.
            GODPLAYER           67

 As chief of cardiac surgery, he held an endowed chair with the university
 and was paid a salary. But Ballantine also had a private practice.
 Ballantine was a holdover from the past, bridging as he did the full-time
 salaried men like George and the private staff, like Thomas. Of late
 Thomas had begun to think that Ballantine, whose skills were obviously on
 the decline, was beginning to favor the prestige of being a professor over
 the rewards of private practice. If that were true, it could cause trouble
 by upsetting the balance between the full-time staff and the private
 physicians, which in the past had always tilted toward the latter.
  "Now, if everyone will turn to the last page of the handout," said Dr.
  Ballantine, "I'd like to point out that there has been a major scheduling
  change."
  There was a simultaneous rustle as everyone flipped the pages. Thomas did
  the same, placing the papers on the arm of his chair. He did not like the
  sound of a major scheduling change.
  The last page was divided vertically into four columns, representing the
  four rooms used for open-heart surgery. Horizontally the page was divided
  into the five days of the work week. Within each box were the names of
  the surgeons scheduled for that day. OR No. 18 was Thomas's room. As the
  fastest and busiest surgeon, he was assigned four cases on each day
  except Friday when he had three because of the conference. The first
  thing Thomas checked when he looked at the page was OR No. 18. His eyes
  widened in disbelief. The schedule suggested that he'd been cut to three
  cases a day, Monday through Thursday. He'd lost four slots!
  "The university has authorized us to hire another full-time attending for
  the teaching service," Dr. Ballantine was saying proudly, 11 and we have
  started a search for a pediatric cardiac surgeon. This, of course, is a
  major advance for the department. In preparation for
 68         Robin Cook

 this new situation, we are expanding the teaching service by an additional
 four cases per week."
  "Dr. Ballantine," began Thomas, carefully controlling himself. "It
  appears from the schedule that all four additional teaching slots are
  being taken from my allotted time. Am I to assume that is just for next
  week?"
  "No," said Dr. Ballantine. "The schedule you see will hold until further
  notice."
  Thomas breathed out slowly before speaking. "I must object. I hardly
  think it's fair that I should be the sole person to give up OR time."
  "The fact of the matter is that you have been controlling about forty
  percent of the OR time," said George. "And this is a teaching hospital."
 "I participate in teaching," snapped Thomas.
  "We understand that," said Ballantine. "You're not to take this
  personally. It is plainly a matter of more equitable distribution of OR
  time,"
  "I'm already over a month behind on my patient schedule," said Thomas.
  "There isn't that kind of demand for teaching cases. There aren't enough
  patients to fill the current teaching slots."
 "Don't worry," said George. "We'll find the cases."
  Thomas knew what the real issue was. George, and most of the others, were
  jealous of the number of cases Thomas did and how much money Thomas
  earned. He felt like getting up and punching George right in the face.
  Glancing around the room, Thomas noticed that the rest of the doctors
  were suddenly busy with their notes, papers, or other belongings. He
  could not count on any of the people present to back him up.
  "What we all have to understand," said Dr. Ballantine, "is that we are
  all part of the university system. And teaching is a major goal. If you
  feel pressure from some of your private patients, you could take them to
  other institutions. "
            GODPLAYER           69

  Thomas's anger and frustration made it hard for him to think clearly. He
  knew, in fact everybody knew, that he could not just pick up and go to
  another hospital. Cardiac surgery required a trained and experienced
  team. Thomas had helped build the system at the Memorial, and he depended
  on the structure.
  Priscilla Grenier spoke up, saying they might be able to add an
  additional OR room if they got an appropriation for another heart-lung
  machine and perfusionist to run it.
  "That's a thought," responded Dr. Ballantine. "Thomas, perhaps you'd be
  willing to chair an ad hoc committee to look into the advisability of
  such expansion."
  Thomas thanked Dr. Ballantine, struggling to keep his sarcasm to a
  minimum. He said that with his current workload it was not possible to
  accept Ballantine's offer immediately, but that he'd think about it. At
  the moment he had to worry about putting off patients who might die
  before they had OR time. Patients with a ninety-nine-percent chance of
  living long, productive lives if they did not find their OR time
  sacrificed to some sclerotic wino whom the teaching service wished to
  experiment on!
 On that note the meeting was adjourned.
  Struggling to keep his temper under control, Thomas went up to
  Ballantine. George had, of course, beat Thomas to the podium, but Thomas
  interrupted.
 "Could I speak to you for a moment?" asked Thomas.
 "Of course," said Dr. Ballantine.
 "Alone," said Thomas succinctly.
  "I was heading over to the ICU anyway," said George amiably. "I'll be in
  my office if you need me." George gave Thomas a pat on the shoulder
  before leaving.
  To Thomas, Ballantine was the Hollywood image of the physician, with his
  soft white hair combed back from a deeply lined but tanned and handsome
  face. The
 70         Robin Cook

 only feature that somewhat marred the overall effect were the ears. By
 anyone's standards they were large. Right now Thomas felt like grabbing
 and shaking them.
  "Now, Thomas," said Dr. Ballantine quickly. "I don't want you getting
  paranoid about all this. You have to understand that the university has
  been putting pressure on me to delegate more OR time to teaching,
  especially with the Time article, That kind of publicity is doing wonders
  for the endowment program. And as George pointed out, you have been
  controlling a disproportionate amount of hours. I'm sorry you had to
  learn about it like this, but . . ."
 "But what?" asked Thomas.
  "You are in private practice," said Dr. Ballantine. "Now if you'd agree
  to come full-time, I can guarantee a full professorship and . . ."
  "My title as Assistant Clinical Professor is fine with me," said Thomas.
  Suddenly he understood. The new schedule was another attempt at
  pressuring him into giving up his private practice.
  "Thomas, you do know that the chief of cardiac surgery who follows me
  will have to be full-time."
  "So I'm to look at this cut in my OR time as a fait arcompli, " said
  Thomas, ignoring Ballantine's implications.
  "I'm afraid so, Thomas. Unless we get another OR, but, as you know, that
  takes time."
 Abruptly Thomas turned to go.
  "You'll think about coming aboard full-time, won't you?" called Dr.
  Ballantine.
 "I'll consider it," said Thomas, knowing he was lying.
  Thomas left the teaching room and started down the stairs. At the first
  landing he stopped. Gripping the handrail and closing his eyes as tightly
  as possible, he let his body shake with sheer anger. It was only for a
  moment. Then he straightened up. He was back in control. After all, he
  was a rational individual, and he'd
            GODPLAYER           71

 been up against bureaucratic nonsense long enough to deal with it. He'd
 suspected that Ballantine and George were up to something. Now he knew.
 But Thomas wondered if that were all. Maybe it was something more than the
 OR schedule change because he still had the anxious feeling something else
 was going on that he should know about.
           CHAPTER
               3

 CASSI ALWAYS EXPERIENCED a degree of apprehension when she dipped the test
 tape into her urine. There was always the chance that the color of the tape
 would change and indicate she was losing sugar. Not that a little sugar in
 her urine was all that big a deal, especially if it occurred only once in a
 while. It was more an emotional thing; if she was spilling sugar, then she
 was not in control. It was the psychological aspect that was disturbing.
  The light in the toilet was poor, forcing Cassi to unlatch the stall door
  in order to get a good look at the tape. It had not changed its color.
  Having gotten so little sleep the night before and having cheated that
  afternoon with a fruit yogurt snack, she wouldn't have been too surprised
  to see a little sugar. Cassi was pleased that the amount of insulin she was
  giving herself and her diet were in balance. Her internist, Dr. Malcolm
  McInery, talked occasionally of switching her to a constant
  insulin-infusion device, but Cassi had demurred. She was reluctant to alter
  a system that seemed to be working. She did not mind giving herself two
  injections a day, one before breakfast and one before dinner. It had become
  so routine as to be effortless.
 Closing her right eye, Cassi looked at the test tape.

               72
            GODPLAYER           73

 There was just a vague sensation of light as if she were looking through
 a wall of ground glass. She wished that she didn't have the problem with
 her eye because the idea of blindness terrified her more, in some ways,
 than the idea of death. The possibility of death she could deny, just like
 everyone else. But denying the possibility of blindness was difficult with
 the condition of her left eye there to remind her each and every day. The
 problem had happened suddenly. She'd been told that a blood vessel had
 broken, causing blood to enter into the vitreous cavity.
  As she washed her hands, Cassi examined herself in the mirror. The single
  overhead light was kind, she decided, giving her skin more color than she
  knew it possessed. She looked at her nose. It was too small for her face.
  And her eyes: they curved unnaturally upwards at the outer corners as if
  she had her hair pulled back too tightly. Cassi tried to look at herself
  without concentrating on any single feature. Was she really as attractive
  as people said? She'd never felt pretty. She had always thought that
  diabetes was indelibly stamped in bold letters across her forehead. She
  was convinced that her disease was a major flaw that everyone could see.
  It hadn't always been that way. In high school Cassi had tried to reduce
  it to a small aspect of her life. Something she could compartmentalize.
  And although she was conscientious about her medicine and diet, she did
  not want to dwell on it.
  Yet this approach made her parents, mostly her mother, understandably
  concerned. They felt that the only way she would be able to maintain the
  discipline the disease required was to make it her major focus. At least
  that was the way Mrs. Cassidy had dealt with the problem.
  The conflict came to a head at the time of the senior prom.
 74         Robin Cook

  Cassi came home from school beside herself with excitement and
  anticipation. The prom was to be held in a fashionable local country club,
  followed by a breakfast back at the school. Then the entire class was to
  head down to the New Jersey shore for the rest of the weekend.
  Unexpectedly Cassi had been asked to the prom by Tim Bartholomew, one of
  the more popular boys in the school. He'd talked with Cassi on a number of
  occasions following a physics class they shared. But he'd never asked Cassi
  out, so the invitation came as a total surprise. The thrill of going out
  with a desirable boy to the biggest social event of the year was almost too
  much for Cassi to bear.
  Cassi's father was the first to hear the good news. As a rather dry
  professor of geology at Columbia University, he didn't share the same
  enthusiasm as Cassi but was pleased she was happy.
  Cassi's mother was less enthusiastic. Coming in from the kitchen, she told
  Cassi that she could go to the prom but had to come home instead of going
  to the breakfast.
  "They don't cook for diabetics at such affairs," said Mrs. Cassidy, "and as
  far as going to the shore for the weekend, that is completely out of the
  question."
  Not expecting this negative response, Cassi was ill-prepared to deal with
  it. She protested through tears that she'd demonstrated adequate
  responsibility toward her medicine and diet and that she should be allowed
  to go.
  Mrs. Cassidy was adamant, telling Cassi that she was only thinking of her
  welfare. Then she said that Cassi had to accept the fact that she was not
  normal.
  Cassi screamed that she was normal, having emotionally struggled with that
  very issue for her entire adolescence.
 Mrs. Cassidy grasped Cassi's shoulders and told her
             GODPLAYER          75

 daughter that she had a chronic, life-long disease and that the sooner she
 accepted the fact the better off she'd be.
  Cassandra flew to her room, locking her door. She refused to talk with
  anyone until the next day. When she did, she informed her mother that she'd
  called Tim and told him that she couldn't go to the prom because she was
  ill. She told her mother that Tim had been surprised because he'd not known
  she had diabetes.
  Staring at her reflection in the hospital mirror, Cassi brought herself
  back to the present. She wondered to what degree she had overcome her
  disease intellectually. Oh, she knew a lot about it now and could quote all
  sorts of facts and figures. But had that knowledge been worth the
  sacrifices? She didn't know the answer to that question and probably never
  would. Her eyes strayed up to her hair, which was a mess.
  After taking out her combs and hairpins, Cassi gave her head a shake. Her
  fine hair tumbled down around her face in a disorganized mop. With
  practiced hands she carefully put it back up, and when she emerged from the
  bathroom she felt refreshed.
  The few things she'd brought with her for the overnight in the hospital
  fitted easily into her canvas shoulder bag despite the fact that it already
  contained a large folder of reprinted medical articles. She'd had the bag
  since college, and although it was soiled and threadbare in places, it was
  an old friend. It had a large red heart on one side. Cassi had been given
  a briefcase on graduation from medical school, but she preferred the canvas
  bag. The briefcase seemed too pretentious. Besides, she could get more into
  the bag.
  Cassi checked her watch. It was five-thirty, which was just about perfect
  timing. She knew that Thomas would be heading down the stretch, seeing his
  last office patients. As Cassi hefted her things, she remarked
 76        Robin Cook

 to herself that the regular schedule was another benefit of psychiatry.
 As a medical intern or pathology resident, she was never finished much
 before six-thirty or seven, and at times worked to eight or eight-thirty.
 On psychiatry she could count on being free after the four to five
 afternoon team meeting, provided she wasn't on call.
  Stepping into the corridor, Cassi was initially surprised to find it
  empty, Then she remembered that it was dinnertime for the patients, and
  as she passed the common room, she could see most of the patients eating
  from their trays in front of their TV sets. Cassi ducked into her
  cubbyhole office and collected the charts she'd been extracting. She only
  had four patients, including Colonel Bentworth, and she'd spent a portion
  of the afternoon carefully going over their charts and making
  three-by-five index cards on each case.
  With the canvas bag over her shoulder and the charts in her arms, Cassi
  went down to the nurses' station. Joel Hartman, who was on call that
  night, was sitting in the station, talking to the two nurses. Cassi
  deposited the charts in their respective slots and said good night. Joel
  told her to have a good weekend and to relax because he'd have her
  patients cured by Monday. He said he knew just how to handle Bentworth
  because he had been in ROTC in college.
  As she walked down to the first floor, Cassi could feel herself beginning
  to relax. Her first week on psychiatry had been a trying and difficult
  period, one that she would not like to relive.
  Cassi took the interior pedestrian crosswalk to the Professional
  Building. Thomas's office was on the third floor. She paused outside the
  polished oak door, gazing at the shining brass letters: THOMAS KINGSLEY,
  M.D., CARDIAC AND THORACIC SURGERY, and felt a thrill of pride.
 The waiting room was tastefully decorated with Chip-             GODPLAYER          77

 pendale reproductions and a large Tabriz rug. The walls were powder blue and
 hung with original art. The door leading to the inner office was guarded by
 a mahogany desk occupied by Doris Stratford, Thomas's mirsereceptionist. As
 Cassi entered, Doris looked up briefly, then went back to her typing when
 she recognized who it was.
 Cassi approached the desk.
 "How's Thomas doing?"
 "Just fine," said Doris, her eyes on her paper.
  Doris never looked Cassandra in the eye. But over the years Cassi had
  become accustomed to the fact that her illness made some people
  uncomfortable. Doris was obviously one of them.
 "Would you let him know I'm here?" said Cassi.
  Cassi got a fleeting glimpse of Doris's brown eyes. There was an aura of
  petulance about her expression. Not enough for Cassi to complain about but
  enough to let her know that Doris did not appreciate the interruption. She
  didn't answer Cassi but rather depressed the button on an intercom unit and
  announced that Dr. Cassidy had arrived. She went directly back to her
  typing.
  Refusing to allow Doris to irritate her, Cassi settled herself on the
  rose-colored couch and pulled out the articles she wanted on borderline
  personality. She started to read but found herself looking over the top of
  the paper at Doris.
  Cassi wondered why Thomas kept Doris. Granted she was efficient, but she
  seemed moody and irritable, hardly the qualities one would like in a
  physician's office. She was presentable although not overly attractive. She
  had a broad face with large features and mousy brown hair pulled back in a
  bun. She did have a good figure; Cassi had to admit that.
  Letting her eyes drop back to her paper, Cassi forced herself to
  concentrate.
 78        Robin Cook

                El

  Thomas looked across the polished surface of his desk at his last patient
  of the day, a fifty-two-year-old lawyer named Herbert Lowell. Thomas's
  office was decorated like his waiting room, except the walls were a forest
  green. The other difference was that the furniture was authentic
  Chippendale, The desk alone was worth a small fortune.
  Thomas had examined Mr. Lowell on several occasions and had reviewed the
  coronary arteriograms done by Mr. Lowell's cardiologist, Dr. Whiting. To
  Thomas the situation was clear. Mr. Lowell had anginal chest pain, a
  history of a mild heart attack, and radiographic evidence of compromised
  arterial circulation. The man needed an operation, and Thomas had told Mr.
  Lowell as much. Now Thomas wanted to terminate the visit.
  "It's such an irreversible decision," Mr. Lowell was saying nervously.
  "But still a decision that must be made," said Thomas, standing up and
  closing Mr. Lowell's folder. "Unfortunately I'm on a tight schedule. If you
  have any further questions you can call." Thomas started for the door like
  a clever salesman indicating the issue was beyond further negotiation.
  "What about the advisability of a second opinion?" asked Mr. Lowell
  hesitantly.
  "Mr. Lowell," said Thomas, "you can get as many opinions as you'd like. I
  will be sending a full consult letter back to Dr. Whiting, and you can
  discuss the case with him." Thomas opened the door leading to the waiting
  room. "In fact, Mr. Lowell, I would encourage you to see another surgeon
  because, frankly, I do not feel good about working with people with
  negative attitudes. Now if you'll excuse me."
             GODPLAYER          79

  Thomas closed the door behind Mr. Lowell, confident the man would schedule
  the required operation. Sitting down, he gathered the material he needed
  for his Grand Rounds presentation the following morning, and then started
  signing the consultation letters Doris had left for him.
  When Thomas emerged with the signed correspondence, he was not surprised to
  find Mr. Lowell in the waiting room. Thomas glanced at Cassi, acknowledging
  her with a brief nod, then turned to his patient.
  "Dr. Kingsley, I've decided to go ahead with the operation. "
  "Very well," said Thomas. "Give Miss Stratford a call next week, and she'll
  set it up."
  Mr. Lowell thanked Thomas and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
  Holding her reports in front of her as if she were reading, Cassi watched
  her husband going over some notes with Doris. She'd noticed how well he'd
  handled Mr. Lowell. He never seemed to hesitate. He knew what should be
  done and he did it. She'd always admired his composure, a quality she felt
  she lacked. Cassi smiled as her eyes traced the sharp lines of his profile,
  his sandy hair, and his athletic body. She found him extraordinarily
  attractive.
  After the insecurities of the day, in fact the entire week, Cassi wanted to
  rush up and throw her arms around him. But she knew instinctively that he
  would not care for that kind of show of emotion, especially with Doris
  there. And Cassi knew he was right. The office was not the place for such
  behavior. Instead, she put the reprint back into the folder and the folder
  back into the canvas bag.
  Thomas finished with Doris, but it wasn't until the office door closed
  behind them that he spoke to Cassi.
 "I've got to go to the ICU," he said, his voice flat.
 80         Robin Cook

 "You can come or wait in the lobby. Your choice. I won't be long."
  "I'll come," said Cassi, already guessing that Thomas's day had not been
  smooth. She had to quicken her step to keep up with him.
  "Was there trouble with your surgery today?" she asked tentatively.
 "Surgery went fine."
  Cassi decided against further questioning. It was difficult to talk as
  they threaded their way back into the Scherington Building. Besides,
  she'd learned from experience that it was usually better to let Thomas
  volunteer information when he was upset.
  In the elevator she watched while he kept his eyes glued to the floor
  indicator. He seemed tense and preoccupied.
  "I'll be glad to get home tonight," said Cassi. "I need a good night's
  sleep."
 "The weirdos keep you busy last night?"
  "Let's not have any of your surgeon's opinions about psychiatry," said
  Cassi.
  Thomas didn't respond, but an ironic smile appeared on his face, and he
  seemed to relax a little.
  The elevator doors opened on seventeen, and they got out. Thomas walked
  swiftly ahead. No matter how many years Cassi had spent in hospitals, she
  always had the same reaction when she found herself on the surgical
  floor. If it wasn't fear, it was close to it. The crisis aspect
  undermined the elaborate denial she used about the implications of her
  own illness. What mystified Cassi about the response was that she didn't
  feel the same way on the medical floor where there invariably were
  patients with diabetically induced complications.
  As Cassi and Thomas neared the ICU, several waiting relatives recognized
  Thomas. Like a movie or rock star, he was instantly surrounded. One old
  woman was
            GODPLAYER           81

 intent on touching him as if he were some kind of god. Thomas remained
 composed, assuring everyone that all the surgery had gone routinely and
 that they would have to wait for further updates by the nursing personnel.
 With some difficulty he finally detached himself and entered the ICU where
 no one dared follow him except Cassi.
  With its enormous number of machines, oscilloscope screens, and bandages,
  it intensified all of Cassi's unspoken fears. And in fact, the patients
  themselves seemed all but forgotten, lost as they were in the tangle of
  equipment. The nurses and doctors seemed to tend the machines first.
  Thomas went from bed to bed. Each patient in the ICU had his own
  specially trained nurse to whom Thomas spoke, hardly looking at the
  patient unless the nurse called his attention to some abnormality. He
  visually checked all the vital signs which could be seen on the read-out
  equipment. He glanced at the fluid balance logs, held portable chest X
  rays up to the overhead light, and looked at electrolyte and blood gas
  values. Cassi knew enough to know how much she didn't know.
  As Thomas had promised, he didn't take long. His patients were all doing
  well. With Larry Owen in command, the resident staff would deal with all
  the minor problems that arose during the night. When Thomas and Cassi
  reemerged, the patients' families again set upon him. Thomas said that
  he regretted he didn't have more time to talk but that everyone was doing
  well.
  "It must be extraordinarily rewarding to get that kind of feedback from
  families," said Cassi as they were walking toward the elevator.
  Thomas didn't respond immediately. Cassi's statement reminded him of the
  pleasure he had felt years earlier when the Nazzaros had greeted him.
  Their grati-
   82        Robin Cook

 tude had meant something. Then he thought about Mr. Campbell's daughter. He
 glanced back down the corridor, realizing that he hadn't seen her.
  "Oh, it's nice that the relatives are appreciative," said Thomas without
  much feeling. "But it's not that important. It's certainly not why I do
  surgery."
  "Of course not," said Cassi. "I didn't mean to imply that. "
  "For me recognition by my teachers and superiors was always more
  important," said Thomas.
 The elevator arrived and they got on.
  "The trouble is," continued Thomas, "now I'm the teacher. "
  Cassi glanced up. To her surprise his voice had an -unexpected and
  uncharacteristic wistfulness. As she watched him, she could see that he was
  staring ahead, daydreaming.
  Thomas's mind flashed back to his thoracic residency, a time of
  unbelievable excitement and adventure. He remembered that he all but lived
  in the hospital for three years, going home to his drab two-room apartment
  only to recharge by sleeping for a few hours. In order to excel he had
  worked harder than he'd ever thought possible. And in the end he was
  appointed chief resident. In many respects Thomas felt that event had been
  the crowning achievement of his life. He'd come out on top of a group of
  gifted people as committed and competitive as himself. Thomas would never
  forget the moment that each of his attendings congratulated him. There was
  no doubt, he thought, that surgery and life in general were more rewarding
  and more fun then. Thankful relatives were nice, but they were no
  substitute.

               El
             GODPLAYER          83

  When C assi and Thomas emerged from the hospital, they were rudely slapped
  by a wet Boston evening. Gusts of wind lashed the rain in chaotic circles.
  At six-fifteen it was already dark. The only illumination came from the
  city lights reflecting off the low, swirling cloud cover. Cassi grasped
  Thomas about the waist and together they ran for the nearby parking garage.
  Once under shelter, they stomped the moisture from their feet and walked
  more slowly up the concrete ramp. The wet cement had a surprisingly acrid
  smell. Thomas still wasn't acting normally, and Cassi tried to guess what
  was bothering him. She had the uncomfortable feeling that it was something
  she'd done. But she couldn't imagine what. They hadn't seen each other
  since the ride in to the hospital Thursday morning, and everything had
  seemed fine at that time.
 "Are you tired from working last night?" asked Cassi.
  "Yes, I probably am. I haven't thought too much about it, though."
 "And your cases? They went okay?"
  "I told you, they went fine," said Thomas. "In fact I could have done
  another bypass if they had allowed me to schedule it. I did three cases in
  the time it took George Sherman to do two and Ballantine, our fearless
  chief, to do one."
 "Sounds like you should be pleased," said Cassi.
  They stopped in front of an anthracite metallic 928 Porsche. Thomas
  hesitated, looking at Cassi over the top of the car. "But I'm not pleased.
  As usual there was a host of little things to annoy me, making my work more
  difficult. It seems to be getting worse, not better, around the Memorial.
  I'm really fed up. Then to top it all off, at the cardiac surgery meeting,
  I was informed that four of my weekly OR slots were being expropriated so
  George Sherman could schedule more of his goddamn teaching cases. They
  don't even have enough
 84         Robin Cook

 teaching patients to fill the slots they already have without dredging up
 patients who have no right to precious space in the hospital."
  Thomas unlocked his door, climbed in and reached across to open Cassi's.
  "Besides," said Thomas, gripping the steering wheel, "I have a feeling
  something else is going on in the hospital. Something between George
  Sherman and Norman Ballantine. God! I've just had it with all the bullshit!
  "
  Thomas gunned the engine, then rammed the car back, then forward, the tires
  screeching in protest. Cassi braced herself against the dashboard to keep
  herself upright. When he stopped to stick his card into the slot for the
  automatic gate, she reached over her shoulder for her seat belt. As she
  locked it in place, she said, "Thomas, I think you should fasten yours,
  too."
 "For Chrissake," yelled Thomas. "Stop nagging me."
  "I'm sorry," said Cassi quickly, now certain that she was in some way
  partially responsible for her husband's foul mood.
  Thomas weaved in and out of traffic, cutting in front of irate commuters.
  Cassi was afraid to say anything lest she anger him further. It was like a
  Grand Prix free-for-all.
  Once they were north of the city, the traffic thinned out. Despite the fact
  Thomas was going over seventy, Cassi began to relax.
  "I'M sorry I seemed like a pest, especially after an aggravating day," she
  said finally.
  Thomas didn't respond, but his face was less tense and his grip on the
  steering wheel not as tight. Several times Cassi started to ask if she'd
  been responsible for upsetting him, but she could not find the right words.
  For a while she just watched the rain-slicked road rushing toward them.
  "Have I done something that's bothered you?" she said at last.
 "You have," snapped Thomas.
            GODPLAYER           85

  They rode for a while in silence. Cassi knew it would come sooner or
  later.
  "It seems Larry Owen knows all about our private medical matters," said
  Thomas.
 "It's no secret that I have diabetes," said Cassi.
  "It's no secret because you talk about it so often," said Thomas. "I
  think the less said the better. I don't like us to be the brunt of
  gossip."
  Cassi could not remember mentioning anything to Larry about her medical
  problems, but of course that wasn't the issue. She was well aware she'd
  talked to a number of people about her diabetes, including Joan Widiker
  that very day. Thomas, like her mother, felt Cassi's disease was not a
  subject to be shared, even with close friends.
  Cassi looked over at Thomas. The bands of light and shadow from the
  oncoming cars moved down his face and obscured his expression.
  "I guess I never thought discussing my diabetes affected us," said Cassi.
  "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."
  "You know how gossip is in a medical center," said Thomas. "It's better
  not to give them anything to talk about. Larry knew more than just about
  your diabetes. He knew that you might have to have eye surgery. That's
  pretty specific. He said he heard it from your friend Robert Seibert."
  Now it made sense to Cassi. She knew she hadn't said anything to Larry
  Owen. "I did talk to Robert," she conceded. "It seemed only natural.
  We've known each other so long, and he told me about his surgery. He's
  having impacted wisdom teeth out. With his history of severe rheumatic
  fever he has to be admitted and treated with TV antibiotics."
  They turned north off Route 128, heading toward the ocean. There were
  unexpected patches of heavy fog, and Thomas slowed down.
 86         Robin Cook

  "I still don't think talking about such problems is a good idea," said
  Thomas, squinting through the windshield. "Especially to someone like
  Robert Seibert. It's still beyond me how you can tolerate such an overt
  homosexual. "
  "We never talk about Robert's sexual preferences," said Cassi sharply.
  "I don't understand how you could avoid the subject," said Thomas.
  "Robert is a sensitive, intelligent human being and a damn good
  pathologist."
  "I'm glad he has some redeeming qualities," said Thomas, conscious that he
  was baiting his wife.
  Cassi bit down her reply. She knew that Thomas was angry and was trying to
  provoke her; she also knew that losing her own temper would accomplish
  nothing. After a brief silence, she reached across and massaged Thomas's
  neck. At first he remained rigid, but after a few minutes she felt him
  respond.
  "I'm sorry I talked about my diabetes," she said, "and I'm sorry I talked
  about my eye condition."
  Maintaining her massage, Cassi stared out the window with unseeing eyes. A
  cold fear made her wonder if Thomas was getting tired of her illness. Maybe
  she'd been complaining too much, especially with all the upset about
  changing residencies. Thinking about it, Cassi had to admit that Thomas had
  been distancing himself from her in the last few months, acting more
  impulsive and with less tolerance. Cassi made a vow to talk less about her
  illness. She knew, more than anyone, how much pressure Thomas put himself
  under, and she promised herself not to make it worse.
  Moving her hand up his neck, Cassi thought it would be wise to change the
  subject.
  "Did anyone say anything about your doing three bypasses while the others
  did one or two?"
             GODPLAYER          87

  "No. No one says anything because it's always the same. There really isn't
  anyone for me to compete with. "
  "What about competing with the best: yourself!" said Cassi with a smile.
  "Oh, no!" said Thomas. "Don't give me any of that pseudopsychology. "
  "IS competition important at this point?" asked Cassi, becoming serious.
  "Isn't the satisfaction of helping people return to active lives enough?"
  "It's a nice feeling," admitted Thomas. "But it doesn't help me get beds or
  OR time even though the patients I propose are the most deserving both from
  a physical and sociological standpoint. And their gratitude probably won't
  make me chief, although I'm not sure I want the position any longer. To
  tell you the truth, the kick of surgery doesn't last like it used to.
  Lately I get this empty feeling."
  The word "empty" reminded Cassi of something. Had it been a dream? She
  glanced around the interior of the car, noting the characteristic smell of
  the leather, listening to the repetitive click of the windshield wipers,
  letting her mind wander. What was the association? Then she
  remembered-"empty" was the word Colonel Bentworth used to describe his life
  in recent years. Angry and empty, that's what he'd said.
  Emerging from the leafless woods, they sped across the salt marshes.
  Through the rain-swept window, Cassi caught glimpses of the bleak November
  landscape. Fall was gone, its last agonal bits of color driven from the
  naked tree limbs by the rain. Winter was coming, its arrival heralded by
  the damp chill of the night. They rounded the last bend, thundered over a
  wooden bridge, and turned into their driveway. Within the bouncing
  headlights, Cassi could see the outline of their house. It had originally
  been built around the turn of the century
 88        Robin Cook

 as a rich man's summer home in the shingle style peculiar to New England. In
 the nineteen-forties it had been winterized. Its sprawling character and
 irregular roof line gave it a unique silhouette. Cassi liked the house,
 perhaps more in summer than in winter. The best part was the location. It
 was situated directly on a small inlet with a northern view of the sea.
 Although it was a forty-minute drive north of Boston, Cassi felt the commute
 was worth it.
  As they pulled up the long driveway, Cassi thought back to when she had
  first started dating Thomas. They had met when she was sent to the Memorial
  on her internal medicine rotation her third year of medical school. She'd
  seen Dr. Thomas Kingsley one day on the ward. He and a group of residents
  who followed after him like puppies were evaluating a heart attack victim
  in cardiogenic shock. Cassi had watched Dr. Kingsley with fascination.
  She'd heard about him and was astonished that he looked so young. She found
  him extremely attractive, but she never thought someone as dashing as
  Thomas would ever give her a second glance, except perhaps to ask her an
  embarrassing medical question. If Thomas had seen her on that first day,
  he'd given no indication whatsoever.
  Once within the hospital community, Cassi found that it wasn't as
  intimidating as she'd feared. She worked very hard and to her amazement
  suddenly found herself very popular. Previously she had not had time to
  date, but at the Boston Memorial, work and social life merged. Cassi found
  herself actively pursued by most of the house staff, who taught her all
  sorts of things, frivolous and otherwise. Soon even some of the younger
  attendings began to compete, including a handsome ophthalmologist who could
  not take no for an answer. Cassi had never met anyone quite so
  single-minded and persistent, especially in front of his Beacon Hill
  fireplace.
             GODPLAYER          89

 But it had all been fun and not serious until George Sherman asked her
 out. Without much encouragement from Cassandra, he sent her flowers, small
 presents, and then, out of the blue, proposed marriage.
  Cassi did not turn George down immediately. She liked him even though she
  didn't think she loved him. While she was still thinking over how best
  to handle things, something even more unexpected occurred. Thomas
  Kingsley asked her out.
  Cassi remembered the intense excitement she had felt being with Thomas.
  He had an aura of self-assurance that some people might have labeled
  arrogance. But not Cassi. She felt he simply knew what he wanted and made
  decisions with bewildering rapidity. When Cassi tried to talk about her
  diabetes early in their relationship, Thomas dismissed the subject as a
  problem of the past. He gave her all the confidence she'd lacked since
  third grade.
  It had been difficult for Cassi to face George and tell him that not only
  did she not want to marry him, but she had fallen in love with his
  colleague. George took the news with seeming composure and said he'd
  still like to be her friend. When she saw him on occasion in the hospital
  afterward, he seemed more concerned about her happiness than the fact
  that she had jilted him.
  Thomas was charming, considerate, and gallant, a far cry from what Cassi
  expected. She'd heard that he was famous for intense but short
  relationships. Although he rarely told her that he loved her, he showed
  it in many ways. He took Cassi on teaching rounds with the fellows and
  had her come to the OR to see special cases. For their first Christmas
  together he bought her an antique diamond bracelet. Then on New Year's
  Eve he asked Cassandra to marry him.
  Cassi had never intended to get married while in medical school. But
  Thomas Kingsley was the kind of
 90        Robin Cook

 man that she had not even allowed herself to dream about. She might never
 meet anyone like him, and since Thomas was in medicine himself, she was
 confident it would not hinder her work. Cassi said yes and Thomas was
 ecstatic.
  They were married on the lawn in front of Thomas's house in view of the
  sea. Most of the hospital staff had attended and afterward referred to it
  as the social event of the year. Cassi could remember every moment of that
  glorious spring day. The sky had been a faraway blue, not unlike Thomas's
  eyes. The sea had been relatively calm, with small white caps licked by the
  westerly breeze.
  The reception was sumptuously catered, the lawn dotted with
  medieval-looking tents from the top of which heraldic flags snapped in the
  wind. Cassi had never been so happy, and Thomas appeared proud, ever mind-
  ful of the smallest details.
  When everyone had left, Thomas and Cassi walked the beach, mindless of the
  icy surf grabbing at their ankles.
  Cassi had never felt quite so happy nor quite so secure. They spent the
  night at the Ritz-Carlton in Boston before leaving for Europe.
  After they had returned from their honeymoon, Cassi went back to her
  studies but ever mindful of her powerful mentor. In every conceivable way,
  Thomas helped Cassi. She'd always been a good student, but with Thomas's
  help and encouragement, she excelled beyond her wildest expectations. He
  continued to encourage her to come frequently to the OR to see particularly
  interesting cases and, while she rotated on surgery, to have her assist,
  experiences which other medical students could only dream about. Two years
  later, when it came to graduate study, it was the pathology department that
  recruited Cassi, not vice versa.
            GODPLAYER           91

  Perhaps the memory that warmed Cassi's heart more than any other was the
  weekend she graduated from medical school. Thomas had acted subdued from
  the moment they'd awakened that morning, which Cassi had attributed to
  a complicated surgical case Thomas was expecting. During dinner the night
  before, he'd told Cassi about a patient who was scheduled to be flown in
  from out of state. He'd apologized for not being able to take her to the
  celebration dinner the evening after the commencement, and although she
  was disappointed, Cassi had assured Thomas that she understood.
  During the ceremony, Thomas had made a fool of himself and embarrassed
  Cassi by following her to the podium and taking hundreds of flash
  pictures with his Pentax. Afterward, when Cassi expected him to disappear
  abruptly to surgery, he led her across the lawn to an awaiting limousine.
  Confused, Cassi climbed into the long black Cadillac. Inside were two
  long-stemmed glasses and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon.
  As if in a fantasy, Cassi was whisked out to Logan Airport and hurried
  aboard a commuter flight to Nantucket. She tried to protest that she had
  no clothes and could not possibly go without first returning home, but
  Thomas had assured her that every detail had been attended to and indeed
  it had. He showed her a bag, packed with all her makeup and medicine, as
  well as some new clothes, including the sexiest pink silk Ted Lapidus
  dress Cassi had ever seen.
  They only stayed for a single night, but what a night. Their room was the
  master suite of an old sea captain's mansion that had been converted to
  a charming country inn. The decor was early Victorian with a huge canopy
  bed and period wallpaper. There was no television and more importantly,
  no telephone. Cassi had the delicious sensation of total isolation and
  privacy.
 92         Robin Cook

  Never had she felt so in love nor had Thomas ever been so attentive. They
  spent the afternoon bicycling along country lanes and running in the icy
  surf on the beach. Dinner was at a nearby French restaurant. Their
  candlelit table was set within the shelter of a dormer whose window looked
  out over Nantucket Harbor. The lights from the anchored sailboats flickered
  across the water like the sparkle of gemstones. Capping the dinner was
  Cassi's graduation present. To her utter astonishment, she gingerly lifted
  from a small, velvet-lined box the most beautiful three-strand pearl choker
  she'd ever seen. It was secured in front by a large emerald surrounded by
  diamonds. As Thomas helped her put the necklace on, he explained that the
  clasp was a family heirloom, brought from Europe by his great-grandmother.
  Later that night, they discovered that the imposing canopied bed in their
  room had one unexpected flaw. It squeaked mercilessly whenever they moved.
  This discovery brought on fits of uncontrolled laughter but did nothing to
  diminish their enjoyment. If anything, it gave Cassi another wonderful
  memory of the weekend.
  Cassi's reverie was broken by the jerk with which Thomas brought his
  Porsche to a stop in front of their garage. He reached across and pressed
  the automatic door button inside the glove compartment.
  The garage, also weathered shingle, was completely separate from the house.
  There was an apartment on the second floor, originally designed for
  servants, where Thomas's widowed mother, Patricia Kingsley, resided. She'd
  moved from the main house when Cassi and Thomas married.
  The Porsche thundered into the garage, then with a final roar, died. Cassi
  got out, careful that the door did not hit her own Chevy Nova that was
  parked alongside. Thomas loved his car as much as his own right arm. She
  also closed the door without too much force. She
             GODPLAYER          93

 was accustomed to slamming car doors, something which had been a necessity
 with the old family Ford sedan. On several occasions Thomas had become
 livid when she'd reverted back to her old habit despite his lectures on
 the careful engineering of the Porsche.
  "It's about time," said Harriet Summer, their housekeeper, when Thomas
  and Cassi entered the hall. To emphasize her displeasure, she made sure
  they saw her check her wristwatch. Harriet Summer had worked for the
  Kingsleys since before Thomas was bom. She was very much the old family
  retainer and had to be treated as such. Cassi had learned that very
  quickly.
  "Dinner will be on the table in a half hour. If you're not there, it will
  get cold. Tonight's my favorite TV show, Thomas, so I'm leaving here at
  eight-thirty come what may."
 "We'll be down," said Thomas, removing his coat.
  "And hang up that coat," said Harriet. "I'm not going to be picking them
  up all the time."
 Thomas did as he was told.
 "What about Mother?" asked Thomas.
  "She's as she always is," said Harriet. "She lunched well and she's
  expecting a call for dinner, so get cracking."
  As Thomas and Cassi started upstairs, Cassi marveled at the change in her
  husband. At the hospital he was so aggressive and commanding, but the
  minute Harriet or his mother asked him to do something, he obeyed.
  At the top of the stairs, Thomas turned into his second-floor study,
  saying that he'd see Cassi in a few moments. He didn't wait for her to
  reply. Cassi wasn't surprised, and she continued down the hall toward
  their bedroom. She knew he liked his study, which was something of a
  mirror image of his office at the hospital except that it had a wonderful
  view of the picturesque garage and the salt marshes beyond. The problem
  was
 94        Robin Cook

 that over the last few months Thomas had begun to spend more and more time
 there, occasionally even sleeping on the couch. Cassi had not commented,
 knowing that he was troubled with insonmia, but as the number of nights he
 spent away from her increased, it had begun to distress her more and more.
  The master bedroom was at the very end of the hall, on the northeast side
  of the house. It had French doors giving out onto a balcony that had a
  commanding view of the lawn down to the sea. Next to the bedroom was a
  morning room facing east. On nice days the sun would stream through the
  windows. Between the two rooms was the master bath.
  The only part of the house Cassi had redecorated was the bedroom suite.
  She'd salvaged and repaired the white wicker porch furniture that she had
  found ignominiously abandoned in the garage. She had chosen bright chintz
  fabrics for matching comforter, drapes, and seat cushions. The bedroom had
  been papered with a Victorian-style vertical print; the morning room
  painted a pale yellow. The combination was bright and cheerful, in sharp
  contrast with the dark and heavy tones of the rest of the house.
  Cassi had essentially taken over the morning room as her study since Thomas
  had shown no inclination to share it. She'd found an old country-style desk
  in the basement, which she'd painted white, and had bought several simple
  pine bookcases, which she'd painted to match. One of the bookcases had a
  second role; it served to conceal a small refrigerator that contained
  Cassi's medicines.
  After testing her urine again, Cassi went to the refrigerator and removed
  a package of regular insulin and one of Lente insulin. Using the same
  syringe, she drew up a half cc of the U 100 regular and then one-tenth cc
  of the U100 Lente. Knowing she had injected herself in her
            GODPLAYER           95

 left thigh that morning, she chose a site on her right thigh. The whole
 procedure took less than five minutes.
  After a quick shower, Cassi knocked on the door to Thomas's study. When
  she entered she sensed that Thomas was more relaxed. He'd )ust finished
  buttoning a fresh shirt and ended up with more buttons than buttonholes
  when he got to the top.
  "Some surgeon you must be," teased Cassi, rapidly fixing the problem. "I
  met a medical resident whom you impressed last night. I'm glad he didn't
  see you buttoning your shirt." Cassi was eager for light conversation.
 "Who was that?" asked Thomas.
 "You helped him on a resuscitation attempt."
 "It wasn't a very impressive effort. The man died."
  "I know," said Cassi. "I watched the autopsy this morning."
  Thomas sat down on the sectional sofa, pulling on his loafers.
  "Why on earth were you watching an autopsy?" he asked.
  "Because it was a post-cardiac-surgical case where the cause of death was
  unclear."
  Thomas stood up and began to brush his wet hair. "Did the entire
  department of psychiatry go up to watch this event?" asked Thomas.
 "Of course not," said Cassi. "Robert called me and .
  Cassi paused. It wasn't until she'd mentioned Robert's name that she
  remembered the talk they had had in the car. Fortunately Thomas kept
  brushing his hair.
  "He said that he thought there was another case for the SSD series. You
  remember. I've spoken to you about that before."
  "Sudden surgical death," said Thomas as if he were reciting a lesson in
  school.
 "And he was right," said Cassi. "There was no obvi- 96         Robin Cook

 ous cause of death. The man had had a bypass operation by Dr. Ballantine .
 . ."
  "I'd say that was a sufficient cause," interrupted Thomas. "The old man
  probably put a suture right through the Bundle of His. It knocks out the
  heart's conduction system, and it's happened before."
  "Was that your impression when you tried to resuscitate him?" asked Cassi.
  "It occurred to me," said Thomas. "I assumed it was some sort of acute
  arrhythmia."
  "The nurses reported the patient was very cyanotic when they found him,"
  she said.
  Thomas finished his hair and indicated he was ready for dinner. He gestured
  toward the hall while he spoke: "That doesn't surprise me. The patient
  probably aspirated. "
  Cassi preceded Thomas out into the hall. From the autopsy she already knew
  the patient's lungs and bronchial tubes had been clear, meaning he had not
  aspirated anything. But she didn't tell that to Thomas. His tone suggested
  he'd had enough of the subject.
  "I would have thought that beginning a new residency would keep you busy,"
  said Thomas, starting down the stairs. "Even a residency in psychiatry.
  Aren't they giving you enough work to do?"
  "More than enough," said Cassi. "I've never felt quite so incompetent. But
  Robert and I have been following this SSD series for a year. We were
  eventually going to publish our findings. Then, of course, I left
  pathology, but I truly think Robert is onto something. Anyway, when he
  called me this morning I took the time to go up and watch."
  "Surgery is serious business," said Thomas. "Particularly cardiac surgery."
  11 know," said Cassi, "but Robert has seventeen of these cases now, maybe
  eighteen if this new one checks
            GODPLAYER           97

 out. Ten years ago SSD only seemed to occur in patients who were in coma.
 But lately there's been a change. Patients who have come through surgery
 with flying colors are seemingly dying postop without cause."
  "When you consider the number of cardiac cases done at the Memorial,"
  said Thomas, "you must realize how insignificant a percentage you're
  talking about. The Memorial's death rate is not only well below the
  average, it's equal to the best."
  "I also know that," said Cassi. "But still it's fascinating when you
  consider the trend."
  Thomas suddenly took Cassi's arm. "Listen, it's bad enough that you chose
  psychiatry as a specialty, but don't try embarrassing the surgical
  department about our failures. We are aware of our mistakes. That's why
  we have a death conference."
  "I never intended to cause you embarrassment," said Cassi. "Besides, the
  SSD study is Robert's. I told him today that he was going to have to
  carry on without me. I just think it's fascinating."
  "The competitive climate of medicine always makes other people's mistakes
  fascinating," said Thomas, gently propelling Cassi through the archway
  into the dining room, "whether they are legitimate mistakes or acts of
  Ir
 3od.
  Cassi felt a pang of guilt as she thought about the truth of Thomas's
  last statement. She never considered it that way, but it was true.
  As they entered the dining room, Harriet gave them a petulant glance and
  said that they were late.
  Thomas's mother was already seated at the table. "It's about time you two
  showed up," she said in her strong, raspy voice. "I'm an old woman. I
  can't go this long before dinner."
  "Why didn't you eat earlier?" said Thomas, taking his chair.
 98        Robin Cook

  "I've been by myself for two days," complained Patricia. "I need some human
  contact."
  "So I'm not human, am V' said Harriet with annoyance. "The truth has
  finally come out."
  "You know what I mean, Harriet," said Patricia with a wave of her hand.
 Harriet rolled her eyes and began serving the casserole.
  "Thomas, when are you going to get that hair of yours cut?" said Patricia.
 "As soon as I have a little extra time," said Thomas.
  "And how many times do I have to tell you to put your napkin on your lap,"
  said Patricia,
  Thomas pulled the napkin from the silver holder and threw it onto his lap.
  Mrs. Kingsley placed a minute amount of food in her mouth and began
  chewing. Her bright blue eyes, similar to Thomas's, ranged around the
  table, following Harriet's progress, waiting for the slightest slip-up. Pa-
  tricia was a pleasant-looking, white-haired lady with a will of iron. She
  had smoked Lucky Strikes for years and had deep creases running from her
  mouth like spokes on a wheel. She was obviously lonely, and Cassi
  continually wondered why the woman didn't move to some place where she'd
  have friends her own age. Cassi knew the thought was motivated by her own
  interests. After more than three years of eating almost every evening meal
  with Patricia, Cassi longed for a more romantic end to the day. Despite
  Cassi's strong feelings in this regard, she never said anything. The truth
  of the matter was that Cassi had always been intimidated by this woman, and
  she'd been reluctant to offend her and thereby incur Thomas's wrath.
  Still and all, Cassi got along passingly well with Mrs. Kingsley, at least
  from Cassi's perspective, and she did feel sorry for the woman, living in
  the middle of nowhere over her son's garage.
             GODPLAYER          99

  After Harriet served, the dinner proceeded in silence, punctuated by
  silver clanking against china and whispered negatives to Harriet who
  tried to force seconds on everyone. It wasn't until they were almost
  finished that Thomas broke the silence: "My surgeries went well today."
  "I don't want to hear about death and disease," said Mrs. Kingsley. Then
  she turned to Cassandra and said, "Thomas is just like his father, always
  wanting to discuss his business. Never could talk about anything im-
  portant or cultural. Sometimes I think I would have been better off if
  I'd never married."
  "You can't mean that," said Cassi. "Otherwise you wouldn't have such an
  extraordinary son."
  "Ha!" said Patricia with explosive suddenness. Her laugh echoed in the
  room, making the Waterford candelabra vibrate. "The only thing truly
  extraordinary about Thomas is how closely he resembles his father, even
  to having been bom with a clubfoot."
  Cassi dropped her fork. Thomas had never mentioned this. The image of him
  as a tiny baby with a twisted foot triggered a wave of sympathy in Cassi,
  but it was clear from his expression that Thomas was furious with his
  mother's revelation.
  "He was a wonderful baby," continued Patricia, oblivious to her son's
  barely suppressed rage. "And a handsome, wonderful child. At least until
  puberty."
  "Mother," said Thomas in a slow, even voice. "I think you've said
  enough."
  "Fiddlesticks, as they used to say," returned Patricia. "It's your turn
  to be quiet. I've been alone here, except for Harriet, for two days, and
  I should be able to talk."
  With a final glance of exasperation, Thomas bent over his food.
  "Thomas," called Patricia after a short silence. "Please remove your
  elbows from the table."
 100       Robin Cook

  Thomas pushed back his chair and stood up, his face flushed. Without a
  word, he threw down his napkin and left the room. Cassi heard him
  stomping upstairs. Then the door to his study slammed. The Waterford
  candelabra again tinkled gently.
  Caught in the middle, as usual, Cassi hesitated, not knowing what was the
  best thing for her to do. After a moment of indecision she too stood up,
  planning on following Thomas.
  "Cassandra," said Patricia sharply. Then in a more plaintive voice she
  said, "Please sit down. Let the child be. Eat. I know people with
  diabetes have to eat."
 Flustered, Cassi sat down.

               E-1

  Thomas paced his study, mumbling out loud that it was unfair that he
  should have to weather such abuse at home after his frustrating day at
  the hospital. Angrily he wondered why Cassi had stayed with his mother
  instead of joining him. For a moment he considered returning to the
  hospital, fantasizing about Mr. Campbell's daughter and the respect that
  she would be willing to show him. He remembered her comment about wishing
  there was something she could do for him.
  But the cold rain beating on the window made the idea of returning to
  town seem like too much effort. Instead he picked up the journal from the
  top of his towering pile of reading and sprawled in the burgundy leather
  armchair next to the fireplace.
  Trying to read, Thomas found his mind wandering. He wondered why his
  mother could still, after all these years, irritate him so easily. Then
  Thomas thought about Cassi and the SSD series that she'd been helping
  Robert Seibert with. There was no doubt in his mind that the kind of
  publicity that such a study would
            GODPLAYER          101

 generate would be extraordinarily detrimental to the hospital. Ile also
 knew that Robert just wanted to get his name in print. He didn't care who
 he hurt.
  Thomas threw the unread journal to the side and went into the bathroom
  off the study. Staring into the mirror, he looked at his eyes. He'd
  always thought he looked young for his age, but now he was not quite so
  sure. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the lids seemed red and
  swollen.
  Returning to his study, he sat at his desk and opened the second drawer
  on the right, removing a plastic bottle. He popped a yellow pill into his
  mouth and, after a brief hesitation, another. Over at the bar he poured
  himself a single-malt whiskey and sat down in the leather armchair that
  had been his father's. He already felt a lessening of his tension.
  Reaching over to the side table, he picked up the journal again and tried
  to read.
  But he couldn't concentrate. He still felt too much anger. His mind went
  back to his first week as the chief cardiac surgery resident when he'd
  been faced with a full intensive care unit and two senior attendings who
  were demanding space. Without empty available beds, the whole surgical
  schedule came to a halt.
  Thomas remembered how he had gone into the intensive care unit and
  carefully checked over each patient to see if any could be moved out. In
  the end he chose two "gorks," patients in irreversible coma. It was true
  they needed round-the-clock special nursing that could only be given in
  the ICU, but it was also true they were beyond any hope of recovery. Yet
  when Thomas ordered them moved, their physicians were livid and the
  nursing staff refused the order. Thomas could still remember the
  humiliation he experienced when the nursing staff prevailed and the
  brain-dead patients stayed in the ICU. Not only hadn't the problem been
  solved, but
 102        Robin Cook

 Thomas had made additional enemies. It was as if no one understood that
 surgery, that life-giving process, as well as the costly intensive care
 unit, were intended for patients who would recover, not the living dead.
  Back at the bar, Thomas refreshed his drink. The ice had diluted the Scotch
  and blunted its taste. Looking back at the burgundy leather chair, Thomas
  remembered his father, the businessman, and Thomas wondered what the old
  man would have thought of him had he lived. Thomas had no idea because,
  like Patricia, Mr. Kingsley had never been particularly appreciative or
  supportive of Thomas, always more willing to criticize than commend. Would
  he have approved of Cassi? Thomas guessed that his father probably would
  not have thought much of a girl with diabetes,

               F1

  Cassi felt anxious after Thomas had left the table. Since he'd already been
  in a bad mood prior to coming down for dinner, she was afraid he was
  upstairs seething. Desperately she hunted for conversation but could only
  elicit "yes" or "no" from Patricia, who acted as if she were pleased she'd
  driven Thomas away.
  "Did Thomas have a bad clubfoot?" Cassi finally asked, hoping to break the
  silence.
  "Terrible. just like his father, who was crippled for life. 11
 "I had no idea. I never would have guessed."
  "Of course not. In contrast to his father, he got treated. "
  "Thank goodness," said Cassi sincerely. She tried to imagine Thomas with a
  limp. It was hard for Cassi even to think of Thomas being crippled as a
  young baby.
  "We had to lock the boy in foot braces at night," said Patricia, "which was
  a strain because he screamed and
            GODPLAYER          103

 carried on as if I were torturing him." Patricia dabbed at her lips with
 her napkin.
  Cassi pictured Thomas as an infant, strapped into his confining foot
  braces. Undoubtedly it had been a type of torture.
  "Well," began Patricia, abruptly standing up. "Why don't you go up to
  him? Obviously he needs someone. He's not such a strong boy despite his
  aggressive manner, I'd go, but he's obviously chosen you. Men are all the
  same. You give them everything and they abandon you. Good night,
  Cassandra."
  Dumbfounded by Patricia's rude exit, Cassi sat by herself for a moment.
  She heard Patricia talking with Harriet, then the front door slammed. The
  house was quiet except for the squeak of the porch swing as gusts of wind
  blew it back and forth.
  She got up and began to mount the stairs, smiling suddenly at the thought
  that she and Thomas had shared a point in common while growing up; they
  both had had childhood afflictions. Knocking on the study door, Cassi
  wondered what kind of mood Thomas would be in. After the way he'd behaved
  in the car, combined with Patricia's pestering, she expected the worst.
  But when she entered the room, she was immediately relieved. Thomas was
  sitting sideways with his legs draped over one arm of his chair, drink
  in one hand, medical journal in the other. He looked relaxed and
  handsome. And more important, he was smiling.
  "I trust you and Mother remained cordial," he said, raising his eyebrows
  as if there were a chance that the opposite had occurred. "I'm sorry for
  my abrupt departure, but the old woman was about to drive me mad. I
  didn't quite feel up to a scene." Thomas winked.
  "You're so predictably unpredictable," said Cassi, smiling. "Your mother
  and I had a most interesting
 104        Robin Cook

 conversation. Thomas, I never knew about your clubfoot. Why didn't you tell
 me?"
  She sat down on the arm of his chair, forcing him to swing around into a
  normal position. He didn't answer, concentrating on his drink.
  "It's not important," said Cassi, "but I'm an expert on childhood
  afflictions. I find it reassuring that we shared such an experience. I
  think it gives us a special degree of understanding."
  "I can't remember anything about a clubfoot," said Thomas. "As far as I
  know I never had one. The whole thing is some elaborate delusion of my
  mother's. She wants you to be impressed by how she suffered bringing me up.
  Look at my feet: Do they look deformed?"
 Thomas took off his shoes and raised his feet.
  Looking down, Cassi had to admit both feet looked entirely normal. She knew
  Thomas had no problem walking and had been something of a college athlete.
  But she still wasn't sure who had been telling the truth.
  "It seems incredible that your mother would make something like that up?"
  Her tone was more a question than a statement, but Thomas took it as a
  statement.
  Throwing down the medical journal, he leaped to his feet, nearly knocking
  Cassi to the floor. "Listen, I don't care who you believe," said Thomas.
  "My feet are fine, have always been fine, and I don't want to hear anything
  more about a clubfoot."
  "All right, all right," said Cassi soothingly. With a professional eye she
  watched her husband, noting that his equilibrium was slightly off in that
  he'd overshoot with simple motions that required him to make subtle
  readjustments. And that wasn't all. His speech was slightly slurred as
  well. Cassandra had noticed simflar episodes over the previous months but
  she'd ignored them. He had every right to indulge himself with alcohol now
  and then, and she knew he liked Scotch. What
             GODPLAYER         105

 surprised her was how short a time had passed since he'd fled from the
 dinner table. He must have tossed off quite a few drinks, one after another.
  More than anything, Cassi wanted Thomas to relax. If a discussion about a
  hypothetical clubfoot was going to upset him, she was perfectly willing to
  drop the subject forever if necessary. Sliding off the chair, she reached
  up to place her arm around his shoulder.
  He fended her off, defiantly taking another sip of Scotch. He looked
  contentious and eager to quarrel. At close range Cassi noted his pupils
  were constricted to mere dots of black in his bright blue irises.
  Suppressing her own irritation at being rejected, Cassi said: "Thomas, you
  must be exhausted. You need a good night's sleep." She reached up again and
  this time he permitted her to put her arm around his neck. "Come to bed
  with me," she said softly.
  Thomas sighed but didn't speak. He put down his half-finished drink and let
  Cassi lead him back down the hall to their bedroom. He started to unbutton
  his shirt, but Cassi pushed his hands away and did it for him. Slowly she
  undressed him, discarding his clothes in a careless heap on the floor. Once
  he was under the covers, she rapidly undressed herself, sliding in next to
  him. It was a delicious sensation to feel the coolness of the freshly
  laundered sheets, the comforting weight of the blankets, and the warmth of
  Thomas's body. Outside the November wind howled and shook the Japanese wind
  chimes on the balcony.
  Cassi began by rubbing his neck and shoulders. Then she slowly worked her
  way down his body. Beneath her fingers she could feel him relax and respond
  to her. He stirred and enveloped her in an embrace. She kissed him and
  gently reached down between his legs. He was flaccid.
 The moment Thomas felt Cassi's hand touch him, he
 106        Robin Cook

 sat up and pushed her away. "I don't think it's quite fair to expect that
 I'd be able to satisfy you tonight."
 "I was interested in your pleasure," said Cassi softly, not my own."
  "I'll bet," said Thomas viciously. "Don't try any of your psychiatric
  bullshit on me."
 "Thomas, it doesn't matter if we make love or not."
  Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Thomas grabbed for his
  discarded clothes with jerky, uncoordinated motions. "I find that hard to
  believe."
  Thomas went into the hall, slamming the door behind him with such force
  that the storm windows rattled in their frames.
  Cassi found herself engulfed in lonely darkness. The howling wind, which
  moments before had enhanced her sense of security, now did the opposite.
  The old fear of being abandoned haunted her. Despite the warmth of the
  blankets, Cassi shivered. What if Thomas left her? Desperately she tried to
  put the thought out of her mind because she could not bear the possibility.
  Maybe he had just been drunk. She recalled his lack of equilibrium and
  slurred speech. In the short time she'd spoken with Patricia, it didn't
  seem possible that Thomas could have absorbed enough alcohol to cause such
  an effect, but when she thought about it, she had to admit that there had
  been several such episodes in the last three or four months.
  Rolling onto her back, Cassi stared at the ceiling where an outdoor lamp
  shining through the leafless tree outside created a pattern like a gigantic
  spider web. Frightened by the image, she turned on her side only to
  confront the same scary shadow on the wall across from the window. Was
  Thomas taking some kind of drug? Having admitted the possibility, she
  recognized that she'd been denying the signs for months. It was further
  evidence that Thomas was unhappy with her, that their life had drastically
  changed, and that he had changed.
            GODPLAYER          107

               0

  In the bathroom off his study, Thomas stared at his naked body in the
  mirror. Although he hated to admit it, he did look older, And more
  worrisome than that was his shriveled penis. To his own touch it felt
  almost numb, and the lack of sensation filled him with agonizing fear.
  What was wrong with his sexuality? When Cassi had been massaging him he'd
  felt the need for sexual release. But obviously his penis had had other
  ideas.
  It must have been Cassi's fault, he reasoned halfheartedly, as he
  returned to the study and got into his clothes. Rescuing his drink, he
  sat at his desk and opened the second drawer on the right. In the very
  back, hidden by his stationery, were a number of plastic bottles. If he
  was going to sleep, he needed one more pill. Just one! Deftly he flipped
  one of the small yellow tablets into his mouth, then chased it down with
  his Scotch. It was amazing how quickly he felt the calming effect.
CHAPTER
4

 THE NEXT MORNtNG Cassi took her insulin and ate breakfast without any sign
 of Thomas. By eight she was concerned. Their usual schedule on Saturday
 was to leave by eight-fifteen so that Thomas could see his patients before
 Grand Rounds and Cassi could catch up on her own work.
  Putting down the article she'd been reading at her desk and tightening
  the belt on her robe, Cassi walked from the morning room down the hall
  and listened outside Thomas's door. There were no sounds whatsoever. She
  knocked softly and waited. Still nothing. She tried the door. It was
  unlocked. Thomas was sound asleep with his alarm clock gripped in his
  hand. Evidently he'd turned it off and fallen directly back to sleep.
  Cassi walked over to him and shook him gently. There was no response. She
  shook him more forcibly and his heavy-lidded eyes opened, but he looked
  as if he didn't recognize her.
  "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's already after eight. You do want to go
  to Grand Rounds, don't you?"
  "Grand Rounds?" answered Thomas with confusion. Then he seemed to
  understand. "Of course I want to go. I'll be down for a bite in a few
  minutes. We'll leave here in twenty at the most."

               108
            GODPLAYER          109

  "I'm not going to the hospital today," said Cassi as brightly as she
  could. "I'm not expected in psychiatry, and I have an enormous amount to
  read. I brought home an entire bag full of reprints."
  "Suit yourself," said Thomas, pushing himself up to a sitting position.
  "I'm on call tonight, so I'm not sure when I'll be home. I'll let you
  know later."
  Cassi went down to the kitchen to make something for Thomas to eat in the
  car.
  Thomas sat on the edge of the bed while the room whirled around him. He
  waited until his vision cleared, feeling each pulse like a hammer in his
  head. He stumbled first to the desk where he got out one of his plastic
  containers. Then he made his way into the bathroom.
  Avoiding his image in the mirror, Thomas tried to get one of the small,
  orange triangular pills out of the container. It was no easy task, and
  it wasn't until he'd dropped several that he got one into his mouth and
  washed it down. Only then did he venture a glance at his face. It didn't
  look as bad as he feared nor as bad as he felt. With a bit more agility
  he took another pill, stepped into the shower, and turned on the water
  full blast.

  Cassi stood by the window in the living room watching as Thomas
  disappeared into the garage. Even through the glass she could hear the
  roar of the Porsche as it started. She wondered what it sounded like in
  Patricia's apartment. The thought made her realize that she'd never
  visited Patricia; not once in the three years Cassi had been living
  there.
  She watched until Thomas's Porsche had accelerated down the driveway and
  disappeared into the damp morning fog that hung over the salt marsh. Even
  after the car
 110       Robin Cook

 was out of sight, its low-frequency roar could be heard as Thomas shifted
 gears. Finally the noise vanished and the stillness of the empty house
 enveloped Cassi.
  Looking at her palms, Cassi noticed they were damp. Her first thought was
  that she was experiencing a mild insulin reaction. Then she realized it was
  nervousness. She was going to violate Thomas's study. She'd always felt
  that trust and privacy were necessary parts of a close relationship, but
  she simply had to know if Thomas was taking tranquilizers or any other
  drugs. For months she'd been closing her eyes, hoping her marriage would
  improve. Now she knew she could not continue to wait passively any longer.
  As she opened the door to Thomas's study, she felt like a burglar: a very
  bad burglar. Each little sound in the house made her jump.
  "My God," said Cassi out loud. "You're being an idiot!"
  Her own voice had a calming effect. As Thomas's wife she had the right to
  enter every room in the house. Yet in many ways she still felt like a
  visitor.
  The study was in partial disarray. The sofa bed was still open, the covers
  piled in a heap on the floor. Cassi eyed the desk but then saw the open
  bathroom door. She pulled open the medicine cabinet. Inside were shaving
  gear, the usual litter of patented medicines, several old toothbrushes, and
  some out-dated Tetracycline antibiotics. She looked through all the
  packages and containers. There was nothing remotely suspicious.
  As she was about to leave, her eye caught a flash of color on the
  white-tiled floor. Bending down, she found herself holding a small
  triangular orange pill stamped with SKF-E-19. It looked familiar, but she
  couldn't place it. Back in Thomas's study she scanned the bookshelves for
  a Pbysician's Desk Reference. Not finding one, she walked back to the
  morning room and took out her
            GODPLAYER          111

 own. Quickly she turned to the product identification section. It was
 Dexedrine!
  Holding the pill in her hand, Cassi stared out at the sea. There was a
  lone sailboat about a quarter mile out moving slowly through the swells.
  Watching it for a moment helped her organize her thoughts. She felt a
  weird mixture of relief and increased anxiety. The anxiety came from
  confirming her fear that Thomas might be taking drugs. The relief stemmed
  from the nature of the pill that she'd found-Dexedrine. Cassi could
  easily imagine an achiever like Thomas taking an occasional t4upper" in
  order to sustain his almost superhuman performance. Cassi was aware of
  how much surgery Thomas did. She could understand how he could fall into
  the trap of taking a pill to sharpen his attention when he was otherwise
  exhausted. For Cassi it seemed to be in keeping with his personality. But
  as much as she tried to calm herself, she was still afraid. She knew the
  dangers of abusing Dexedrine and wondered how much she was to blame for
  Thomas's need for the drug, and how long he'd been taking it.
  She put the innocent pill down on the desk and returned the PDR to the
  shelf. For a moment she was sorry she'd gone into Thomas's study and
  found the pill. It would have been easier to ignore the situation. After
  all, it was most likely a temporary problem, and if she said something
  to Thomas, he would only get angry.
  "You've got to do something," said Cassi, trying to build her -resolve.
  As ridiculous as it seemed, the only person who exerted any kind of
  authority over Thomas's life was Patricia. Although Cassi was reluctant
  to discuss the issue with anyone, at least she could expect Patricia to
  keep Thomas's best interests at heart. Briefly weighing the advantages
  and disadvantages, she decided to discuss the situation with her
  mother-in-law. If Thomas had been abusing Dexedrine for a long time,
  someone should intervene.
 112       Robin Cook

  The first thing she had to do, Cassi decided, was to make herself
  presentable. Pulling off her terry robe and her nightgown, she went to the
  shower.

               1:1

  Thomas enjoyed presenting cases at Grand Rounds. The entire departments of
  internal medicine and surgery attended, including residents and medical
  students. Today the MacPherson amphitheater was so full people had even
  been forced to sit on the steps leading up from the central pit. Thomas
  always drew a crowd even when, as today, he split the schedule with George.
  As Thomas finished his talk, which had been titled "Long-Term Follow-Up of
  Patients Undergoing Coronary Bypass," the entire amphitheater broke into
  enthusiastic applause. The sheer volume of Thomas's work was enough to
  impress anyone, and given his good results, the statistics seemed
  superhuman.
  When he opened up the floor for questions, someone from the upper tier
  yelled out that he'd like to know what kind of diet Thomas ate that gave
  him so much energy. The audience laughed heartily, eager for a morsel of
  humor.
  When the laughter died down, Thomas concluded by saying: "I believe from
  the statistics I've presented there can no longer be any residual doubt as
  to the efficacy of the coronary bypass procedure."
  He gathered his papers and took a chair at the table behind the podium next
  to Dr. George Sherman.
  The topic of George's presentation was "An Interesting Teaching Case."
  Thomas inwardly groaned and glanced longingly at the exit. Ile had a
  splitting headache that had gotten progressively more intense after his
  arrival at the hospital. What a ridiculous topic, Thomas thought. He
  watched
             GODPLAYER         113

 with mounting irritation as George made his way over to the podium and
 blew into the microphone to make sure it was on. As if that weren't
 enough, he tapped it with his ring. Satisfied, he began to speak.
  The case was a twenty-eight-year-old man by the name of jeoffry
  Washington who'd contracted acute rheumatic fever at age ten. He'd been
  a sick child at the time and hospitalized for an extended period. When
  the acute disease had run its course, the child had been left with a loud
  holosystolic heart murmur, indicating his mitral valve had been severely
  damaged. Over the years the problem gradually worsened to the point that
  an operation was needed to replace the damaged valve.
  At that point Jeoffry Washington was wheeled in and presented to the
  audience. He was a slight, callowappearing Negro with angular, precise
  features, bright eyes, and skin the color of blond oak. He held his head
  back and stared up into the multitude of faces that were looking down at
  him.
  As jeoffry was wheeled back out, Thomas's and jeoffry's eyes happened to
  meet. Jeoffry nodded and smiled. Thomas returned the gesture. Thomas
  couldn't help feeling sorry for the young man. Yet as tragic as his story
  was it was also quite common. Thomas had personally operated on hundreds
  of patients with simflar histories.
  With jeoffty gone, George returned to the podium. "Mr. Washington has
  been scheduled to have a mitral valve replacement, but during the work-up
  an interesting fact was uncovered. Mr. Washington had an episode of
  pneumocystic carini pneumonia one year ago."
 An excited murmur rippled through the audience.
  "I suppose," called George over the babble of voices, C6that it is not
  necessary to remind you that such an illness suggested AIDS, or Acquired
  Immune Deficiency Syndrome, which was indeed found in this patient.
 114       Robin Cook

 As it turns out, Jeoffry Washington's sexual preferences have placed him in
 that group of homosexual men whose life-style has apparently led to
 immuno-suppression."
  Thomas now knew what George had meant by his comment in the surgical lounge
  the previous afternoon. He closed his eyes and tried to control his rising
  anger. Obviously Jeoffry Washington was an example of the kind of case that
  was taking OR slots and cardiac surgical beds away from Thomas's patients.
  Thomas was not alone in his reservations concerning operating on Jeoffry.
  One of the internists raised his hand and George recognized him. "I would
  seriously question the rationale for elective heart surgery in light of the
  patient's having AIDS," said the internist.
  "That's a good point," said George. "I can say that Mr. Washington's
  immunological picture is not grossly abnormal at present. He's scheduled
  for surgery next week, but we will be following his helper T-cell and
  cytotoxic T-cell populations for any sudden decline. Dr. Sorenson of the
  department of immunology does not think the AIDS is an absolute
  contraindication for surgery at this time."
  A number of hands popped up in the audience, and George began to call on
  them. The animated discussion took the conference over its normal time, and
  even after it was officially over, groups of people stood in clumps to
  continue talking.
  Thomas tried to leave immediately, but Ballantine had gotten up and blocked
  his way. "Good conference," he beamed.
  Thomas nodded. All he wanted to do was get away. His head felt as if it
  were in a vise.
  George Sherman came up behind Thomas and clapped him on the back. "You and
  I really entertained them this morning. We should have charged admission."
 Thomas slowly turned to face George's smiling,
            GODPLAYER          115

 self-satisfied face. "To tell you the honest truth, I think the conference
 was a goddamn farce."
  There was an uncomfortable silence as the two men eyed one another in the
  midst of the crowd.
  "Okay," said George at length. "I suppose you are entitled to your
  opinion."
  "Tell me. Is this poor fellow, Jeoffry Washington, whom you paraded out
  here like some freak, occupying a cardiac surgical bed?"
  "Of course," said George, his own ire rising. "Where do you think he'd
  be, in the cafeteria?"
 "All right, you two," said Ballantine.
  "I'll tell you where he should be," snapped Thomas while he jabbed George
  in the chest with his index finger. "He should be on the medical floor
  in case something can be done about his immunological problem. Having
  already had pneumocystic carini pneumonia there's a good chance he'll be
  dead before he ever gets into a life-threatening cardiac state."
  George knocked Thomas's hand aside. "As I said, you're entitled to your
  opinion. I happen to think Mr. Jeoffry Washington is a good teaching
  case."
  "Good teaching case," scoffed Thomas. "The man is medically ill. He
  should not be taking up a scarce cardiac surgical bed. The bed is needed
  for others. Can't you understand that? It's for this kind of nonsense
  that I have to keep my patients waiting, patients with no medical
  problems, patients who will be making real contributions to society."
  George again knocked Thomas's hand away. "Don't touch me like that," he
  snapped.
 "Gentlemen," said Ballantine, stepping between them.
  "I'm not sure Thomas knows what the word means," said George.
  "Listen, you little shithead," snarled Thomas, reaching around Ballantine
  and grabbing a handful of George's
 116       Robin Cook

 shirt. "You're making a mockery of our program with the cases you're
 dredging up just to keep the so-called teaching schedule full."
  "You'd better let go of my shirt," warned George, his face suffused with
  color.
  "Enough," shouted Ballantine, pulling Thomas's hand away.
  "Our job is to save lives," said George through gritted teeth, "not make
  judgments about who is more worthy. That's up to God to decide."
  "That's just it," said Thomas. "You're so stupid you don't even realize
  that you are making judgments about who should live. The trouble is your
  judgment stinks. Every time you deny me OR space another potentially
  healthy patient is condemned to death."
 Thomas spun on his heels and strode from the room.
  George took a deep breath, then adjusted his disheveled shirt.
 "God! Kingsley is such a prig."
  "He is arrogant," agreed Ballantine. "But he is such a damn good surgeon.
  Are you all right?"
  "I'm fine," said George. "I must admit I came close to slugging him. You
  know, I think he's going to be trouble. I hope he doesn't get suspicious."
 "In that sense his arrogance will be a help."
  "We've been lucky. By the way, have you ever noticed Thomas's tremor?"
 "No," said Ballantine with surprise. "What tremor?"
  "It's on and off," said George. "I've noticed it for about a month, mainly
  because he was always so steady. I even noticed it today when he was doing
  his presentation. "
 "Lots of people are nervous in front of groups.
  "Yeah," said George, "but it was the same as when I was talking to him
  about the Wilkinson death."
 "I'd rather not talk about Wilkinson," said Ballantine,
            GODPLAYER          117

 glancing around at the slowly emptying amphitheater. He smiled at an
 acquaintance. "Thomas is probably just tense. "
  "Maybe," said George, not convinced. "I still think he's going to be
  trouble."

                0

  Cassi dressed for her visit to Patricia as if it were the first time they
  were to meet. With great care she chose a dark blue wool skirt with a
  matching jacket to go over one of her high-necked white blouses. just as
  she was about to leave, she noticed the atrocious state of her nails and
  thankfully postponed the visit while she removed her old polish and
  applied a new coat. When that was dry, she decided she didn't like her
  hair, so she took it down and put it back up again.
  Finally having run out of reasons to delay, she crossed the courtyard
  between the house and the garage. It was freezing out. Ringing Patricia's
  bell, Cassi could see her breath in the crisp air. There was no answer.
  Standing on tiptoes, she looked through a small window in the door, but
  all she could see was a flight of stairs. She tried the bell again, and
  this time saw her mother-in-law slowly descend the stairs and peer out
  through the glass. "What is it, Cassandra?" she called.
  Nonplussed that Patricia didn't open the door, Cassi was silent for a
  minute. Under the circumstances she didn't feel like shouting her reason
  for visiting. Finally she said: "I want to talk to you about Thomas."
  Even with that explanation there was a long enough pause for Cassi to
  wonder if Patricia had heard her. Then several bolts snapped aside and
  the door opened. For a moment the two women eyed each other.
 "Yes," said Patricia finally.
  "I'm sorry to bother you," began Cassi. She let her sentence trail off.
 118       Robin Cook

 "You're not bothering me," said Patricia.
 "Could I come in?" asked Cassi.
  "I suppose," said Patricia, starting up the stairs. "Be sure and close the
  door."
  Cassi was glad to close the door on the cold, damp morning. Then she
  climbed after Patricia and found herself in a small apartment sumptuously
  furnished in Victorian red velvet and white lace.
 "This room is beautiful," said Cassi.
  "Thank vou," said Patricia. "Thomas's favorite color is red."
  11 Oh?" said Cassi, who had always thought Thomas partial to blue.
  "I spend a lot of time here," said Patricia. "I wanted it comfortable and
  warm."
  "It is that," admitted Cassi, seeing for the first time a rocking horse, a
  kiddy car, and other toys.
  Patricia, as if following Cassi's glance, explained: "Those are some of
  Thomas's old toys. I think they're rather decorative, don't you?"
  "I do," said Cassi. She thought the toys did have a certain appeal but
  looked a little out of place in the lavish setting.
 "How about some tea?" suggested Patricia.
  Suddenly Cassi realized that Patricia was as uncomfortable as she was.
  "Tea would be very nice," said Cassi, feeling more at ease herself.
  Patricia's kitchen was utilitarian, with white metal cabinets, an old
  refrigerator, and a small gas stove. Patricia put on the kettle and got out
  her china. From the top of the refrigerator she produced a wooden tray.
 "Milk or lemon?" asked Patricia.
 "Milk," said Cassi.
  Watching her mother-in-law search for a creamer, Cassi realized how few
  visitors the older woman saw.
            GODPLAYER          119

 With a touch of guilt Cassi wondered why they hadn't become better
 friends. She tried to bring up Thomas's problem, but the rift that had
 always existed between them silenced her. It wasn't until they'd seated
 themselves in the living room with full teacups that Cassi finally got the
 courage to begin. "The reason I came over here this morning was to talk
 to you about Thomas."
  "That's what you said," replied Patricia pleasantly. The old woman had
  warmed considerably and seemed to be enjoying the visit.
  Cassi sighed and put her teacup down on the coffee table. "I'm concerned
  about Thomas. I think he is pushing himself too hard and . . ."
  "He's been that way since he was a toddler," interrupted Patricia. "That
  boy was a hyperactive high achiever from the day he was born. And I tell
  you it was a twenty-four-hour-a-day job keeping him in line. Even before
  he could walk he was his own boss, and I had a devil of a time
  disciplining him. In fact from the day I brought him home from the
  hospital . . ."
  Listening to Patricia's stories, Cassi realized exactly how central
  Thomas still was to the older woman's world. It finally made sense to her
  why Patricia insisted on living where she (lid, even though it was so
  isolated. Watching her mother-in-law pause to sip her tea, Cassi noted
  how strongly Thomas resembled Patricia. Her face was thinner and more
  delicate, but there was the same aristocratic angularity,
  Cassi smiled. When Patricia put her cup back down, Cassi said, "Sounds
  like Thomas hasn't changed much."
  "I don't think he's changed at all," said Patricia. Then with a laugh she
  added, "He's been the same boy all his life. He's needed a lot of
  attention."
  "What I was hoping," said Cassi, "is that you might help Thomas now."
 "Oh?" said Patricia.
 120        Robin Cook

  Cassi could see the newly gained intimacy rapidly revert to the old
  suspiciousness, But she forged on. "Thomas listens to vou and
  "Of course he listens to me. I'm his mother. What exactly are you leading
  up to, Cassandra?"
  "I have reason to suspect that Thomas may be taking drugs," said Cassi.
  It was a relief to finally get it out. "I've suspected it for a few
  months but hoped the problem would just go away."
  Patricia's blue eyes became cold, "Thomas has never taken drugs," she
  said.
  "Patricia, please understand me. I'm not just criticizing. I'm worried,
  and I think you might be able to help. He does what you tell him to do."
  "If Thomas needs my help, then he should come and ask for it himself.
  After all, he chose you over me. " Patricia stood up. As far as she was
  concerned, the little t&e-A-t~te was over.
  So that was it. Patricia was still jealous that her little boy had grown
  up enough to take a wife.
  "Thomas didn't choose me over you, Patricia," said Cassi evenly. "He was
  looking for a different relationship. "
  "If it is such a different relationship, where are the children?"
  Cassi could feel her strength of will drain away. The whole issue of
  children was a sensitive and emotional one for her, since juvenile
  diabetics were cautioned against the risk of pregnancy. She looked down
  at her tea, realizing she never should have tried speaking to her
  mother-in-law.
  "There won't be any children," said Patricia, answering her own question.
  "And I know why not. Because of your illness. You know it's a tragedy for
  Thomas to be childless. And he tells me you've been sleeping apart
  lately, "
             GODPLAYER         121

  Cassi lifted her head, shocked that he would reveal such intimate
  matters. "I know Thomas and I have our problems," she said. "But that's
  not the issue. I'm afraid he is taking a drug called Dexedrine and that
  he has probably been taking it for some time. Even though he does it just
  to work harder, it can be dangerous both to him and his patients."
  "Are you accusing my son of being an addict?" snapped Patricia.
 "No," said Cassi, unable to explain further.
  "Well, I should hope not," said Patricia. "Lots of people take a pill now
  and then. And for Thomas it is understandable. After all, he's been
  driven from his own bed. I think your relationship is the real problem."
  Cassi didn't have the strength to fight back. She sat silently wondering
  if Patricia was right,
  "Furthen-nore I think you should go," said Patricia, reaching across and
  taking Cassi's cup.
  Without another word Cassi got up, descended the stairs, and let herself
  out.
  Patricia collected the teacups and carried them into the kitchen. She had
  tried to tell Thomas that marrying that girl was a mistake. If only he
  had listened.
  Back in the living room Patricia sat down at the telephone and called
  Thomas's exchange. She left a message for him to call his mother as soon
  as possible.

               F1

  Thomas's patients were inconveniently sprinkled on all three surgical
  floors. After Grand Rounds he'd taken the elevator to the eighteenth to
  work his way down. Normally on Saturdays, he liked to make rounds before
  the conference and before visiting hours. But today he'd arrived at the
  hospital late and consequently lost a lot of time reassuring nervous
  families. They would follow
 122        Robin Cook

 him out of the room and stand asking questions in the hall until in
 desperation he cut them off to examine his next patient only to be further
 delayed by that person s relatives.
  It was a relief to reach the ICU where visitors were rarely allowed. As he
  pushed through the door he allowed himself to think about the regrettable
  episode with George Sherman. As understandable as his reaction was, Thomas
  was surprised and disappointed in himself.
  In the ICU, Thomas checked on the three patients he'd operated on the day
  before. All were fine. They'd been extubated and had taken something by
  mouth. EKGs, blood pressures, and all other vital signs were stable and
  normal. Mr. Campbell had had a few brief episodes of an irregular cardiac
  rhythm but that had been controlled when an astute resident found some
  unrelieved gastric dilation. Thomas got the fellow's name. He wanted to
  compliment him next time he had the opportunity.
  Thomas walked over to Mr. Campbell's bed. The man smiled weakly. Then he
  started to speak.
  Thomas bent over. "What did you say, Mr. Campbell?"
 "I have to urinate," said Mr. Campbell softly.
 "You have a catheter in your bladder," said Thomas.
 "I still have to urinate," said Mr. Campbell.
  Thomas gave up. He'd let the nursing staff argue with Mr. Campbell.
  As he turned to leave, he glanced at the sorry case in the bed next to Mr.
  Campbell. It was one of Ballantine's disasters. The patient had embolized
  air to the brain during the operation and now was no more than a living
  vegetable totally dependent on a breathing machine, but with the quality of
  the nursing care at the Memorial, he could be expected to live
  indefinitely.
            GODPLAYER          123

  Thomas felt an arm on his shoulder. He turned and was surprised to find
  George Sherman.
  "Thomas," began George. "I think it is healthy that we have disagreements
  if only because it might force us to examine our own positions. But it
  upsets me to think there has to be animosity."
  "I was embarrassed at my own behavior," said Thomas. That was as close
  as he could come to an apology.
  "I got a bit hot under the collar myself," admitted George. He let his
  eyes leave Thomas's face, noticing which bed Thomas had stopped at. "Poor
  Mr. Harwick. Talk about a shortage of beds. Here's another one we could
  use."
 Thomas smiled in spite of himself.
  "Trouble is," added George, "Mr. Harwick is going to be here for a long
  time unless .
 "Unless what?" asked Thomas.
 "Unless we pull the plug, as they say," George smiled.
  Thomas tried to leave, but George gently restrained him.
  Thomas wondered why the man felt obligated to touch him all the time.
  "Tell me," asked George. "Would you have the courage to pull the plug?"
  "Not unless I talked with Rodney Stoddard first," said Thomas
  sarcastically. "What about you, George? You seem willing to do most
  anything to get more beds."
  George laughed and withdrew his arm. "We all have our secrets, don't we?
  I never expected you to say that you'd talk to Rodney. That's a good
  one." George gave Thomas another of his little taps and walked away,
  waving good-bye to the ICU nurses.
  Thomas watched him, then glanced back at the patient, thinking over
  George's comments. From time to time a brain-dead patient was taken off
  his life support system, but neither doctors nor nurses acknowledged the
  fact.
 124       Robin Cook

 "Dr. Kingsley?"
 Thomas turned to face one of the ICU clerks.
 "Your service is on the line."
  Giving Ballantine's patient one last glance, Thomas walked over to the
  central desk wondering how he could get Ballantine to refer his difficult
  cases. Thomas was confident these "unanticipated" and "unavoidable"
  tragedies would not happen if he did the surgery.
  Thomas answered the phone with undisguised irritation. Invariably when
  the answering service looked for him it meant bad news. This time,
  however, the operator just said that he should call his mother as soon
  as he could.
  Perplexed, Thomas made the call. His mother never called him during the
  day unless it was something important.
 "Sorry to bother you, dear," said Patricia.
 "What is it?" asked Thomas.
 "It's about your wife."
  There was a pause. Thomas could feel his patience evaporating.
 "Mother, I happen to be rather busy."
 "Your wife paid me a visit this morning."
  For a fleeting moment Thomas thought that Cassi might have mentioned his
  impotence. Then he realized that was absurd. But his mother's next
  statement was even more alarming.
  "She was suggesting you were some kind of addict. Dexedrine, I think she
  said."
 Thomas was so angry he could barely speak.
 "Wha-what else did she say?" he finally stammered.
  "I think that's rather enough, don't you? She said you were abusing
  drugs. I warned you about this girl, but you wouldn't listen to me. Oh,
  no. You knew better. . . "
  "I'll have to talk to you tonight," said Thomas, disconnecting the line
  with his index finger.
             GODPLAYER         125

  Still gripping the receiver, Thomas struggled to control his rage. Of
  course he took a pill now and then. Everybody did. How dared Cassi betray
  him by making a big deal of the fact to his mother? Abusing drugs! My God,
  an occasional pill didn't mean he was an addict.
  Impulsively Thomas dialed Doris at home. She answered on the third ring out
  of breath.
 "How about a little company?" asked Thomas.
 "When?" asked Doris enthusiastically.
 "In a few minutes. I'm at the hospital."
  "I'd love it," said Doris. "I'm glad you caught me. I was just on my way
  upstairs."
  Thomas hung up. He felt a twinge of fear. What if the same thing happened
  with Doris as happened last night with Cassi? Knowing it was better not to
  think about it, Thomas hurried through the rest of his rounds.
  Doris lived only a couple of blocks from the hospital on Bay State Road. As
  Thomas walked to her apartment, he could not stop thinking about what Cassi
  had done. Why would she want to provoke him like that? It didn't make
  sense. Did she really think he wouldn't find out? Maybe she was trying to
  get back at him in some illogical way. Thomas sighed. Being married to
  Cassi had not been the dream he'd envisioned. He'd thought she was going to
  be such an asset. So many people had swooned over her that he'd been
  convinced she was something special. Even George had been crazy for her,
  wanting to marry her after a handful of dates.
  Doris's voice mixed with static greeted him over the intercom when he
  pushed her bell. He started up the stairs and heard her door open.
  "What a nice surprise," she called as he rounded the first landing. She was
  dressed in a skimpy jogging outfit of shorts and a T-shirt that barely
  covered her navel. Her hair was loose and seemed incredibly thick and
  shiny.
 126       Robin Cook

  As she led him inside and closed the door, Thomas glanced around the
  apartment. He hadn't been there for months, but not much had changed. The
  living room was tiny, with a single couch facing a small fireplace. At the
  end of the room was a bay window that overlooked the street. On the coffee
  table were a decanter and two glasses. Doris walked up to Thomas and leaned
  against him. "Did you want to dictate a little?" she teased, running her
  hands down his back. Thomas's fears about his potency quickly vanished.
  "It's not too early for a little fun, is it?" asked Doris, pressing herself
  against Thomas and sensing his arousal.
  "God, no," said Thomas, pulling her down onto the couch and yanking off her
  clothes in an ecstasy of excitement and relief at his own response. As he
  plunged into her he comforted himself that the problem that he'd
  experienced the night before was Cassi's, not his. It never occurred to him
  that he had yet to take a Percodan that day.

               El

  The nurses in the surgical intensive care unit knew that problems,
  particularly serious problems, had an uncanny way of propagating
  themselves. The night had beguri badly with the eleven-thirty arrest of an
  eleven-yearold girl w~o'd been operated on that day for a ruptured spleen.
  Luckily things had worked out well, and the child's heart had begun beating
  again almost immediately. The nurses had been amazed at the number of
  doctors who had responded to the code. For a time there had been so many
  doctors that they'd been falling over each other.
  "I wonder why there are so many attendings in the house?" asked Andrea
  Bryant, the night supervisor. "It's the first time I've seen Dr. Sherman
  here on a Saturday night since he was a resident."
            GODPLAYER          127

  "Must be a lot of emergency cases in the OR," said the other RN, Trudy
  Bodanowitz.
  "That can't be it," said Andrea. "I spoke to the night supervisor there
  and she said that there were only two: an emergency cardiac case and a
  fractured hip."
  "Beats me," said Trudy, looking at her watch. It was just after midnight.
  "Do you want to take first break tonight?"
  The girls were sitting at the central desk finishing the paperwork
  engendered by the arrest. Neither was assigned to specific patients but
  rather manned the central station and performed the necessary
  administrative functions.
  "I'm not sure either of us is going to get a break," said Andrea, looking
  around the large U-shaped desk. "This place is a iness. There's nothing
  like having an arrest right after shift change to spoil routine."
  The nurses' station in the ICU rivaled the flight deck of a Boeing 747
  for complicated electronic equipment. Facing the women were banks of TV
  screens giving constant readouts on all the patients in the unit. Most
  were set within certain limits so that alarms would go off if the values
  strayed too far from normal. While the women were speaking, one of the
  EKG tracings was changing. As crucial minutes passed, the previously
  regular tracing began to look more and more erratic. Finally, the alarm
  went off.
  "Oh shit," said Trudy as she looked up at the beeping oscilloscope
  screen. She stood up and gave the unit a slap with her hand, hoping that
  an electrical malfunction was the cause of the alarm. She saw the
  abnormal EKG pattern and switched to another lead, still hoping the
  problem was mechanical.
  "Who is it?" asked Andrea, checking for any evidence of frantic
  activities on the part of the nursing staff.
 "Harwick," said Trudy.
 128       Robin Cook

  Andrea's gaze quickly switched over to the bed of Dr. Ballantine's OR
  disaster. There was no nurse in attendance, which was not unusual. Mr.
  Harwick had been exceptionally stable over the last weeks.
  "Call the surgical resident," said Trudy. Mr. Harwick's EKG was
  deteriorating even as Trudy watched. "Look at this, he's going to arrest."
  She pointed to the screen where Mr. Harwick's EKG was showing typical
  changes before it either stopped or degenerated to ventricular
  fibrillation.
 "Should I call a code?" asked Andrea.
 The two women looked at each other.
 "Dr. Ballantine specifically said 'no code,' " said Trudy.
 "I know," said Andrea.
  "It always gives me an awful feeling," said Trudy, looking back at the EKG.
  "I wish they wouldn't put us in this position. It's not fair."
  While Trudy watched, the EKG line flattened out with just an occasional
  blip. Mr. Harwick had died.
  "Call the resident," said Trudy angrily. She walked around the end of the
  ICU desk and approached Mr. Harwick's bed. The respirator was still
  inflating and deflating his lungs, giving him the appearance of life.
  "Certainly doesn't make you excited about having surgery," said Andrea,
  hanging up the phone.
  "I wonder what went wrong. He was so stable," said Trudy.
  Trudy reached out and flipped off the respirator. The hissing sound
  stopped. Mr. Harwick's chest fell and was still.
  Andrea reached over and turned off the IV. "It's probably just as well. Now
  the family can adjust and then go on with their lives."
           CHAPTER
               5

 Two wF-EKs HAD PAssED since Thomas learned of Cassi's visit to his mother.
 VVhile they had only fought briefly, the tension had been unbearable. Even
 Thomas had noted his increased dependency on Percodan, but he had to take
 something to allay his anxiety.
  As he ran down the hall late for the monthly death conference, he felt his
  pulse race.
  The meeting had already begun, and the chief surgical resident was
  presenting the first case, a trauma victim who had expired shortly after
  admission to the ER. The resident and intern had failed to notice waming
  signs that the sac covering the heart had been damaged and was filling with
  blood. Since no attending had been involved, the doctors happily raked the
  house staff over the coals.
  If the case had belonged to one of the private staff men, the discussion
  would have progressed very differently. The same points would have been
  made, but the physician would have been reassured that the diagnosis of
  hemopericardium was difficult and he'd done the best he could.
  Thomas had realized early in the game that the monthly death conference
  served more to relieve guilt than to punish, unless the offender was a
  resident. Lay

               129
 130        Robin Cook

 people might have thought the death conference served as a kind of watchdog,
 but unfortunately such was not the case, as Thomas cynically observed. And
 the next case proved his point.
  Dr. Ballantine was mounting the podium to present Herbert Harwick. When he
  finished, an obese pathology resident quickly, ran down the results of the
  autopsy, including slides of the individual's brain, of which little
  remained.
  Mr. Harwick's death was then discussed but with no mention that his trauma
  in the OR was the possible result of Dr. Ballantine's inept surgery. The
  general feeling among the attendings was, "There but for the grace of God
  go I," which was true to an extent. What made Thomas sick was that no one
  remembered that six months previously Ballantine had presented a similar
  case. Air embolism was a feared complication that at times occurred no
  matter what one did, but the fact that it occurred so often and at an
  increasing frequency to Ballantine was always ignored.
  Equally amazing, as far as Thomas was concerned, was that nothing was said
  about Harwick's actual death in the ICU. As far as Thomas knew, the patient
  had been stable for an extended period of time before the sudden arrest.
  Thomas looked at the members of the audience and puzzled why they remained
  silent. It reconfirmed for him that bureaucracy and its committee method of
  dealing with problems was no way to run an organization.
  "If there's no further discussion," said Ballantine, "I think we should
  move on to the next case. Unfortunately I'm still in the dock." He smiled
  thinly. "The patient's name is Bruce Wilkinson. He is a forty-two-yearold
  white male who had suffered a heart attack and who had shown focally
  compromised coronary circulation,
            GODPLAYER          131

 suggesting he was a good candidate for a triple bypass procedure. "
  Thomas straightened up in his chair. He remembered Wilkinson very
  clearly, particularly the night he'd attempted to resuscitate him. He
  could still see the surrealistic scene in his mind's eye.
  Ballantine droned on, presenting the case with much too much detail. The
  chin of the surgeon sitting next to Thomas slumped onto his chest and his
  deep, regular breathing could be heard as far away as the podium. Finally
  Ballantine got to the end and said, "Mr. Wilkinson did extremely well
  postoperatively until the night of the fourth postoperative day. At that
  time he died."
  Ballantine looked up from his papers, His face, in contrast to its
  expression when they were discussing the previous case, had assumed a
  defiant expression as if to say, "Try to find a mistake here."
  A slight, well-dressed pathology resident got up from the first row and
  stepped behind the podium. He adjusted the small microphone nervously and
  bent over, thinking he had to speak directly into it. A high-pitched,
  irritating electronic sound resulted, and he backed away with apology.
  Thomas recognized the man. It was Robert Seibert, Cassi's friend.
  As soon as Robert began his presentation of the pathology, all evidence
  of his nervousness disappeared. He was a good speaker, especially when
  compared with Ballantine, and he had organized his material so that only
  the significant points were mentioned. He showed a series of slides and
  pointed out that, although the patient had been described as having been
  deeply and grossly cyanotic at the time of death, there was no airway
  obstruction. He next presented a photomicrograph that showed that there
  was no alveolar problem in the lungs. Another series of slides showed
  there were no
 132        Robin Cook

 pulmonary emboli. Another series of photomicrographs was presented that
 showed there was no evidence that there had been a rise in left or right
 atrial pressure prior to death. The final series of pictures indicated that
 the bypasses were skillfully sutured in place and that there was no sign of
 recent myocardial infarction or heart attack.
 The lights came back on.
  "All this shows . . ." said Robert, pausing as if for effect, "that there
  was no cause of death in this case."
  The audience responded with surprise. Such a statement was completely
  unexpected. There were even a few laughs as well as a comment from one of
  the orthopedic men who asked if this had been one of those cases that had
  awakened in the morgue. That inspired more laughter. Robert smiled.
  "Must have been a stroke," said someone behind Thomas.
  "That is a good suggestion," said Robert. "A stroke that shut down the
  breathing while the heart pumped the unoxygenated blood. That would cause
  deep cyanosis. But that would mean a brain-stem lesion. We went over the
  brain millimeter by millimeter and found nothing."
 The audience was now silent.
  Robert waited for more comments, but there were none. Then he leaned
  forward and spoke into the microphone: "With permission I'd like to present
  another slide."
 Cleverly he'd caught the imagination of the gathering.
 Thomas had an idea of what was coming.
  Robert switched ciff the lights, then switched on the projector. The slide
  showed a compilation of seventeen cases, containing comparable data on age,
  sex, and points of medical history.
  "I've been interested in cases such as Mr. Wilkinson for some time," said
  Robert. "This slide is to show that
            GODPLAYER          133

 his is not an isolated case. I have found four similar cases myself over the
 last year and a half. When I went back in the files, I found thirteen
 others. If you'll notice, they have all had cardiac surgery. In each
 circumstance, no specific cause of death was found. I've labeled this
 syndrome sudden surgical death, or SSD."
 The lights came back on.
  Ballantine's face had turned bright red. "What do you think you are doing?"
  he spat at Robert.
  Under different circumstances Thomas might have felt sorry for Robert. His
  unexpected presentation did not fit within the rather narrow protocol for
  a death conference.
  Glancing around the room, Thomas saw many angry faces. It was an old story.
  Doctors did not like to have their expertise questioned. And they were
  reluctant to police their own.
  "This is a death conference, not a Grand Rounds," Ballantine was saying.
  "We're not here for a lecture."
  "In discussing the case of Mr. Wilkinson, I thought it would be
  enlightening . . ."
  "You thought," repeated Dr. Ballantine sarcastically. "Well, for your
  information you're here as a consult. Did you have something specific to
  say when you presented this list of supposed sudden surgical deaths?"
 "No," admitted Robert.
  Although Thomas preferred to stay silent at such meetings, he had to ask a
  question: "Excuse me, Robert," he called. "Did all the seventeen cases have
  deep cyanosis?"
  Robert could not have been more eager to field a question from the
  audience. "No," he said into the microphone. "Only five of the cases."
  "That means that the physiologic cause of death was not the same in all
  these cases."
 134        Robin Cook

  "That's true," said Robert. "Six had convulsions prior to death. "
  "That was probably air embolism," said another surgeon.
  "I don't think so," said Robert. "First of all, the convulsions occurred
  three or more days after surgery. It would be hard to explain that kind of
  delay. Also when the brains were autopsied, no air was found."
 "Could have been absorbed," said someone else.
  "If there had been enough air to cause sudden convulsions and death," said
  Robert, "then there should have been enough to see."
  "What about the surgeons?" called the man behind Thomas. "Were any more
  heavily represented than others?"
  "Eight of the cases," said Robert, "belonged to Dr. George Sherman."
  A buzz of conversation broke out in the back of the room. George rose
  furiously to his feet as Ballantine nudged Robert from the podium.
 "If there are no further comments . said Ballantine.
  George spoke out: "I think Dr. Kingsley's comment was particularly cogent.
  By pointing out that there were different mechanisms of death in these
  cases, he indicated that there was no reason to try and relate the cases."
  George looked over at Thomas.
  "Exactly," said Thomas. He would have preferred to let George sink or swim
  on his own, but he felt obligated to respond. "It occurred to me that
  Robert had correlated the cases because of some similarity he saw in their
  deaths, but that didn't seem to be the case."
  "The basis of the correlation," said Robert, "was that the deaths,
  particularly over the last several years, occurred when the patients were
  apparently doing well, and there was no anatomic or physiologic cause."
             GODPLAYER         135

  "Correction," said George. "No cause was found by the department of
  pathology."
 "It's the same thing," said Robert.
  "Not quite," said George. "Maybe another pathology department would have
  found the causes. I think it's more of a reflection on you and your
  colleagues than anything else. And intimating that there is something
  irregular about a series of operative tragedies on such a basis is
  irresponsible."
  "Hear, hear," shouted an orthopedic surgeon who began to clap. Robert
  quickly stepped down from the podium. There was an air of tension in the
  room.
  "The next death conference will be one month from today, January seventh,"
  said Ballantine, switching off the microphone and gathering his papers. He
  walked off the stage and over to Thomas.
  "You seemed to know that kid," he said. "Who the hell is he?"
  "His name is Robert Seibert," said Thomas. "He's a second-year pathology
  resident."
  "I'm going to have the kid's balls in Formalin. Who does the little turd
  think he is, coming up here and putting himself up as our Socratic gadfly?"
  Over Ballantine's shoulder, Thomas could see George making his way over to
  them. He was just as provoked as Ballantine.
  "I got his name," said George menacingly, as if he were revealing a secret.
  "We already know it," said Ballantine. "He's only in his second year."
  "Wonderful," said George. "Not only do we have to put up with philosophers,
  but also smart-ass pathology residents. "
  "I heard there was a death this month in one of the cath rooms in
  radiology," said Thomas. "How come it wasn't presented?"
 136        Robin Cook

  "Oh, you mean Sam Stevens," said George nervously, watching Robert leave
  the room. "Since the death occurred during the catheterization, the
  medical boys wanted to present it at their death conference."
  While Thomas watched Dr. Ballantine and George fume, he wondered what
  they'd say if he told them that Cassi had been involved with the
  so-called SSD study. For everyone's sake he hoped they wouldn't find out.
  He also hoped that Cassi had had sense enough not to continue her
  association with Robert. All it could do was cause trouble.

                El

  In a totally dark examination room, Cassi was lying flat on her back and
  could not have been more uncomfortable. She wasn't in pain but close to
  it as she was forced to keep her eye still while Dr. Martin Obermeyer,
  chief of ophthalmology, shined an intensely bright light into her left
  eye. Worse than the discomfort was her fear of what the doctor would say.
  Cassi knew she'd been less than responsible about her eye problem. Des-
  perately she hoped that Dr. Obermeyer would make some reassuring comment
  as he examined her. But he remained ominously quiet.
  Without so much as a word, he shifted the light into her good eye. The
  beam came from an apparatus that the doctor wore around his head, similar
  to a miner's light, but more intricate. Although the light seemed bright
  in her left eye, when it shifted to the good eye the intensity was so
  great it was difficult for Cassi to believe it did not cause damage in
  and of itself.
  "Please, Cassi," said Dr. Obermeyer, lifting the light beam and peering
  at her beneath the eyepieces of the instruments. "Please hold your eye
  still." He pressed down with a small metal stylus.
            GODPLAYER          137

  Irritative tears welled up, and Cassi could feel them spill over and run
  down the side of her face. She wondered how much longer she could stand
  it. Involuntarily she gripped the sheet covering the examining table.
  just at the moment she thought she could no longer remain still, the
  light disappeared, but even after Dr. Obermeyer turned on the overhead
  lights, she could not see well. The doctor was a blur to her as he sat
  down at his desk to write.
  It concerned her that he was being so reticent. Obviously he was annoyed
  at her.
 "Can I sit up?" asked Cassi hesitatingly.
  "I don't know why you ask my opinion," said Dr. Obermeyer, "when you
  don't follow any of my other suggestions." The ophthalmologist didn't
  bother turning around as he spoke.
  Cassi sat up and swung her legs over the side of the table. Her right eye
  was beginning to correct itself from the trauma of the bright light, but
  her vision remained blurry from the drops used to dilate her pupils. She
  watched Dr. Obermeyer's back for a moment, digesting his comment. She'd
  expected him to be annoyed that she'd canceled her last appointment, but
  she hadn't thought it would be this bad.
  Only after he finished writing and closed his chart did he turn back to
  C assi. He was sitting on a low stool with wheels, and he glided over to
  face her.
  Cassi's line of vision from her perch on the exam table was a good foot
  higher than the doctor's. She could see the shiny area on the top of his
  head where his hair was thinning. He wasn't the world's best-looking man,
  with his full, heavy features and a deep line in the middle of his
  forehead. Yet the whole package was not unattractive. His face exuded
  intelligence and sincerity, two qualities that Cassi found appealing.
 "I think I should be frank," he began. "There is no
 138       Robin Cook

 sign of the blood clearing from your left eye. In fact it appears as if
 there is new blood."
  Cassi tried not to betray her anxiousness. She nodded as if she were
  listening to a discussion of another patient.
  "I still cannot visualize the retina," said Dr. Oberineyer. "Consequently
  I do not know where the blood is coming from or if it is a treatable
  lesion."
 "But the ultrasound test . . ." began Cassi.
  "It proved that the retina is not detached, at least not yet, but it cannot
  show where the bleeding is coming from. "
 "Perhaps if we waited a little longer."
  "If it hasn't cleared by now, it's extremely unlikely that it will.
  Meanwhile we could lose the only chance we have to treat. Cassi, I've got
  to see the back of your eye. We must do a vitrectomy."
 Cassi glanced away. "It can't wait for a month or so?"
  "No," said Dr. Obermeyer. "Cassi, you have already gotten me to postpone
  this longer than I wanted to. Then you canceled your last appointment. I'm
  not sure you understand the stakes here."
  "I understand the stakes," said Cassi. "It's 'just not a good time."
  "It's never a good time for surgery," said Dr. Obermeyer, "except for the
  surgeon. Let me schedule this thing and get on with it."
 "I have to discuss it with Thomas," said Cassi.
  "What?" questioned Dr. Obermeyer with surprise. "You haven't told him about
  this?"
 "Oh yes," said Cassi quickly. "Just not the timing."
  "When can you discuss the timing with Thomas?" asked Dr. Obermeyer with
  resignation.
  "Soon. In fact tonight. I'll be back to you tomorrow, I promise." She slid
  off the table and steadied herself
  Cassi was relieved to escape from the ophthalmologist's office. Deep down
  she knew he was right; she should
            GODPLAYER          139

 have the vitrectomy. But telling Thomas was going to be difficult. Cassi
 stopped at the end of the corridor on the fifth floor of the Professional
 Building, the same building where Thomas had his office. She stared out a
 window at the early December cityscape with its leafless tree-lined streets
 and densely packed brick buildings.
  An ambulance was screaming down Commonwealth Avenue, its lights flashing.
  Cassi closed her right eye, and the scene vanished to mere light. In a
  panic she reopened her eye to let the world back in. She had to do
  something. She had to talk with Thomas despite the difficulties they'd had
  since her visit to Patricia.
  Cassi wished that Saturday two weeks previously had never taken place. If
  only Patricia had not called Thomas. But of course that had been too much
  to ask. Expecting Thomas to come home angry, Cassi was shocked when he
  didn't come home at all. At ten-thirty, Cassi had finally called Thomas's
  exchange. Only then did she learn that Thomas had an emergency operation.
  She left word for him to call and waited up until two, finally falling
  asleep with book in hand and light on. Thomas finally came home on Sunday
  afternoon and, instead of screaming at her, refused to talk to her at all.
  With deliberate calm he moved his clothes into the guest room next to his
  study.
  For Cassi the "silent treatment" was an unbearable strain. What little
  conversation they did have was just chatter. Dinner was the worst, and
  several times Cassi, pleading a headache, took a tray to her room.
  After a week, Thomas had finally exploded in a rage. The triggering event
  had been insignificant; Cassi had dropped a Waterford glass on the tiled
  kitchen floor. As Thomas rushed over to her and started yelling, he accused
  Cassi of being deceitful and maneuvering behind his back. How dare Cassi go
  to his mother and accuse him of drug abuse?
 140        Robin Cook

  "Of course I've taken an occasional pill," said Thomas, finally lowering
  his voice. "Either to help me sleep or keep me awake if I've been up all
  night. I dare you to name a single doctor who never took any of his own
  drugs!" He'd stabbed at her with his finger to make his point.
  Having taken an occasional Valium herself, Cassi was not about to
  contradict Thomas. Besides, intuition told her to be quiet and let Thomas
  vent his anger.
  In a more controlled tone Thomas asked her why in God's name had she gone
  to Patricia. Cassi, of all people, knew how much his mother nagged him
  without anyone giving her such a potentially frightening subject.
  Sensing that Thomas had yelled himself out, Cassi tried to explain. She
  said that having found the Dexedrine, she'd been scared and had
  mistakenly thought that Patricia would be the best person to help if
  Thomas did have a problem. "And I never said you were an addict."
  "My mother said you did," snapped Thomas. "Who am I to believe?" He threw
  up his arms in disgust.
  Cassi didn't answer although she was tempted to say that if Thomas didn't
  know the answer after forty-two years of living with Patricia, he was
  never going to. Instead, Cassi apologized for jumping to conclusions af-
  ter finding the Dexedrine and worse still for going to his mother.
  Tearfully she told him how much she loved him, silently acknowledging the
  fact she was more terrified of Thomas's leaving her than she was of his
  possible drug abuse. She wanted their relationship to return to normal.
  If the strain had started with her complaining about her diabetes, Cassi
  decided she would shield Thomas from any knowledge of her problems. But
  now her eye was forcing the issue. The arrival of another screaming
  ambulance brought Cassi to the present. As much as she did not want to
  upset Thomas, she knew
            GODPLAYER          141

 she had no choice. She could not go into the hospital and have an
 operation without telling him even if she somehow found the courage to do
 so. With terrible foreboding Cassi pushed the elevator button. She'd see
 Thomas now. Knowing herself, she was afraid that if she waited until they
 were at home that evening, she would not be able to broach the issue.
  Trying not to think anymore lest she change her mind, Cassi made her way
  down to Thomas's office and pushed open the door. Fortunately there were
  no patients in the waiting room. Doris looked up from her typewriter and,
  as usual, turned back to her work without so much as acknowledging
  Cassi's presence.
 "Is Thomas in?" asked Cassi.
  "Yes," said Doris without interrupting her typing. "He's with his last
  patient."
  Cassi sat on the rose-colored couch. She couldn't read because the
  blurring effect of the drops in her eye had not yet worn off. Since Doris
  didn't look at Cassi, Cassi did not feel uncomfortable watching her. She
  noticed that the nurse had changed her hairstyle. Cassi thought that
  Doris looked better without the severity of her usual bun.
  Presently a patient emerged from the interior of the office. Brimming
  with good cheer, he smiled at Doris. "I feel terrific," he said. "The
  doctor told me that I'm completely better. I can do whatever I like."
  Pulling on his coat, he said to Cassi, "Dr. Kingsley's the greatest.
  Don't worry about a thing, young lady." Turning to Doris he thanked her,
  blew her a kiss, and left.
  Cassi sighed as she got up. She knew Thomas was a great doctor. She
  wished she could elicit the kind of compassion that she believed he gave
  to his patients.
  Thomas was dictating when Cassi stepped into his office. "Thank you
  again, comma, Michael, comma,
 142        Robin Cook

 for this interesting case, comma, and if I can be of any further assistance
 in his management, comma, do not hesitate to call. Period. Sincerely yours,
 end dictation."
  Clicking off the machine, Thomas swung around in his chair. f le regarded
  Cassi with calculated indifference.
  "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked.
  "I've just come from the ophthalmologist," said Cassi, trying to control
  her voice.
 "That's nice," said Thomas.
 "I have to talk to you."
  "It had better be short," said Thomas, glancing at his watch. "I've got a
  patient in cardiogenic shock that I've got to see. "
  Cassi could feel her courage falter. She needed some sign that Thomas would
  not become irritated if she once again brought up her illness. But Thomas's
  posture just suggested an aggressive nonchalance. It was as if he were
  daring her to cross some arbitrary line.
 "Well?" asked Thomas.
  "He had to dilate my pupils," said Cassi, skirting the issue. "There's been
  some deterioration. I wondered if we could go home a little earlier."
  "I'm afraid not," said Thomas, standing up. "I'm pretty sure the patient
  I'm seeing will need emergency surgery." He slipped off his white jacket
  and hung it on the hook on the door leading to the examining room. "In
  fact, I may have to spend the night here in the hospital. "
  He said nothing about her eye. Cassi knew she had to bring up her own
  surgery, but she couldn't. Instead she said, "You spent last night in the
  hospital. Thomas, you're pushing yourself too hard. You need more rest."
  "Some of us have to work," said Thomas. "We can't all be in psychiatry." He
  pulled on his suit jacket, then
            GODPLAYER          143

 stepped back to the desk to snap the tape out of the dictating machine.
  "I don't know whether I can drive with this blurry eye," said Cassi. She
  knew better than to respond to Thomas's pejorative implication about
  psychiatry.
  "You have two choices," said Thomas. "Hang around until the drops wear
  off or stay the night in the hospital. Whatever you think is best for
  you." Thomas started for the door.
  "Wait," called Cassi, her mouth dry. "I have to talk to you. Do you think
  I should have a vitrectomy?"
  There, it was out. Cassi looked down and saw she was wringing her hands.
  Self-consciously she pulled them apart, then didn't know what to do with
  them.
  "I'm surprised you still care about my opinion," snapped Thomas. His
  slight smile had vanished. "Unfortunately, I'm not an eye surgeon. I
  don't have the slightest idea of whether you should have a vitrectomy.
  That's why I sent you to Obermeyer."
  Cassi could feel his rising anger. It was just as she feared. Telling him
  about her eye condition was only going to make matters worse,
  "Besides," said Thomas. "Isn't there a better time to talk about this
  kind of thing? I've got someone dying upstairs. You've had this problem
  with your eye for months. Now you show up when I'm in the middle of an
  emergency and want to discuss it. My God, Cassi. Think about other people
  once in a while, will you?"
  Thomas stalked over to the door, wrenched it open, and was gone.
  In a lot of ways Thomas was right, thought Cassi. Bringing up the problem
  of her eye in Thomas's office was inappropriate. She knew when he said
  he had a patient "dying upstairs," he meant it.
  Her jaw clenched, Cassi walked out of the office. Doris made a show of
  typing, but Cassi guessed she'd
 144        Robin Cook

 been listening. Walking down to the elevators, Cassi decided to go back
 to Clarkson Two. It would keep her from thinking too much. Besides, she
 knew she couldn't drive, at least not for a while.
  She got back to the ward while the afternoon team meeting was still in
  progress.
  Cassi had arranged to take the rest of the day off and did not feel up
  to joining the group. She was afraid if she were among friends her
  delicate control would crumble and she'd burst into tears.
  Thankful for the unexpected opportunity of reaching her office
  unobserved, she slipped inside and quickly closed the door behind her.
  Stepping around the metal and Formica desk, which practically spanned the
  width of the room, she settled herself into the aged swivel desk chair.
  Cassi had tried to liven the cubbyhole with several bright prints of
  Impressionist paintings she bought at the Harvard co-op. The effort
  hadn't helped much. With its harsh overhead fluorescent lighting, the
  room still looked like an interrogation cell.
  Resting her head in her hands, she tried to think, but all she could
  concentrate on were her problems with Thomas. She was almost relieved
  when there was a sharp knock on the door. Before she could answer it,
  William Bentworth stepped inside.
  "Mind if I sit down, Dr. Cassidy?" asked Bentworth with uncharacteristic
  politeness.
  "No," said Cassi, surprised to see the colonel entering her office on his
  own accord. He was carefully dressed in tan slacks and a freshly pressed
  plaid shirt. His shoes evidenced a spit-and-polish shine.
 He smiled. "Mind if I smoke?"
  "No," said Cassi. She did mind, but it was one of those sacrifices she
  felt she had to make. Some people needed all the help they could get in
  order to open up and talk. On occasion the process of lighting a
  cigarette
             GODPLAYER         145

 was an important crutch. Bentworth leaned back and smiled. For the first
 time his brilliant blue eyes seemed cordial and warm. Ile was a handsome
 man, with broad shoulders, thick dark hair, and angular, aristocratic
 features.
  "Are you all right, Doctor?" asked Bentworth, leaning forward again to
  examine Cassi's face.
 "I'm perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"
 "You look a bit distraught."
  Cassi looked up at the Monet print of the little girl and her mother in
  the poppy field. She tried to collect her thoughts. It frightened her a
  little to realize that a patient could be so perceptive.
  "Perhaps you feel guilty," offered Bentworth, considerately blowing smoke
  away from Cassi.
 "And why should I feel guilty?"
  "Because I think you have been deliberately avoiding me."
  Cassi remembered Jacob's comment about borderline personalities being
  inconsistent, and she contrasted Bentworth's current behavior with his
  previous refusal to talk to her.
  "And I know why you've been avoiding me," continued Bentworth. "I think
  I scare you. I'm sorry if that's the case. Having been in the army so
  long and being accustomed to giving orders, I suppose I can be over-
  bearing at times."
  For the first time in Cassi's short psychiatric career, something that
  she'd read in the literature was occurring spontaneously between herself
  and one of her patients. She knew, without any doubt, that Bentworth was
  trying to manipulate her.
 "Mr. Bentworth . . ." began Cassi.
  "Colonel Bentworth," corrected William with a smile. "If I call you
  Doctor, it's only reasonable you call me Colonel. It's a sign of mutual
  respect."
 146       Robin Cook

  "Fair enough," said Cassi. "The fact of the matter is that you have been
  the one who has made it impossible for us to have a session together.
  I've tried, if you can remember, on numerous occasions to schedule a
  meeting, but you have always professed to have a prior commitment. Now
  I understand that you get more out of the group milieu than private
  conversation, so I haven't pushed the situation. If you'd like to meet,
  let's schedule it."
  "I would love to talk with you," said Bentworth. "How about right now?
  I have the time. Do you?"
  Cassi was not willing to fall prey to Bentworth's manipulation, thinking
  that it would ultimately have a negative effect on their relationship.
  She wasn't prepared now and Bentworth did frighten her despite his newly
  found charm.
  "How about tomorrow morning?" said Cassi. "Right after team meeting."
  Colonel Bentworth stood up and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray
  on Cassi's desk. "All right. I'll look forward to it. And I hope whatever
  is troubling you works out for the best."
  After he was gone, Cassi breathed the smoky air while her mind envisioned
  Colonel Bentworth in a dress uniform. She could imagine he would be
  gallant and dashing, and his mental problems would seem fictitious.
  Knowing the depth of his disorder, she found the fact that it could be
  so easily camouflaged disturbing.
  Before she could even dictate her notes, her door opened again, and
  Maureen Kavenaugh came in and sat down. Maureen had been admitted a month
  previously for recurrent major depression. She'd had a serious setback
  when her husband had come in and slapped her around. Seeing her out of
  her room was as much a surprise as having William Bentworth voluntarily
  pay a
             GODPLAYER         147

 visit. Cassi wondered if some miracle drug were being secretly added to
 the patients' food.
  "I saw the colonel go into your office," said Maureen. "I thought you
  said you weren't going to be here this afternoon." Her voice was flat and
  emotionless.
 "I hadn't planned on it," said Cassi.
  "Well, since you are here, can I talk to you for a moment?" asked Maureen
  timidly.
  "Of course," said Cassi. She watched Maureen advance into the room,
  closing the door and sitting down.
 "Yesterday when we talked        Maureen hesitated
 and her eyes filled with tears,
 Cassi pushed the box of tissues toward the woman.
  "You ... you asked me if I'd like to see my sister." Maureen's voice was
  so low that Cassi could barely hear. She nodded quickly, wondering what
  Maureen was thinking. The woman had not shown much interest in anything
  since her relapse even though Cassi had started her on Elavil. At team
  meeting several people had suggested electric shock, but Cassi had argued
  against it, thinking the Elavil and supportive sessions would be
  adequate. What amazed Cassi was Maureen's insight into the dynamics of
  her condition. But for Maureen an understanding of her illness did not
  automatically give her the power to influence it.
  Maureen acknowledged her hostility to her mother, who had abandoned both
  Maureen and her younger sister when they were toddlers, and the repressed
  jealousy she felt toward that pretty younger sister who had run off and
  married, leaving Maureen to live by herself. Out of desperation she'd
  married an inappropriate man.
  "Do you think my sister would want to see me?" asked Maureen finally, her
  face wet with tears.
  "I think she might," said Cassi. "But we won't know unless you ask her."
 Maureen blew her nose. Her hair was stringy and in
 148       Robin Cook

 need of a wash. Her face was drawn, and, despite her medication, she'd
 continued to lose weight.
  "I'm afraid to ask her," admitted Maureen. "I don't think she'll come. Why
  should she? I'm not worth it. It's hopeless. "
  "Just thinking about talking to your sister is a hopeful sign," Cassi said
  gently.
  Maureen let out a long sigh. "I can't make up my mind. If I call her and
  ask her and she says no, then everything will be worse. I want someone else
  to do it. Would you call her?"
  Cassi flushed. She thought of her own indecisiveness in facing Thomas.
  Maureen's feelings of dependency and helplessness seemed all too familiar.
  She too wanted someone else to make her decisions. With exhausting effort,
  Cassi tried to concentrate on the woman sitting across from her.
  "I'm not sure it's my place to contact your sister," said Cassi. "But it's
  something we can talk about. As far as seeing your sister, I think that is
  a good idea. Why don't we talk about it more tomorrow? I think you're
  scheduled for a session at two."
  Maureen agreed and, after taking several more tissues, went out, leaving
  the door open.
  Cassi sat for some time, staring blankly at the wall. She felt certain that
  identifying with one of her patients was a sign of her inexperience.
  "Hey! How come you aren't in team meeting?" said Joan Widiker, doing a
  double take in the corridor after catching a glimpse of Cassi.
 Cassi glanced up but didn't answer.
  "What's going on?" asked Joan. "You look a little worse for wear." She
  stepped into Cassi's office and sniffed. "And I didn't know you smoked."
 "I don't," said Cassi. "Colonel Bentworth does."
 "He came to see you?" Joan raised her eyebrow. "You're
             GODPLAYER         149

 doing better than you think." She paused and then sat down.
  "I thought I'd let you know that Jerry Donovan and I went out. Have you
  talked with him?"
 Cassi shook her head.
  "It didn't work out too well. All he wanted . Joan stopped in midsentence.
  "Cassi, what's the matter with you?"
 Tears overflowed Cassi's eyes and ran down her cheeks.
  As she had feared, a friendly presence destroyed her self-control. She
  finally let go and, dropping her face into her hands, wept openly.
  "Jerry Donovan wasn't that bad," said Joan, hoping a little humor might
  help. "Besides, I didn't give in. I'm still a virgin."
  Cassi's body shook with sobs. Joan came around the end of the desk and put
  her arm around her friend's shoulder. For a few moments she said nothing.
  As a psychiatry resident, she didn't have the usual negative reaction to
  tears that lay people did. From the strength of Cassi's emotion Joan
  guessed that she needed the outlet.
  "I'm sorry," said Cassi, reaching for the tissues just as Maureen had. "I
  didn't want to do this."
 "Sounds like you needed it. Do you want to talk?"
  Cassi took a deep breath. "I don't know. It all seems so hopeless." As soon
  as she said the word, Cassi remembered Maureen had said the same thing.
 "What's so hopeless?" asked Joan.
 "Everything," said Cassi.
 "Give me an example," said Joan, challengingly.
  Cassi pulled her hands away from her tear-streaked face.
  "I went to the ophthalmologist today. He wants to operate, but I don't know
  if I should."
 "What does your husband say?" asked Joan.
 150        Robin Cook

  "That's part of the problem." As soon as Cassi spoke, she regretted it.
  She knew Joan, being both sensitive and clever, would piece together the
  whole picture, and, in the back of her mind, Cassi could hear Thomas
  telling her not to discuss her medical problems with anyone.
  Joan took her hand from Cassi's shoulder. "I think you need someone to
  talk to. As the official department consult, I'm at your service.
  Besides, anyone can afford my fee."
  Cassi managed a weak smile. Intuitively she knew she could trust Joan.
  She needed someone's insight, and God knows she wasn't doing too well on
  her own.
  "I don't know if you have any idea of Thomas's schedule," began Cassi.
  "He works harder than anyone I know. You'd think he was an intem. Last
  night he stayed in the hospital. Tonight he'll stay in the hospital. He
  doesn't have a lot of extra time . . ."
  "Cassi," said Joan politely. "I don't like to interrupt but why not save
  the excuses. Have you spoken to your husband about this operation?"
  Cassi sighed, "I tried to bring it up a few hours ago, but it was the
  wrong time and place."
  "Listen," said Joan. "I rarely make judgments. But when it comes to
  talking about eye surgery with your husband, there is no wrong time or
  place."
  .Cassi digested this comment. She wasn't sure if she agreed or not.
 "What did he say?" asked Joan.
 "He said he wasn't an eye surgeon."
 "Ah, he wants to delegate his responsibility."
  "No," said Cassi emphatically. "Thomas made sure I went to the best
  ophthalmologist."
 "It still seems a rather callous reaction."
  Cassi looked down at her hands, thinking Joan was too clever. She had the
  distinct impression that Joan
            GODPLAYER          151

 could take this conversation further than Cassi would like.
  "Cassi," asked Joan, "is everything all right between you and Thomas?"
  Cassi could feel the tears filling her eyes again. She tried to stop them
  but was only partially successful.
  "That's one way of answering," said Joan empathetically. "Do you want to
  talk about it?"
  Cassi bit her trembling lower lip. "If something happened to my
  relationship with Thomas," she said, "I don't know if I could go on. I
  think my life would fall apart. I need him desperately."
  "I can sense you feel that way. I also think that you don't reallY want
  to talk about the problem. Am I right?"
  Cassi nodded. She felt torn between her fear of Thomas and her guilt at
  rejecting Joan's offer of friendship.
  "Okay," said Joan, "but before I go, I think some advice is in order.
  Maybe it's presumptuous for me to say this, and it's certainly not
  professional, but I have a feeling that you should try to lessen your
  dependency on Thomas. Somehow I don't think you give yourself the credit
  you deserve. And that kind of dependence can really hurt a relationship
  in the long run. Well, enough unsolicited advice."
  Joan opened Cassi's door, then stopped. "Did you say that Thomas was
  going to spend tonight in the hospital?"
  "I think he has emergency surgery," said Cassi, preoccupied with the
  concept of dependency. "When he does, he usually sleeps over rather than
  suffer the forty-minute commute."
  "Fine!" said Joan. "Why don't you come home with me tonight? I've got a
  sofa bed in the living room and a fully stocked refrigerator."
  "And by midnight you'd know all my secrets," said Cassi, only half in
  jest.
 152        Robin Cook

 "I'd be on my honor not to probe," said Joan.
  "Anyway, I can't," said Cassi. "I appreciate the offer, but there's
  always the chance Thomas might not have surgery and, in that case, he
  could come home. Under the circumstances I want to be there. Maybe we'll
  talk."
  Joan smiled sympathetically. "You do have it bad. Well, if you change
  your mind, give me a call. I'll be in the hospital for another hour or
  so." She opened the door again and this time really left.
  Cassi stared at the Monet trying to decide if it was safe for her to
  drive. It was reassuring to note that her vision had significantly
  improved; the drops were finally wearing off.

                F-1

  Thomas felt his hands tremble as he opened his office door and switched
  on the light. The clock on Doris's desk indicated that it was almost
  six-thirty. It was already dark outside, making it hard to remember sum-
  mer nights when it stayed light to nine-thirty. Closing the door, he held
  out his arm. It scared him to see his normally steady hand shake so
  violently. How could Cassi keep pressuring him when he was already so
  tense?
  Approaching his desk, he opened the second drawer and pulled out one of
  his small plastic bottles. The combination of the child-proof top and his
  agitation made opening the package impossible. He had to restrain himself
  from dashing the thing on the floor and stomping on it with his heel.
  Finally he managed to extract one of the yellow tablets. He placed it on
  his tongue despite its bitter taste and walked into the small washroom,
  which still reeked of Doris's perfume.
  Forsaking a cup, Thomas bent and drank directly from the faucet. He went
  back to his office and sat at
             GODPLAYER         153

 his desk. His anxiety seemed to be increasing. Wrenching open the second
 drawer again, he fumbled for the same plastic bottle. This time he was
 unsuccessful with the top. Slamming the bottle down on the desk top only
 succeeded in denting the wood surface and bruising his thumb.
  Closing his eyes, Thomas told himself that he had to stay in control.
  When he opened his eyes, he remembered that in order to open the bottle
  he had to line up the two arrows.
  But he did not take another pill. Instead his mind conjured up the image
  of Laura Campbell. There was no reason for him to be alone. "I wish there
  was something I could do for you," she had said. "Anything!" Thomas knew
  he had her phone number in her father's folder, ostensibly for emergency
  use. But wasn't this an emergency? Thomas smiled. Besides, there were
  many ways to camouflage his intentions if he'd misread her signals.
  Thomas found Mr. Campbell's folder and quickly dialed Laura's number,
  hoping the woman was at home. She answered on the second ring.
 "This is Dr. Kingsley. Sorry to bother you."
 "Is something wrong?" asked Laura worriedly.
  "No, no," assured Thomas. "Your father is doing fine. I'm terribly sorry
  about his jaundice. It is one of those unfortunate complications. I wish
  we could have anticipated it, but it should clear soon. Anyway the reason
  I'm calling is that your father will undoubtedly be discharged soon, and
  I thought, perhaps, you'd like to discuss the case."
 "Absolutely," said Laura. "Just tell me when."
  Thomas twisted the phone cord. "Well, that's why I'm calling. I'm sure
  you can guess what my schedule is like. But it so happens I'm waiting for
  a surgery and am
 154       Robin Cook

 presently alone in my office. I thought, perhaps, you might consider coming
 over."
 "Can you give me thirty minutes?" asked Laura.
  "I think so," said Thomas. He knew he had plenty of time.
 "I'll be there," said Laura.
  "One other thing," added Thomas. "To get into the Professional Building at
  this hour you must go through the hospital. The doors here are locked at
  six."
  Thomas hung up. He felt much better. Excitement had replaced anxiety.
  Opening the desk drawer, he dropped in the container of pills. Then he
  called the cardiac catheterization. lab to check on the patient in
  cardiogenic shock. As he had expected, the patient was still awaiting
  catheterization. No matter what the procedure showed, Thomas guessed he had
  several hours.
  Thomas met Laura at the door to the inner office and motioned her inside.
  He was pleased to see that again she was wearing a thin, clinging silk
  dress. It was a light beige, almost the color of her skin. Thomas could see
  the faint line of her panties.
  He didn't speak for a moment, plotting his opening so that if he'd misread
  her signals there wouldn't be any embarrassment. He began by reassuring her
  once again that her father would soon be discharged. Then he discussed Mr.
  Campbell's long-term care, and under the pretense of discussing his
  exercise limitations, Thomas brought up the issue of sex.
  "Your father had asked me about this before the operation," he said,
  watching Laura's face. "I know that your mother passed away several years
  ago, and if this is an uncomfortable subject for you . . ."
 "Not at all," said Laura with a smile. "I am an adult."
  "Of course," said Thomas, letting his eyes run over her dress. "That is
  very obvious."
            GODPLAYER          155

  Laura smiled again and smoothed her long ponytail off her shoulder.
  "A man like your father still has sexual needs," said Thomas.
  "As a physician I'm sure you know that better than most," said Laura.
  She'd uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. It was clear she wasn't
  wearing a bra under the sheer silk.
  Thomas got up from his chair and came around in front of the desk. He was
  certain Laura hadn't come to talk about her father. "I understand these
  needs all too well myself because I have a wife with a chronic, debili-
  tating disease."
  Laura smiled. "As I said, I wish there was something I could do for you.
  " She stood up and leaned against Thomas. "Can you think of anything?"
  Thomas led her into the dimly lit examining room. Slowly he helped her
  out of her dress and then stepped out of his own clothes, folding them
  neatly on a chair. When he turned back to face her, he was pleased to
  find himself fully erect.
  "What do you think?" he asked, with his palms spread out to the sides.
 "I love it," said Laura huskily, reaching out for him.

               El

  After having worried about driving, Cassi was glad that her trip home was
  pleasantly uneventful. The most hazardous part had been the walk from the
  garage to the house. She'd forgotten how early night came now that it was
  December.
  The house itself was ominously black, particularly the windows, which
  shone like pieces of polished onyx. Inside Cassi found a note from
  Harriet explaining how to heat up dinner. Whenever Harriet got the word
  that
 156       Robin Cook

 Thomas was not coming home, she left early. As contrary as Harriet could be,
 Cassi would have preferred not to be alone.
  She went through the house snapping on lights hoping to make the place a
  bit more cheerful. She found the rambling old house with its cavernous
  spaces particularly chilling, her footsteps echoing down the empty halls.
  The heat was supposed to be turned to sixty-five degrees, but Cassi could
  see her breath.
  Upstairs the morning room was considerably warmer, almost comfortable. In
  the master bath she had a supplementary quartz heater, which she turned on.
  After testing her blood sugar, Cassi went ahead with her usual insulin
  dose, then took a shower.
  She tried not to think too much. Her emotional outburst had left her
  drained and had settled nothing. She knew Joan was right about her
  dependency, and it reminded Cassi of the identification she'd felt with
  Maureen Kavenaugh. Just like her patient, Cassi felt hopeless, timid, and
  fearful. She wondered if she too lacked the ability to influence her life
  even when she understood her problem. Then in a flash of sudden horror,
  Cassi became aware of the power of her denial. One of the reasons she'd
  suspected that Thomas was abusing drugs was because of his pupils. So often
  of late they had been mere pinpoints, but Dexedrine caused dilated pupils!
  Other drugs caused small pupils. Other drugs that Cassi did not want to
  think about.
  Cassi could feel perspiration appear on her palms. She did not know if it
  was from sudden terror or from her insulin. Praying that her fears were
  groundless, she forced herself down the hall to Thomas's study.
  Flipping on the light, she stood there, her eyes recording all the details
  of the room. Against her will, she recalled the consequences of her
  previous visit, and she fought against the urge to flee.
            GODPLAYER          157

  The medicine cabinet in the bathroom was exactly as it had been two weeks
  earlier: a mess. It contained nothing that was suspicious. Getting down on
  her hands and knees, Cassi searched beneath the sink. Nothing. Then she
  went through the towel cabinets. Again nothing.
  Feeling a modicum of relief, Cassi went back to the study itself Besides
  the desk and burgundy reading chair, there was the sofa bed, bordered by
  two end tables with lamps, a hassock, an entire wall of bookshelves, a
  liquor cabinet, and an antique highboy with claw feet. The floor was
  covered with an enormous Tabriz carpet.
  Cassi walked over to the desk. It was an imposing piece of furniture, which
  she knew had belonged to Thomas's grandfather. As she reached out and
  touched the cool surface, she had the same naughty sensation she'd felt as
  a child, snooping in her parents' bedroom. Shrugging her shoulders, she
  pulled out the center drawer. A plastic desk organizer was filled to
  overflowing with rubber bands, paper clips, and other odds and ends. She
  pulled the drawer out to its limit and carefully lifted the layers of
  papers toward the back. Nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, Cassi was
  about to push it closed when she thought she heard a door slam. Peering
  through the window, she could see the lights in Patricia's apartment over
  the garage. She hadn't heard a car, but that wasn't too surprising. With
  the storm windows down, sounds from the outside did not penetrate the house
  too easily. She could see the garage door was closed. Had she closed it?
  She couldn't remember. A moment later there were footsteps in the hall.
  Panic knotted her stomach. Obviously Thomas had come home. If he caught her
  in his study after the episode with Patricia, he'd be furious. She looked
  around frantically,
 158        Robin Cook

 wondering if she could slip out through the spare room. But before she could
 move, the door opened.
  It was Patricia. She was as surprised to find Cassi as Cassi her. The two
  women stared at each other in disbelief
 "What are you doing in here?" Patricia said finally.
  "I was about to ask you the same question," returned Cassi, standing behind
  the desk.
  "I saw the light go on in here. Naturally, I thought Thomas had come home
  after all. As his mother I think I'm entitled to see him."
  Cassi unconsciously nodded as if she agreed. Actually it had been a
  constant source of irritation for her that Patricia had a key to the house
  and felt no compunction about entering whenever she wanted.
 "That's my excuse," said Patricia. "What's yours?"
  Cassi knew she should have simply replied that it was her home and she
  could go into any room she pleased. But she didn't. Her sense of guilt made
  it impossible.
  "I suppose I can guess," said Patricia disdainfully, "even though it upsets
  me. Snooping through his possessions like this when he's in the hospital
  saving lives! What kind of a wife are you?"
  Patricia's question hung in the air like static electricity. Cassi didn't
  try to answer. She'd begun to wonder herself what kind of a wife she was.
  "I think you should leave this room at once," rasped Patricia.
  Cassi didn't object. She walked past her mother-in-law with her head bowed.
  Patricia followed her out and closed the door. Without looking back, Cassi
  descended the stairs and headed for the kitchen. She heard the front door
  close and presumed Patricia had left. The woman would tell Thomas that
  Cassi had been in his study. It was inevitable.
 She looked at the meal Harriet had left on the stove
            GODPLAYER          159

 with distaste, but she knew that after taking her normal insulin dose she
 required a certain amount of calories. Forcing down the warmed-over food,
 she made up her mind to return to the study and finish her search. Having
 already been caught, she no longer had anything to fear except what she'd
 find.
  There was still the chance Thomas could appear, but Cassi was prepared
  to listen for the sounds of the Porsche. In order to keep from having to
  face Patricia again, Cassi pulled the heavy drapes over the windows, and
  she used a flashlight, like a real burglar. She went directly to the desk
  and tried the side drawers, starting at the top and working her way down.
  She didn't have far to go. In the back of the second drawer inside a
  stationery box, Cassi found a collection of plastic pill containers. Some
  were empty, but most were full. All of them had the same prescribing
  M.D., a Dr. Allan Baxter. The dates were all within the past three
  months.
  In addition to the Dexedrine, there were two other types of pills, and
  Cassi carefully took one of each. She replaced the vials in the
  stationery box and closed the drawer. Switching off the flashlight, she
  reopened the curtains and walked quickly back to her room. When she got
  out her Pbysician's Desk Reference and compared the pills to the
  identification pictures, she realized that her suspicions were right. "Oh
  God!" she said out loud. "Dexedrine for exhaustion is one thing. Percodan
  and Talwin are something else entirely."
  For the second time that day Cassi burst into tears. This time she did
  not even try to check her sobs. She flung herself down on the bed and
  wept uncontrollably.

               n

  Despite his interlude with Laura, Thomas decided to keep his planned
  visit with Doris. He was disappointed
 160       Robin Cook

 enough that the man in cardiac cath had suffered a second heart attack and
 couldn't be scheduled for surgery. He certainly wasn't going to ruin the
 night further by the long drive home.
  Doris buzzed him in the minute he touched the bell. When he reached the
  second floor, he found her peering coyly around the door. When she opened
  it, he realized why she'd stayed inside. She was dressed in a diaphanous,
  short black camisole that laced up the front and snapped between her legs.
  It covered about the same area as a one-piece bathing suit.
  "Glenlivet with Perrier," said Doris, handing Thomas a tumbler and pressing
  herself up against him before he could get his coat off.
  Thomas took the drink in one hand and put the other on Doris's backside.
  The only light in the room came from a Scandinavian-style oil lamp that
  painted the room with warm, golden tones. The coffee table was also laid
  for dinner with an uncorked bottle of wine standing nearby.
  When Doris retreated to the kitchen, Thomas called the hospital page
  operator. He gave her Doris's number along with the admonition it was for
  the thoracic residenton-call only. She was not to give it to anyone else,
  and if there were a question she should call herself.
           CHAPTER
               6

 "I GOTTA BEIMOVING," said Clark Reardon. My woman told me not to be late."
 Clark had pulled a straight-back metal chair over to jeoffry Washington's
 bed.
  "Well, it was great to see you, man," said jeoffry. "Thanks for coming
  in. I really appreciate it."
  "No problem," said Clark, standing up. He raised his hand, and when
  Jeoffty put his out, he slapped it affectionately.
 "So when you breaking outta here?" asked Clark.
  "Pretty soon. Maybe in a couple days. I'm not sure. I still got this IV."
  jeoffry raised his left arm, indicating the coiled plastic tubing. "I had
  some inflammation in my legs right after the operation. At least that's
  what Dr. Sherman told me, so they started giving me antibiotics. It was
  a little rough for a couple days, but it's better now. The best thing
  that happened to me was when they took away the cardiac monitor. I tell
  you, the beep from that mother drove me crazy."
 "How long you been in here so far?"
 "Nine days."
 "That ain't bad."
  "Not from this end. But I tell you, I was pretty scared in the beginning.
  But I had no choice. They told me I was going to die if I didn't get
  operated on. So what can you do?"
 162       Robin Cook

  "Nothing! I'll see you tomorrow night and I'll bring in those books you
  wanted. Anything else?"
 "I'd love a little grass."
 "Come on, man."
 "I'm just joking."
  Clark turned and waved at the door before disappearing down the hall.
  Jeoffry surveyed his room. He was glad that he was leaving soon. The
  other bed in the semiprivate room was empty. His roommate had been
  discharged that day and no new patient had arrived. Jeoffry was sorry to
  be alone, especially now that Clark had left and he had nothing to look
  forward to. As far as Jeoffry was concerned, a hospital was not a place
  to be alone. There were too many frightening machines and procedures to
  face without support.
  Jeoffry switched on the miniature TV set connected to the head of the
  bed. Toward the end of the second situation comedy, Miss DeVries, a
  spunky LPN, entered. Pretending she had some delectable treat for
  Jeoffry, she insisted he close his eyes and open his mouth. As he did so,
  he had a pretty good idea of what was coming, and he was right. It was
  a thermometer.
  Ten minutes later she returned and exchanged the thermometer for a
  sleeping pill. Jeoffry took the pill with water he had on the side table
  while the LPN examined the thermometer.
 "Do I have a temperature?" asked Jeoffry.
 "Everybody has a temperature," said Miss DeVries.
  "How could I forget," said Jeoffry. They'd been through this before.
  "Okay, do I have a fever?"
 "That's classified information," said Miss DeVries.
  Jeoffry never could understand why the nurses could not tell him if he
  had a temperature; correction, a fever. They always said that was up to
  the doctor, which was crazy. It was his body.
            GODPLAYER          163

  "What about this IV?" asked jeoffry as Miss DeVries started for the door.
  "When's it coming out so I can take a real shower?"
  "That's something I know nothing about." She waved before disappearing.
  Jeoffry twisted his head and looked up at the IV bottle. For a moment he
  watched the regular fall of each drop in the small chamber. Turning back
  to the TV and the evening news, he sighed. It was going to be a relief
  when his tether was removed. He reminded himself to ask Dr. Sherman about
  it in the morning.

               El

  When the phone first rang, Thomas sat up, confused as to where he was.
  On the second ring, Doris turned over to face him in the half-light of
  her apartment.
  "Do you want to get it or should l?" Doris's voice was thick with sleep.
  She pushed herself up on one elbow.
  Thomas looked at her in the semidarkness. She appeared grotesque with her
  thick hair radiating from her head as if a thousand volts of electricity
  had passed through her body. Instead of eyes she had black holes. It took
  him a moment to remember who she was.
  "I'll get it," said Thomas, staggering to his feet. His head felt heavy.
  "It's in the comer near the window," said Doris, flopping back onto the
  pillow.
  Groping with his hands, Thomas went along the wall until he got to the
  open doorway of the bedroom. In the living room, the bay window let in
  more light.
  "Dr. Kingsley, this is Peter Figman," said the thoracic resident when
  Thomas picked up the receiver. "I hope you don't mind my calling, but you
  asked me to let you know if any service cases were going to the OR.
 164        Robin Cook

 We have a stab wound of the chest that's due within the hour. "
  Thomas leaned on the small phone table. The chill in the room helped
  organize his mind. "What time is it?"
 "A little after one A.M."
 "Thank you," said Thomas. "I'll be right over."
  As Thomas stepped out of Doris's vestibule to the street, the icy December
  wind sent a chill through his body. Pulling the lapels of his coat more
  tightly around his neck, he set off toward the Memorial. Every so often
  sudden gusts would swirl down the street, moving a line of papers and other
  debris against his feet, forcing Thomas to turn and walk backwards for a
  few steps. He was relieved when he rounded the comer and could see the
  complex of buildings that comprised Boston Memorial.
  Approaching the main entrance, he passed the parking garage on his left. It
  was a cement structure, open to the elements. Although it was jammed during
  the day, now it was almost deserted. As he glanced in to admire his
  Porsche, he noticed another familiar car. It was a Mercedes 300 turbo
  diesel painted puke green. There was only one person in the whole hospital
  whose taste was that bad. The car belonged to George Sherman.
  Thomas was practically at the hospital door, mulling over the absurdity of
  getting such a good car in such a terrible color, when he began to wonder
  why George was there. He turned to look again. It was his car all right.
  There was no chance of confusing it with another. Thomas glanced at his
  watch. It was 1: 15 A.M.
  Thomas went directly to the OR, changed, and while passing through the
  surgical lounge, saw one of the OR nurses knitting. He asked her if George
  Sherman had a case that night.
  "Not that I know of," said the nurse. "Hasn't been a chest except for the
  stab wound you're covering."
             GODPLAYER         165

  Outside of OR room 18, Thomas met Peter Figman scrubbing. He was a
  baby-faced, slight fellow who appeared as if he didn't have to shave yet.
  Thomas had seen him on numerous occasions but never had the opportunity of
  working with him. He had a reputation of being smart, dedicated, and of
  having good hands.
  As soon. as he saw Thomas, Peter launched into a detailed presentation of
  the case. The patient had been stabbed during a hockey game at the Boston
  Garden but was in stable condition, although there had been some trouble
  with his blood pressure when he'd first been admitted to the emergency
  room. He'd been typed and crossed for eight units of blood, but none had
  been given yet. The first thought had been that the knife had punctured one
  of the great vessels.
  While Thomas listened to the presentation, he took a surgical mask from the
  box on the shelf above the scrub sink. He preferred the older-style masks
  that tied behind the neck and head as compared to the molded masks that
  were secured with a single elastic band behind the head. Tonight, however,
  he kept dropping one or the other of the straps. Then the mask slipped from
  his grasp and fell to the floor. Thomas cursed under his breath and took
  another. As he reached into the box, Peter noticed that the older man's
  hand had a slight tremor.
  Peter stopped his presentation. "Are you all right, Dr. Kingsley?"
  His hand in the box, Thomas slowly rotated his head to look directly at
  Peter. "What do you mean, am I all right?"
  I thought maybe you weren't feeling well," said Peter timidly.
  Thomas snapped the mask out of the box, pulling an extra one with it which
  fell into the scrub sink. "And why did you think I might not be feeling
  well?"
 166       Robin Cook

  "I don't know, just a hunch," said Peter evasively. He was sorry now he'd
  said anything.
  "For your information, I feel perfectly fine," said Thomas, making no
  attempt to conceal his anger. "But there's one thing I will not tolerate
  from the residents, and that is insolence. I hope you understand."
 "I understand," said Peter, eager to drop the subject.
  Leaving the resident to finish his scrub, Thomas pushed through the OR
  door. "For Christ's sake," thought Thomas, "doesn't the kid realize I was
  just awakened from a deep sleep; everybody has a little tremor until they
  have a chance to fully wake up."
  The OR was a buzz of activity. The patient was already fully anesthetized
  and junior house staff were in the process of prepping the patient's
  chest. Thomas walked over to review the X rays. Then, while his back was
  to the room, he held up his hand. The tremor was slight. He'd had worse.
  'Just wait until that cocky kid rotates on cardiac surgery," Thomas mused
  with some satisfaction.
  Thomas parked himself in the back of the OR and watched carefully as the
  case began. He was ready to intervene if needed, but to Peter's credit,
  he was a good technical surgeon. Thomas quizzed all the residents about
  possible hemopericardium. None of them, including Peter, had thought of
  the diagnosis despite the fact that it had been discussed at the last
  death conference. When Thomas was certain the case was routine and would
  go smoothly, he stood up and stretched. He wandered over to the door.
  "I'll be available if anything goes wrong. You fellows are doing a good
  job."

               F1

  When the OR door closed behind Thomas, Peter Figman glanced up and
  whispered: "I think Dr. Kingsley's h~d' one-too many tonight."
             GODPLAYER         167

 "I think you're right," said a junior resident.

                F1

  Thomas had felt a sudden sleepiness steal over him as he'd sat in the OR.
  Fear of nodding off had driven him out. On the way to the surgical lounge
  he took several deep breaths. He couldn't remember how many Scotches he'd
  had with Doris. He'd have to be more careful in the future.
  Unfortunately, the lounge was occupied by two nurses on their coffee
  break. He'd planned to stretch out on the couch but decided he'd use one
  of the cots in the locker room instead. As he passed the window, he
  glanced out and noticed a light in one of the offices across the way in
  the Scherington Building. Counting the windows from the end, Thomas
  realized that it was Ballantine's. He looked up at the clock over the
  coffee maker. It was close to 2:00 A.M.! Had the janitor just forgotten
  to turn it off?
  "Excuse me," called Thomas to the two nurses, "I'll be in the locker room
  if they call me from surgery. In case I fall asleep, would one of you
  mind coming in and giving me a nudge?"
  As Thomas went through the swinging doors to the locker room, he wondered
  if the light in Ballantine's office had anything to do with the fact that
  George Sherman's car was in the parking lot. There was something
  disturbing about those two facts.
  The windowless alcove with the two cots was not completely dark. Light
  from the surgical lounge drifted through the short hall to the locker
  room. As usual the cots were empty. Thomas had the suspicion that he was
  the only person ever to use them.
  Reaching into the pocket of his scrub shirt, he found the small yellow
  pill he'd placed there. Deftly he snapped
 168        Robin Cook

 the tablet in half One half went into his mouth where he let it dissolve
 on his tongue. The other half went back into his pocket in case he needed
 it later. Before he closed his eyes, he wondered how long he had before
 he would get called.

                El

  At 2:45 A.M., the stairwell seemed to belong in a gigantic mausoleum
  rather than a hospital. The long vertical drop acted like a chimney of
  sorts, and there was a low-pitched whine of wind coming from somewhere
  in the bowels of the building. As the figure in the stairwell opened the
  door on the eighteenth floor, air hissed out as from a vacuum jar.
  In usual hospital dress, the man was not afraid of being seen but still
  preferred not to be. He checked carefully to make sure the corridor was
  deserted for its entire length before allowing the door to close behind
  him. As it swung shut there was the same rude sucking noise.
  One hand thrust into the pocket of his white coat, the man moved silently
  down the hall to Jeoffry Washington's room. There he stopped and waited
  for a moment. There was no sound of activity coming from the nurses'
  station. All that could be heard were distant, muted sounds of the
  cardiac monitors and respiratory machines.
  In a blink of the eye the man was inside the room, slowly closing the
  door to the hall. The only light came from the bathroom where the door
  was cracked an eighth of an inch. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the
  dimness, he pulled his hand out of his pocket, gripping a full syringe.
  He dropped the cap from the needle into the opposite pocket and moved
  rapidly to the bedside. Then he froze.
 The bed was empty!
             GODPLAYER         169

                F1

  His jaw straining to its limits, Jeoffry Washington yawned hard enough
  to bring tears to his eyes. He shook his head and tossed the
  three-week-old Time magazine onto the low table. He was sitting in the
  patient lounge across from the treatment room. Getting up, he pushed his
  IV pole ahead of him out of the lounge toward the semidarkened nurses'
  station. He'd hoped that a stroll down the corridor would have helped his
  insomnia, but it hadn't worked. He wasn't any sleepier than he'd been
  tossing in his bed.
  Pamela Breckenridge watched his progress through the doorless opening of
  the chart room. She'd become accustomed to his appearances over the past
  two nights. To save money she'd been brown bagging it rather than using
  the cafeteria, and Jeoffry would appear just as she was ready to eat.
  "Is it possible for me to have another sleeping pill?" he called.
  Pamela swallowed, told him it was, and directed the LPN to get Jeoffry
  another Dalmane. Dr. Sherman had obliged by adding a "repeat X V after
  his initial order.
  As if he were standing at a bar, Jeoffry accepted the pill and the
  miniature paper cup of water the LPN extended toward him over the counter
  of the station. Jeoffry popped the pill and tossed off the water. God,
  what he wouldn't have done for a few tokes of grass. Then he began the
  slow trip back up the corridor.
  The hall darkened as he moved away from the nurses. Presently he saw his
  shadow appear in front of him on the vinyl floor, growing as he walked.
  The IV pole made it look as if he were some prophet clutching a staff.
  To open his door he thumped it with the wheeled footplate. Inside he
  hooked the door with his foot and
 170       Robin Cook

 shoved it closed. If there were any chance of dropping off to sleep, he
 had to shield himself from the noise and lights froin the corridor.
  Arranging the pole next to the bed, he turned and sat down, intending to
  lift his feet and stretch out. Instead he stifled a scream.
  Like an apparition, a white-clad figure emerged from the bathroom.
  "My God!" said Jeoffry, letting out his breath. "You really startled me."
 "Lie down, please."
  Jeoffry complied immediately. "I never expected you at this hour."
  Jeoffry watched as the visitor pulled out a syringe and started to inject
  the contents into Jeoffry's IV bottle. He seemed to have some difficulty
  in the darkness as Jeoffry heard the bottle clank repeatedly against the
  pole.
  "What kind of medication am I getting?" asked Jeoffry, unsure if he
  should say anything but sufficiently confused as to what was going on to
  overcome his hesitancy.
 "Vitamins. "
  To Jeoffry it seemed like a strange time to be getting vitamins, but the
  hospital was a strange place
  Jeoffry's visitor gave up trying to get the needle into the base of the
  IV bottle and switched to the injection site in the plastic tubing close
  to Jeoffry's wrist. This was far easier and the needle immediately
  slipped through the small rubber cap. Jeoffry watched as the plunger was
  rapidly depressed, causing the fluid to back up in the tubing, raising
  the level in the chamber above his head. He felt a twinge of pain but
  assumed it was just the rise in pressure in the IV.
  But the pain did not disappear. Instead it got worse, Much worse.
 "My God!" cried Jeoffry. "My arm! It's killing me!"
             GODPLAYER         171

 Jeoffry could feel a white-hot sensation that began at the IV site rise
 up in his arm.
  The visitor grabbed Jeoffry's hand to keep it still and opened the IV so
  it ran in a steady stream.
  The pain that Jeoffry thought had been unbearable got worse and spread
  like molten lava into his chest. He swung his free hand over to grasp his
  visitor.
 "Don't touch me, you friggin' faggot."
  Despite the pain, Jeoffry let go. To his bewilderment was added fear ...
  a terrible fear that something awful was happening. Desperately Jeoffry
  tried to free his arm with the IV from the intruder's grip.
  "What are you doing?" gasped Jeoffry. He started to scream, but a hand
  was clamped roughly over his mouth.
  At that moment Jeoffry's body experienced its first convulsion, arching
  up off the bed. His eyes rolled up and disappeared inside his head.
  Within seconds the spasms increased to become a grand mal seizure, rock-
  ing the bed back and forth. The intruder dropped Jeoffry's arm and pulled
  the bed away from the wall to reduce the banging. Then he checked the
  corridor and ran back to the stairwell.
  Jeoffry convulsed in silence until his heart, which had begun to beat
  irregularly, fibrillated for a few seconds, then stopped. Within minutes
  Jeoffry's brain ceased functioning. He continued to convulse until his
  muscles exhausted their depleted store of oxygen ...

               F1

  Thomas felt as though he'd just closed his eyes when the nurse bent over
  and shook him awake. He rolled over in a daze and looked into the woman's
  smiling face.
 "They need you in the OR, Dr. Kingsley."
 "Be right there," he said thickly.
 Thomas waited while the nurse beat a hasty retreat,
 172       Robin Cook

 then swung his feet to the floor. He paused a few minutes for the
 dizziness to clear. Sometimes, thought Thomas, sleeping for too short a
 time was worse than no sleep at all. He steadied himself at the entrance,
 then stumbled over to his locker. Getting out a Dexedrine, he washed it
 down with water from the drinking fountain. Then he changed into a fresh
 scrub suit, but not before he'd rescued the half pill he'd left in the
 soiled shirt's breast pocket.
  By the time Thomas got down to OR 18, the Dexedrine had cleared his head.
  He considered scrubbing right away but then decided it was better to find
  out first what he was up against.
  The residents were standing around the anesthetized patient, their gloved
  hands resting within the sterile field. The scene did not look
  auspicious.
  "What's the . . . " began Thomas, his voice hoarse. He hadn't spoken
  since awakening except for the few words to the nurse. He cleared his
  throat. "What's the problem?"
  "You were right about the hemopericardium," said Peter with respect. "The
  knife penetrated the pericardium and cut the surface of the heart.
  There's no bleeding, but we wondered if we should close the laceration.
  "
  Thomas had the circulation nurse locate a stool and put it behind Peter.
  From that vantage point, he could see into the incision. Peter pointed
  to the laceration and bent to the side.
  Thomas was relieved. The laceration was inconsequential, having missed
  any significant coronary vessels.
  'Just leave it as is," said Thomas. "The marginal benefits of suturing
  it aren't worth the possible problems the suture might cause."
 "Good enough," said Peter.
  "Leave the pericardium open, too," warned Thomas. "It will reduce the
  chances of running into a problem
            GODPLAYER          173

 with tamponade in the postoperative course. It will serve as a drainage
 point if there is any bleeding."

                F1

  An hour later Thomas crossed from the hospital to the Professional
  Building. When he entered his office he felt unpleasantly wired from the
  Dexedrine. Over and over he kept worrying about Ballantine and Sherman's
  presence in the hospital that night. It was obvious they were having some
  kind of secret meeting, and, as he wondered what they were plotting, he
  felt his anxiety mount. Now he knew he would be unable to sleep unless
  he took something.
  He rarely got such a surge from a single Dexedrine but decided it was
  probably due to his general exhaustion. Going over to his desk, he
  gobbled another Percodan. Then, fearful that he might have trouble waking
  up in the morning, Thomas called Doris. He had to let the phone ring a
  long time. Mentally he retraced the complicated route from her bed to the
  phone by the bay window. He wondered why she didn't get an extension.
  "Listen," said Thomas when she answered. "You've got to come into the
  office at six-thirty."
  "That's only a couple hours from now," protested Doris.
  "Jesus Christ," shouted Thomas angrily. "You don't have to tell me what
  time it is. Don't you think I know? But I have three bypasses starting
  at seven-thirty. I want you over here to make sure I'm up."
  Thomas slammed the phone down in its cradle, seething. "Goddamn selfish
  bitch," he said out loud as he punched his pillow into submission.
CHAPTER
7

 CASSI'S EYES BLINKED OPEN. It was a little after five in the morning and was
 not yet light outside. The alarm wasn't scheduled to go off for another two
 hours.
  For a while she lay still, listening. She thought perhaps some sound had
  awakened her but as the minutes passed, she realized that the disturbance
  had come from within her head. It was the classical symptom of depression.
  At first Cassi tried turning over and drawing the covers up over her head,
  but she soon recognized it was useless. She couldn't go back to sleep. She
  got out of bed, knowing full well that she would be exhausted that day,
  especially since Thomas had made her accept an invitation to go to the
  Ballantines that evening.
  The house was frigid, and she was shivering before she got on her bathrobe.
  In the bathroom she turned on the quartz heater and started the shower.
  Stepping under the water, Cassi reluctantly allowed herself to remember the
  reason for her depression-the discovery of the Percodan and the Talwin in
  Thomas's desk. And Patricia was undoubtedly going to inform her son that
  Cassi had again been snooping in his study. Thomas would guess that she'd
  been looking for drugs.
 Getting out of the shower, Cassi tried to decide what

               174
             GODPLAYER         175

 to do. Should she admit she'd found the drugs and confront him? Was the
 presence of the drugs sufficiently incriminating? Could there be another
 explanation for their presence in Thomas's desk? Cassi doubted it,
 considering the additional fact of Thomas's frequently pinpointed pupils.
 As much as Cassi did not want to believe it, Thomas was most likely taking
 the Percodan and Talwin. How much, Cassi had no idea. Nor did she have any
 idea how much she was to blame.
  The thought occurred to Cassi that maybe she should seek help. But who
  to turn to? She had no idea. Patricia obviously wasn't the answer, and
  if she went to any of the authorities, then Thomas's career could be
  ruined. Cassi felt almost too depressed to cry. It was a no-win
  situation. No matter what she did or didn't do, it was going to cause
  trouble. Lots of trouble. Cassi was aware that her relationship with
  Thomas could very well be at stake.
  It took all her strength to finish getting ready for work and make the
  long drive to the hospital.
  Cassi had no more than dumped her canvas bag on her desk when Joan's head
  came through the door.
 "Feeling any better?" asked Joan brightly.
 "No," said Cassi in a tired, flat voice.
  Joan could sense her friend's depression. From a professional point of
  view she knew Cassi was worse than she'd been the previous afternoon.
  Unbidden, Joan came into Cassi's office and closed the door. Cassi didn't
  have the energy to object.
  "You know the old aphorism about the sick doctor," said Joan: " 'He who
  insists on taking care of himself learns he has a fool for a patient.'
  Well, that applies in the emotional realm as well. You don't sound so
  good to me. I came in here to apologize for foisting my opinions on you
  yesterday, but looking at you now, I think it was the right thing to do.
  Cassi, what's happening to you?"
 176       Robin Cook

 Cassi was immobilized.
 There was a knock on the door.
  Joan opened it and confronted a tearful Maureen Kavenaugh.
  "Sorry, Dr. Cassidy is occupied," said Joan. She closed the door in
  Maureen's face before the woman could respond.
 "Sit down, Cassi," said Joan firmly.
  Cassi sat down. The idea of forceful direction was appealing.
  "Okay," said Joan. "Let's hear what's going on. I know you have your hands
  full with your eye problem. But it's more than that."
  Once again Cassi recognized the seductive pressure of the psychiatric
  interview on the patient to talk. Joan inspired confidence. There was no
  doubt about that. And Cassi could be assured of confidentiality. And in the
  last analysis Cassi desperately wanted to share her burden with someone.
  She needed some insight if not merely support.
  I think Thomas is taking drugs," said Cassi in a voice so low Joan could
  barely hear. She watched Joan's face for the expected signs of shock, but
  there weren't any. Joan's expression didn't change.
 "What kind of drugs?" asked Joan.
  "Dexedrine, Percodan, and Talwin are the ones I know of."
  "Talwin is very common among physicians," said Joan. "How much is he
  taking?"
  I don't know. As far as I am aware, his surgery hasn't suffered in the
  slightest. He's working as hard as ever."
  "Uh huh," nodded Joan. "Does Thomas know you know?"
  "He knows I suspect the Dexedrine. Not the others. At least not yet." Cassi
  wondered how soon Patricia would tell Thomas she'd been in his study.
             GODPLAYER         177

  "There's a euphemistic term for this," said Joan. "It's called the
  'impaired physician.' Unfortunately it is not all that uncommon. Maybe you
  should read up on it; there's a lot of material in the medical literature
  although doctors themselves usually hate to confront the problem. I'll give
  you some reprints. But tell me, has Thomas exhibited any of the associated
  behavioral changes-like embarrassing social behavior or disruption of his
  appointment schedule?"
  "No," said Cassi. "As I said before, Thomas is working harder than ever.
  But he did admit that he is getting less enjoyment from his work. And he
  seems to have less tolerance lately."
 "Tolerance for what?"
  "For anything. For people, for me. Even his mother, who essentially lives
  with us."
 Joan rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it.
 "It's not that bad," said Cassi.
 "I'll bet," said Joan cynically.
  The two women studied each other in silence for a few minutes.
  Then Joan asked tentatively, "What about your married life?"
 "What do you mean?" asked Cassi evasively.
  Joan cleared her throat. "Often physicians abusing drugs will suffer
  episodes of impotence and actively seek extramarital affairs."
  "Thomas has no time for extramarital affairs," said Cassi without
  hesitation.
  Joan nodded, beginning to think that Thomas did not sound very "impaired."
  "You know," said Joan, "your comment about Thomas's low frustration level
  and the fact that he's getting less enjoyment from his work these days is
  suggestive. Many surgeons are slightly narcissistic and share some of the
  side effects of the disorder."
 178        Robin Cook

 Cassl didn't respond, but the concept made sense.
  "Well, it's food for thought," said Joan. "It's an interesting idea that
  Thomas's success could be a problem. Narcissistic men need the kind of
  structure and constant feedback you get in a competitive surgical
  residency."
  "Thomas did remark that there was no longer anyone for him to compete
  with," said Cassi, catching Joan's train of thought.
  just then Cassi's phone rang. As Joan watched her friend pick up the
  receiver, she was pleased. Cassi was already acting less depressed. In
  fact, she managed a smile when she realized it was Robert Seibert.
  Cassl kept the conversation brief. After she hung up, she told Joan that
  Robert was in seventh heaven because he got another SSD case.
  "That's wonderful," said Joan sarcastically. "If you're about to invite me
  to the autopsy, thanks but no thanks."
  Cassi laughed. "No, in fact I declined myself. I've scheduled patients all
  morning, but I told Robert I'd come up at lunch to go over the results."
  Talking about time made Cassi glance at her watch. "Uh oh! I'm late for
  team meeting."
  The meeting went well. There'd been no catastrophes overnight nor any new
  admissions. In fact, the resident on call was pleased to report that he'd
  gotten nine hours of undisturbed sleep, which made everybody extremely
  jealous. Cassi got a chance to discuss Maureen's sister, and the consensus
  was that Cassi should encourage Maureen to contact her herself. There was
  general agreement that it was worth the risks to bring the sister into the
  treatment process if possible.
  Cassi also described Colonel Bentworth's apparent improvement as well as
  his attempts to manipulate her. Jacob Levine found this particularly
  interesting but warned Cassi about jumping to premature conclusions.
 "Remember, borderlines; can be unpredictable," said
            GODPLAYER          179

 Jacob, taking off his glasses and pointing them at Cassi for emphasis.
  The meeting broke tip early since there were no new admissions nor new
  problems. Cassi declined an offer of coffee, as she did not want to be
  late for Colonel Bentworth. When she got back to her office, he was
  waiting by the door.
  "Good morning," said Cassi as brightly as she could, opening her office
  door and entering.
  The colonel was silent as he followed Cassi in and sat down. She
  self-consciously took her place behind the desk. Cassi didn't know why,
  but the colonel exacerbated her professional insecurities, especially
  when he stared at her with those penetratingly blue eyes which she
  finally realized reminded her of Thomas's. They were both the same
  startling turquoise.
  Bentworth again did not look like a patient, He was impeccably dressed
  and seemed to have totally regained his air of command. The only visible
  hint he was the same person Cassi had admitted several weeks earlier were
  the heating bums on his forearm.
 I don't know how to begin," said Bentworth.
  "Maybe you could start by telling me why you've changed your mind about
  seeing me. Up until now you've refused private sessions."
 "Do you want it straight?"
 "That's always the best way," said Cassi.
 "Well, to tell the truth, I want a weekend pass."
  "But that kind of decision is usually made by the group. 11
  Group was Bentworth's major therapeutic agent at the moment.
  "That's true," said the colonel, "but the goddamn ignorant sons of
  bitches wouldn't let me go. You could overrule them. I know that."
  "And why would I want to overrule the people who know you the best?"
 180        Robin Cook

  "They don't know me," shouted Bentworth, slapping his hand on the desk.
  The sudden movement frightened Cassi, but she said quietly, "That kind
  of behavior is not going to get you anywhere. "
  "Jesus Christ!" said Bentworth. He got up and paced the small room. When
  Cassi didn't react, he threw himself back into his chair. Cassi could see
  a small vein throbbing in his temple.
  "Sometimes I think it would be easier just to give up," said Bentworth.
  "Why didn't the members of your group think you should have a weekend
  pass?" asked Cassi. The only thing she was prepared for on Bentworth's
  part was manipulative behavior, and she wasn't going to fall for it.
 ,,I don't know," said the colonel.
 "You must have an idea."
  "They don't like me. Is that good enough? They're all a bunch of jerks.
  Blue-collar workers, for Christ's sake."
 "That sounds pretty hostile."
 "Yeah, well, I hate them all."
 "They happen to be people like you with problems."
  Bentworth didn't respond immediately, and Cassi tried to remember what
  she'd read about treating borderline personalities. The actuality of
  psychiatry seemed a thousand times more difficult than the
  conceptualization. She knew that she was supposed to play a structuring
  role, but she wasn't sure exactly what that meant in the context of the
  current session.
  "The crazy thing is that I hate them, yet I need them." Bentworth shook
  his head as if he were confounded by his own statement. "I know that
  sounds weird, but I don't like to be alone. The worst thing is for me to
  be alone. It makes me drink, and liquor makes me go nuts. I can't help
  it."
            GODPLAYER          181

 "What happens?" asked Cassi.
  "I always get propositioned. It never fails. Some dude sees me and
  guesses I'm a stud, so he comes over and starts to talk to me. I end up
  beating the guy to a pulp. It's one thing the army taught me. How to
  fight with my hands."
  Cassi remembered reading that both borderline personalities and
  narcissists wanted to protect themselves from homosexual impulses.
  Homosexuality could be a potentially fertile area for future sessions,
  but for the moment she didn't want to push into areas that were too
  sensitive.
  "What about your work?" asked Cassi to change the subject.
  "If you want to know the truth, I'm tired of being in the army. I liked
  the early competition. But now that I'm a colonel, that's over. I've
  arrived. And I'm not going to make general because too many people envy
  me. There is no more challenge. Every time I go into the office I get
  this empty feeling-like what's the use."
 "An empty feeling?" echoed Cassi.
  "Yeah, empty. I feel the same after I've been living with a woman for a
  couple of months. At first it's intense and exciting, but it always goes
  sour. It gets empty. I don't know how else to explain it."
 Cassi bit her lip.
  "The ideal relationship with a woman," said Bentworth, It would be one
  month long. Then, puff, she'd disappear and another one would take her
  place. That would be perfect. "
 "But you were married."
  "Yeah, I was married. Only lasted a year. I just about killed the broad.
  All she did was complain."
 "Are you living with someone now?"
  "No. That's why I'm here. The day before they picked me tip, she walked
  out. I'd only known her for a
 182        Robin Cook

 couple of weeks, but she met some other guy and took off. That's why I
 want to get out of here for the weekend. She's still got a key to my
 apartment. I'm afraid she might clean me out."
  "Why not call a friend and have him change the lock?" said Cassi.
  "There's nobody I can trust," said Bentworth, standing up. "Look, are you
  going to give me a weekend pass or is all this bull for nothing?"
  "I'll bring it up at the next team meeting," said Cassi. "We'll discuss
  it."
  Bentworth leaned over the desk. "The only thing I've learned in all my
  time in the hospital is that I hate psychiatrists. They think they're so
  goddamned smart, but they're not. They're a hell of a lot crazier than
  I am."
  Cassi returned his stare, noticing how cold his eyes had become. The
  thought went through her mind that Colonel Bentworth should be committed.
  Then she remembered he was.

               El

  Cassi knocked on the doorjamb of Robert's tiny office. As he looked up
  from his binocular scope, his face broke into a broad and infectious
  smile. He jumped up so quickly to hug Cassi that his chair sped back on
  its wheels to the opposite wall.
  "You look down," said Robert examining her. "What's wrong?"
  Cassi looked away. She had had enough talk in the past few hours. "I'm
  just exhausted. I thought psychiatry was going to be so easy."
  "Then maybe you should transfer back to pathology," said Robert as he
  pulled out a chair for Cassi. Leaning forward, he rested his hands on her
  knees. If any other
             GODPLAYER         183

 man had done so, Cassi would have been annoyed, but she was comforted by
 Robert's gesture.
  "What can I get for you? Coffee? Orange juice? Anything?"
  Cassi shook her head. "I wish you could give me a good night's sleep. I'm
  beat, and I have to go to a party tonight at Doctor Ballantine's home in
  Manchester."
  "Wonderful," cooed Robert. "What are you going to wear?"
  Cassi rolled her eyes in disbelief, saying she hadn't given it a moment's
  thought, at which point Robert, who had some knowledge of Cassi's wardrobe,
  made several suggestions. Cassi interrupted to say that she'd come to hear
  about the autopsy, not for his fashion advice.
  Robert made an exaggerated expression of being hurt and said, "The only
  thing that you come up here for is business. I can remember when we used to
  be friends."
  Cassi reached out to give Robert a friendly shake, but he eluded her by
  pushing back on his chair, which glided smoothly out of the way. They both
  laughed. Cassi sighed and realized she felt better than she had all day.
  Robert was like a tonic.
  "Did your husband tell you he saved me at the last surgical death
  conference?"
  "No," said Cassi, surprised. She'd never mentioned Thomas's antipathy to
  Robert, but it was all too obvious the few times they'd met.
  "I made a big mistake. I got this crazy notion that the cardiac surgeons
  would be overjoyed to hear about SSD, and I decided to make a preliminary
  presentation at yesterday's conference. It turned out to be the worst thing
  I could have done. I suppose I should have realized their egos are such
  that they'd consider the study a form of criticism. Anyway, when I finished
  talking, Ballantine started to chew me out until Thomas inter-
   184        Robin Cook

 rupted with an intelligent question. That sparked a few more questions,
 and what could have been a total disaster was averted. I did get a lot of
 heat this morning from the chief of pathology. It seems George Sherman had
 asked him to muzzle me in the future."
  Cassi was impressed and grateful for her husband's intervention. She
  wondered why he hadn't mentioned it to her until she remembered that she
  hadn't given Thomas a chance. She'd brought up her eye surgery the second
  she'd seen him.
  "Maybe I'll have to take back some of the nasty things I've said about
  your husband," added Robert.
  There was an awkward silence. Cassi did not want to get into a discussion
  of her own feelings just then.
  "Well," said Robert, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. "To
  work! As I said on the phone, I think I found a new SSD case."
  "Cyanotic like the last?" asked Cassi, eager to change the subject.
 "Nope, " said Robert. "Come on, I want to show you."
  He leaped to his feet and dragged Cassi out of his office and into one
  of the autopsy rooms. A young, light-skinned black was laid out on the
  stainless steel table. The standard Y autopsy incision had been closed
  with heavy sutures and clumsy bites of tissue.
  "I asked them to leave the body so you could see something," said Robert,
  his voice echoing in the tiled room.
  He let go of Cassi and inserted his thumb into Jeoffry Washington~s
  mouth, pulling down the lower jaw. "Look in here."
  With her hands behind her back, Cassi bent over and looked into the
  patient's mouth. The tongue was a mangled piece of meat.
  "Chewed hell out of it," said Robert. "Obviously had one hell of a grand
  mal seizure."
            GODPLAYER          185

  Cassi straightened up, a little sickened by what she'd seen. If this was
  an SSD case, he was the youngest yet.
  "I think this one died of an arrhythmia," said Robert, "but I won't know
  for sure until the brain is fixed. You know, seeing this kind of case
  doesn't help my anxiety about my own surgery." Robert glanced over at
  Cassi.
  "When are you going to have it?" she asked. Robert's statement sounded
  definitive.
  Robert smiled. "I told you, but you wouldn't believe that I was going to
  get it over with. I'm being admitted tomorrow. What about yours?"
 Cassi shook her head. "It's not definite yet."
  "You chicken," accused Robert with an air of superiority, "Why don't you
  schedule yours for the day after tomorrow, too, so we can visit together
  in the recovery room."
  Cassi didn't want to tell Robert about her difficulties talking the
  matter over with Thomas. Reluctantly her eyes went back to the corpse.
  "How old?" asked Cassi, motioning toward Jeoffry Washington.
 "Twenty-eight," said Robert.
  "God, that's young," said Cassi. "And it's only been two weeks since the
  last case."
 "That's a fact," said Robert.
  "You know, the more I think about it, the more disturbing these cases
  are."
 "Why do you think I've persisted?" said Robert.
  "With the number you have now and the apparent increase in frequency,
  it's getting harder and harder to ascribe the deaths to chance."
  "I agree," said Robert. "Ever since the last, I've had the nagging
  suspicion that these deaths are more closely related than we suspect. The
  only trouble with that idea is that it suggests a specific agent, and as
  your husband
 186        Robin Cook

 pointed out, the deaths are physiologically different. The facts don't fit
 the theory."
  Cassi walked around the table to jeoffry's right side. "Does this look
  swollen to you?" she said, reaching out and running her hand up the body's
  forearm.
 Robert bent down to look. "I don't know. Where?"
 Cassi pointed. "Was the patient on IV?"
  "I think so," said Robert. "I think he was on antibiotics for phlebitis."
  Cassi picked up jeoffry's left arm and looked at the IV site. It was red
  and puffy. "Just for interest's sake, how about getting some sections of
  the vein where the IV was?"
 "Anything if it will get you to come up and visit."
  Cassi replaced jeoffry's arm as carefully as if it were still sensate. "Do
  you happen to know if all the SSD cases were on IVs?" asked Cassi.
  "I don't know, but I can find out," said Robert. "I have an idea what
  you're thinking, and I don't like it."
  "The other suggestion I have," said Cassi, "is to collate the supposed
  physiological mechanisms of death and see if there is any pattern. You know
  what I mean."
  "I know what you mean," said Robert. "I can probably do that today. And
  I'll get the sections of the vein, but you have to promise to come up and
  look at them. Agreed?"
 "Agreed," said Cassi.

               0

  As Cassi pressed the elevator button in the corridor outside the pathology
  department, she was aware she was dreading her upcoming session with
  Maureen Kavenaugh. Without doubt, Maureen's depression exacerbated Cassi's
  own. The fact that Cassi had reason to be depressed, as Joan had pointed
  out, did not make the symptoms easier to live with.
             GODPLAYER         187

  Dreading the meeting with Maureen bothered Cassi because it forced her to
  admit that as a psychiatrist she was going to have to deal with her own
  value judgments. In other areas of medicine, if you were forced together
  with a patient you disliked, you concentrated on the pathology and cut the
  personal contact to a minimum. In psychiatry that was not possible.
  Happily, when she entered her office, Maureen still was nowhere to be seen.
  Cassi knew she was going to have difficulty concentrating on what Maureen
  had to say because Robert's decision to have his surgery brought up the
  issue of her own. She knew Robert was right. After a moment's indecision,
  she dialed Thomas's office.
 Unfortunately, he was still in surgery.
  "I don't know when he will be out," said Doris. "But I know it will be late
  because he called me and told me to cancel his afternoon office hours."
  Cassi thanked her and hung up. Blankly she stared at her Monet print.
  Joan's comment about the "impaired physician" disrupting his appointment
  schedule flashed into her mind. Then she dismissed the thought. Thomas had
  obviously canceled his office hours because he was stuck in surgery.
  A knock interrupted her thoughts. Maureen's listless face appeared in the
  doorway.
  "Come in," said Cassi as cheerfully as she could. She suspected that the
  next fifty minutes were going to be a good example of the blind leading the
  blind.

               F~

  It was Doris, not Thomas, who called Cassi in the middle of the afternoon
  to say that Dr. Kingsley would meet her at the front entrance to the
  hospital at six o'clock sharp. She insisted Cassi be on time because of the
  party that night. Cassi was in the lobby promptly, but when the clock over
  the information booth showed
 188        Robin Cook

 twenty after six, she worried that she may have gotten the message wrong.
  The entrance of the hospital was crowded with waves of people coming and
  going. The people leaving were primarily employees, and they chattered
  and laughed, glad to see the workday come to an end. Those arriving were
  mostly visitors who seemed subdued and intimidated as they lined up in
  front of the information booth to get directions from the volunteers in
  their green smocks.
  Watching the crowds made time pass, and when Cassi looked back at the
  clock, it was almost six-thirty. Finally she decided to call Thomas's
  office, but as she moved toward the phone, she caught a glimpse of his
  head above the crowd. He looked as tired as Cassi felt. His face was
  shadowed, which turned out to be an irregular growth of beard as if he'd
  not shaved carefully that morning. As he came closer, Cassi could see
  that his eyes were red-rimmed.
  Unsure of her reception, Cassi held her tongue. When she realized that
  Thomas had no intention of talking or even stopping, she hooked her arm
  in his and was carried toward the rapidly revolving door.
  Outside Cassi was confronted by a mixture of rain and snow, which melted
  the instant the flakes touched the ground. Hefting her bag onto her
  shoulder, she shielded her face and stumbled behind Thomas toward the
  parking garage.
  Once inside the garage, he stopped and, finally turning to Cassi, said,
  "Awful weather."
  "We're paying for such a nice fall," said Cassi, encouraged that Thomas
  did not seem to be in a bad mood. Maybe Patricia would not tell him of
  the visit to his study.
  The engine of the Porsche reverberated like thunder in the garage. As he
  watched the dials and gauges, Cassi
            GODPLAYER          189

 carefully did up her seat belt. It took a conscious effort for her not to
 tell Thomas to do his, especially given the bad weather, but remembering
 his previous response, Cassi remained silent.
  Whenever it snowed, traffic in Boston slowed to a frustrating stop-and-go
  mess. As Thomas and Cassi proceeded east on Storrow Drive, it was mostly
  stop. Although Cassi wanted to talk, she was afraid to break the silence.
  "Did you hear from Robert Seibert today?" Thomas finally asked.
  Cassi swung her head around. Thomas still had his eyes on the road
  despite the fact that the car was immobilized in a sea of red taillights.
  He seemed hypnotized by the rhythmic click-clack of the windshield
  wipers.
  "I did speak to Robert today," admitted Cassi, surprised at the question.
  "How did you know?"
  "I'd heard that one of George Sherman's patients had died. Apparently it
  wasn't expected, and I wondered if your friend Robert was still
  interested in that series of his. "
  "Absolutely," said Cassi. "I went up after the autopsy. And when I did,
  Robert told me how you rescued him at death conference. I think that was
  very nice of you, Thomas."
  "I wasn't trying to be nice," said Thomas. "I was interested in what he
  had to say. But he was a fool to do what he did, and I still think he
  should get his butt kicked."
 "I think he did get his butt kicked," said Cassi.
  With a faint smile Thomas took advantage of the thinning traffic and
  goosed his car up the grade to the expressway.
  "Was this last death another suspicious one?" he asked as the car
  accelerated to seventy, He drove with both
 190        Robin Cook

 hands on the wheel, blinking his high beams furiously as he came up behind
 people traveling more slowly.
  "Robert thinks so," said Cassi, her hands involuntarily gripping each
  other. Thomas's driving always scared her. "But he hasn't done the brain
  yet. He thinks the patient convulsed prior to death."
 "So it wasn't like the last case?" asked Thomas.
  "No," said Cassi. "But Robert thinks the situations are related."
  Purposely she kept her own role in the discussion secret. "Most of the
  patients, particularly over the last several years, have died after their
  acute postoperative course was over. One point that occurred to Robert
  today was that all the patients may have been on IV when they died. He's
  checking on that now. It could be significant."
  "Why? Does Robert think these deaths could be suspicious?" asked Thomas
  with shock.
  "I guess it's occurred to him," said Cassi. "After all, there was a case
  in New Jersey where a series of patients were given something like
  curate."
  "That's true, but they all died with the same symptoms. ))
  "Well," said Cassi. "I guess Robert feels that he has to consider all
  possibilities. I know it sounds awful and it certainly accentuates any
  insecurities Robert has about his own imminent surgery." Cassi was hoping
  to shift the topic to her own operation.
 "What kind of surgery is Robert going to have?"
  "He's finally having his impacted wisdom teeth removed. Since he had
  rheumatic heart disease as a child, he has to be treated with
  prophylactic antibiotics."
  "He'd be a fool not to," agreed Thomas. "Although he must have suicidal
  tendencies. That's the only way I can explain his behavior at that death
  conference. Cassi, I want you to be sure to stay away from this so-called
  SSD study, especially if there are going to be ludicrous
             GODPLAYER         191

 accusations. With everything else going on, I certainly don't need that
 kind of grief."
  Cassi watched the cars in front as the Porsche relentlessly passed them.
  The monotonous movement of the windshield wipers mesmerized her as she
  tried to find the courage to broach her own operation. She'd promised
  herself she'd start speaking as soon as they came abreast of that yellow
  car. But the yellow car soon dropped behind them. Then it was the bus.
  But they'd passed that, too, and still Cassi remained silent. She gave
  up in despair, hoping that Thomas would bring up the subject himself.
  The tension exhausted her. The idea of Ballantine's party seemed less and
  less attractive. She had trouble understanding why Thomas, of all people,
  wanted to go. He hated hospital affairs. The idea occurred to Cassi that
  inaybe he was going for her benefit. If that were the case, it was
  ridiculous. All Cassi could think about was clean sheets and their
  comfortable bed. She decided she'd say something when they got to the
  next overpass.
  "Do you really want to go to this party tonight?" asked Cassi hesitantly
  as an overpass flashed above them.
  "Why do you ask?" Thomas pulled the car sharply to the right, then gunned
  the engine to pass a car that had ignored his blinking high beam.
  "If you're going for me," said Cassi, "I'm exhausted. I'd much rather
  stay home."
  "Goddammit," shouted Thomas, banging the steering wheel. "Must you always
  think only of yourselfl. I told you weeks ago that the board of directors
  and the deans of the medical school are going to be there. Something
  strange is going on in the hospital that they are not telling me. But I
  don't suppose you think that's important?"
 As Thomas reddened with anger, Cassi sank in her
 192       Robin Cook

 seat. She had a feeling that no matter what she said, it would oniv make
 matters worse.
  Thoma~ lapsed into a sullen silence. He drove even more recklessly,
  taking the car up to ninety as they crossed the salt marshes. Despite the
  seat belt, Cassi found herself being thrown from side to side as the car
  rounded the sharp bends. She was relieved when he began to down shift
  before turning into their driveway.
  By the time they got to the front door, Cassi had become resigned about
  the party. She apologized for not understanding its implications and
  added gently, "You look tired yourself."
  "Thanks! I appreciate your vote of confidence," said Thomas
  sarcastically. He started for the stairs.
  "Thomas," called Cassi desperately. She could tell he'd interpreted her
  concern as an insult. "Does it have to be like this?"
 "I think this is the way you want it."
 Cassi tried to object.
  "Let's not have a scene, please!" yelled Thomas. Then in a more
  controlled voice he said, "We'll leave in an hour. You're the one who
  looks terrible. Your hair is a mess. I hope you're planning on doing
  something with it. "
  "I will," said Cassi. "Thomas, I don't want us to fight. It terrifies
  me."
  "I'm not getting into this kind of discussion," snapped Thomas. "Not now.
  Be ready in an hour."
  Hurrying into his study he went directly to the bathroom, mumbling under
  his breath about Cassi's selfishness. He'd told her very specifically
  about the party and why it was important, but she'd conveniently
  forgotten because she was too tired! "Why do I have to put up with this,
  " he said, running a hand over his beard.
 Getting out his shaving paraphernalia, Thomas washed
            GODPLAYER          193

 and lathered his face. Cassi was becoming more than a source of
 irritation. She was becoming a burden. First her eye problems, then her
 preoccupation with the fact he took an occasional drug, and now her
 association with Seibert's provocative paper.
  Thomas began to shave with short, irritated strokes. It was beginning to
  feel as if everyone were against him, both at home and in the hospital.
  At work the key offender was George Sherman, who was constantly un-
  dermining him with all the supposed teaching bullshit. just thinking
  about it filled Thomas with such frustration that he threw his razor into
  the shower with all the force he could muster. It ricocheted off the
  tiled walls with a clatter before coming to rest near the drain.
  Leaving the razor where it was, Thomas got into the shower. The running
  water always tended to soothe him, and after he'd stood under the spray
  for a few minutes, he felt better. While he was drying, he heard the door
  to his study open. Expecting it was Cassi, he didn't bother to look, but
  when he was done in the bathroom, he opened the door to find Patricia
  sitting in his armchair.
 "Didn't you hear me come in?" she asked.
  "No," said Thomas. It was easier to fib. He went to the cabinet below the
  bookshelves where he'd been keeping some of his clothes.
  "I can remember when you used to take me to these hospital parties," said
  Patricia plaintively.
 "You're welcome to come," said Thomas.
  "No. If you'd really wanted me you would have invited me rather than
  making me ask."
  Thomas thought it better not to respond. Whenever Patricia was in one of
  these "hurt" moods, it was safer to say nothing.
 "Last night I saw the light come on in the study here,
 194        Robin Cook

 and I thought you'd come home. Instead I found Cassandra in here."
 "In my study?" demanded Thomas.
  "She was right over there behind your desk." Patricia pointed.
 "What was she doing?"
  "I don't know. I didn't ask her." Patricia stood up with a self-satisfied
  expression. "I told you she would be trouble. But, oh no! You knew
  better," She sauntered out of the room and closed the door gently behind
  her.
  Thomas threw his clean clothes onto the sofa and went to his desk.
  Pulling out the drawer with his drugs, he was relieved to see the bottles
  of pills exactly as he'd left them behind the stationery.
  Even so Cassi was driving him crazy. He'd warned her to stay away from
  his belongings. Thomas could feel himself begin to shake. Instinctively
  he reached into his cache of pills and extracted two: a Percodan for the
  headache he could feel behind his eyes and a Dexedrine to wake him up.
  If it was worth going to this party, he should at least be alert.

  Cassi could sense a tremendous change for the worse in Thomas's mood as
  they drove toward Manchester. She'd heard Patricia come into the house
  and guessed that she'd visited Thomas. It didn't take too much imagi-
  nation to figure out what she'd told him. Since Thomas had already been
  in poor humor, she couldn't have chosen a worse time.
  Cassi had made a real effort to look her best. After taking her evening
  insulin, which she'd upped because of sugar showing up in' her urine,
  she'd bathed and washed her hair. Then she'd selected one of the dresses
            GODPLAYER          195

 that Robert had suggested. It was a deep brown velvet with puffed sleeves
 and a tight bodice that gave her a charming medieval look.
  Thomas said nothing about her appearance. In fact he said nothing at all.
  He drove the way he had coming from the hospital, recklessly and fast. She
  wished he had a close friend she could go to-someone who really cared for
  him, but in truth he didn't have many friends at all. For a moment she was
  reminded of her last meeting with Colonel Bentworth. Then she caught her
  breath. Identifying with Maureen Kavenaugh was one thing, but comparing her
  husband to a borderline personality was ridiculous. Cassi turned her
  attention to the window to keep from thinking and tried to see through the
  moisture. It was a dark, forbidding night.
  The Ballantines' house fronted on the ocean, just like Thomas's. But that
  was where the similarities ended. The Ballantines' home was a large, stone
  mansion and had been in the family for a hundred years. In order to
  maintain the house, Dr. Ballantine had sold off some of the land to a
  developer, but since the original plot was so large, no other house could
  be seen from the main building. It gave the impression of being in the
  country.
  As they got out of the car, Cassi noticed that Thomas had a slight tremor.
  His coordination seemed slightly off as they mounted the front steps. Oh
  God, what had he taken?
  Thomas's demeanor changed as soon as he joined the party. Cassi watched
  with amazement, although she knew how easily he could abandon an angry mood
  and become charming and animated. If only he would still expend some of
  that charm on her. Deciding it was safe to leave him, Cassi began to look
  for the food. Having given herself her evening insulin, she shouldn't wait
  too long before eating. The dining room was to the right, and she made her
  way over to the arched entrance.
 196        Robin Cook

                F1

  Thomas was pleased. As he'd expected, most of the hospital trustees and
  the deans of the medical school were at the party. He'd seen them over
  the shoulders of the small group of people he'd joined when first
  arriving. He was particularly interested in finding the chairman of the
  board. Picking up a fresh drink, he began to make his way through the
  crowd toward the men when Ballantine came over to him.
  "Ah, there you are Thomas. " Ballantine had been drinking heavily, and
  the circles under his eyes were pronounced, giving him more the
  appearance of a Basset hound than usual. "Glad that you could make it."
 "Wonderful party," said Thomas.
  "You better believe it," said Ballantine with a forceful wink. "Things
  are really happening at the old Boston Memorial. God, it's exciting."
  "What are you talking about?" asked Thomas, backing up a step. Dr.
  Ballantine had a habit of spitting when he pronounced "Ts" after he'd had
  a few drinks.
  Ballantine stepped closer. "I'd like to tell you, but I can't," he
  whispered. "But maybe soon, and I think you should join us. Have you
  given any thought to my offer of full professorship?"
  Thomas felt his patience evaporate. He didn't want to hear about joining
  the full-time staff. He had no idea what Ballantine was referring to when
  Ballantine said, "Things are really happening." But Thomas didn't like
  the sound of it. As far as he was concerned, any change in the status quo
  was worrisome. He suddenly recalled seeing Ballantine's office light
  blazing at 2:00 A.M.
  "What were you doing in your office so late last night?"
 Ballantine's happy face clouded. "Why do you ask?"
 'Just curiosity," said Thomas.
            GODPLAYER          197

  "That's a strange question just coming outta the blue," said Dr.
  Ballantine.
  "I was in surgery last night. I saw your office light from the lounge."
  "Must have been cleaning people," said Ballantine. He raised his glass
  and stared at it. "Looks like I need a refill. "
  "I also saw George Sherman's car in the garage," said Thomas. "It seemed
  an odd coincidence."
  "Ah," said Ballantine, with a wave of his hand. "George's been having
  trouble with that car for a month. Something with the electrical system.
  Can I get you another drink? You're as low as U'
  "Why not?" said Thomas. He was sure Ballantine was lying. The moment the
  chief edged toward the bar, Thomas recommenced his search for the
  chairman. It was more important than ever to find out what was going on
  at the Memorial.

               El

  Cassi stayed by the buffet table for a while eating and chatting with
  several other wives. When she was sure she had absorbed enough calories
  to balance her insulin, she decided she'd better find Thomas. She had no
  idea what drugs he'd taken, and she was nervous. She had just started for
  the living room when George Sherman stopped her.
  "You look beautiful, as usual," he said with a warm smile.
  "You look good yourself, George," said Cassi. "I like you far better in
  a tuxedo than that old corduroy jacket of yours. "
 George laughed self-consciously.
 "I've been meaning to ask how you find psychiatry. I
 198       Robin Cook

 was surprised when I heard you'd made the switch. In a lot of ways, I envy
 you."
  "Don't tell me you give psychiatry any credibility. I didn't think any
  surgeon did."
  "My mother suffered a severe postpartum depression after my younger
  brother was born. I'm convinced her psychiatrist saved her life. I might
  have chosen it as a specialty if I thought I would have been successful.
  It takes a sensitivity I don't have."
  "Nonsense," said Cassi. "You have the sensitivity. I think it would be
  the passivity that would give you trouble. It's the patient who has to
  do the work in psychiatry, "
  George was silent for a moment, and as Cassi watched his face she
  suddenly thought of fixing him up with Joan. Thev were both such nice
  people.
  "Are you interested in meeting an attractive new woman these days?"
  "I'm always interested in attractive women. Though few measure up to
  you."
  "Her name is Joan Widiker. She's a third-year psychiatry resident."
  "Wait a second, " said George. "I'm not sure I can handle a psychiatrist.
  She'll probably ask me all sorts of tough questions when I drag out my
  whips and chains. I might be too self-conscious. Worse than when I was
  with you. Remember that first date?"
  Cassi laughed. How could she forget? George had clumsily knocked her hand
  during dinner so that she'd spilled linguini Alfredo into her lap. Then,
  in his eagerncss to help mop it up, he'd knocked her Chianti Classico
  into her lap as well.
  "I don't mean to sound ungrateful," said George. "I do appreciate your
  thinking of me and I'll give Joan a call. But Cassi, I wanted to talk to
  you about something a little more serious."
             GODPLAYER         199

  Cassi unconsciously straightened, unsure of what was coming.
 "As a colleague, I'm worried about Thomas."
 "Oh?" said Cassi as casually as she could.
  "He works too damn hard. It's one thing to be dedicated, quite another
  to be obsessed. I've seen it before. Often physicians can go along at
  nine hundred miles an hour for years and then suddenly bum themselves
  out. The reason I'm saying all this is to ask you to try to get Thomas
  to slow down, maybe take a vacation. He's been wound up like a coiled
  spring. There's gossip he's had a couple of bad arguments with the
  residents and nurses."
  George's words awakened all Cassi's submerged tears. She bit her lip, but
  remained silent.
  "If you could get him to take some vacation time, I'll be happy to cover
  his practice if need be." George was startled to see Cassi's eyes fill
  with tears. She turned away, hiding her face.
  "I didn't mean to upset you," said George. Reaching out, he put his hand
  on her shoulder.
  "It's all right," said Cassi, struggling to regain her composure. "I'm
  okay." She looked up and managed a smile.
  "Dr. Ballantine and I have discussed Thomas," said George. "We'd like to
  help. We both think that when someone works as hard as Thomas, he has to
  recognize that there's an emotional price to pay."
  Cassi nodded as if she understood. She gave George's hand a squeeze.
  "If you feel uncomfortable talking to me, maybe see Dr. Ballantine. He
  thinks the world of your husband. Maybe you'd like the chief s private
  extension at the hospital?"
  Cassi evaded George's warm gaze. Concentrating on her purse, she
  extracted a small notepad and pencil.
 200        Robin Cook

 When George gave her the number, she wrote it down. When she looked up, her
 heart almost stopped. She found herself looking directly into Thomas's
 unblinking stare. With knowledge born of intimacy, she instantly knew he was
 violently angry. All at once, George's hand felt heavy on her shoulder.
  She quickly excused herself, but by the time she moved toward the door,
  Thomas had disappeared.

                El

  Thomas hadn't been so angry since he was a freshman in college and one of
  his roommates had dated Thomas's girl friend. No wonder George had been
  acting so strangely. He'd been renewing his affair with Cassi, and Cassi
  had no more sense than to display her interest in front of all Thomas's
  colleagues. The cold knot of fear in the pit of his stomach stirred. His
  hand shook so badly he almost spilled his drink. Quickly tossing it off, he
  stepped through the French doors onto the veranda, welcoming the sharp
  ocean breeze.
  Frantically he searched his pockets for a pill. The evening had gone badly
  from the start. A trustee who'd already made several trips to the bar had
  stopped to offer congratulations on the hospital's new teaching program.
  When Thomas had stared blankly in response, the man had muttered a quick
  apology and backed out of the room. Thomas had been about to search out
  Ballantine and demand an explanation when he'd seen Cassi.
  God, what a fool he'd been. Now that he thought about it, it was obvious
  George and Cassi were having an affair. No wonder she never complained when
  he stayed so often in the hospital. Mercilessly his mind teased him with
  the idea that they met in his house. The image of George in their bedroom
  made Thomas
             GODPLAYER         201

 cry out in rage. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a couple standing in
 the doorway, and Thomas was suddenly afraid they were aware of the affair.
 Obviously they were talking about him. He pulled out another pill,
 swallowed it, and went back inside for another drink.

  Frantic to find Thomas, Cassi began to work her way around the living
  room, excusing herself as she squeezed among the guests.
  She was on her way into the bar when she found herself face to face with
  Dr. Obermeyer.
  "What a coincidence!" he said. "My most difficult patient! "
  Cassi smiled nervously. She remembered she'd reneged on her promise to
  call him that day.
  "Unless my memory fails, you were supposed to schedule your surgery
  today," said Dr. Obermeyer. "Did you talk to Thomas about it?"
  "Why don't I come to your office tomorrow morning," said Cassi evasively.
  "Maybe I should talk to your husband," said Dr. Obermeyer. "Is he here?"
  "No," said Cassi. "I mean, yes he's here, but I don't think this is the
  time . . ."
  A tremendous yell shook the room, halting all conversation and stopping
  Cassi in midsentence. Everyone looked confused; everyone but Cassi. She
  recognized the voice. It was Thomas! Running back toward the dining room,
  she heard another shout, followed by a crash of broken glass.
  Pushing her way through the other guests, Cassi saw Thomas standing in
  front of the buffet, his face flushed with anger, a number of broken
  plates at his feet.
 202        Robin Cook

 Staring at him in horrified surprise was George Sherman, a drink in one
 hand and a carrot stick in the other.
  As Cassi watched, George reached out and patted Thomas's shoulder with
  the carrot, saying, "Thomas, you're mistaken."
  Thomas knocked George's arm away with a vicious snap of his wrist. "Don't
  touch me! And don't ever touch my wife. Understand?" He jabbed a
  threatening finger into George's face.
 "Thomas?" said George helplessly.
  Cassi ran between the two men. "What is the matter with you, Thomas?" she
  said, grabbing his jacket. "Control yourselfl"
  "Control myself," he repeated, turning toward her. "I think that applies
  more to you than me."
  With a final sneer, he shook himself from Cassi's grasp and headed for
  the front door. Ballantine, who'd been in the kitchen, followed, calling
  his name.
  Cassi apologized quickly to George and moved toward the door, her head
  bent to avoid the curious stares.
  Thomas meanwhile had found his coat and was saying angrily to Ballantine,
  "I'm terribly sorry about all this, but learning that one of your
  colleagues is having an affair with your wife is hard to take."
  "I, I can't believe that," said Ballantine. "Are you sure.
  "I'm sure," said Thomas. He turned to open the door as Cassi ran up and
  caught his arm.
  "Thomas, what are you doing?" she said, fighting tears.
  Thomas didn't answer. Buttoning his coat, he turned to leave.
 "Thomas, talk to me. What happened?"
             GODPLAYER         203

  Thomas yanked his arm away from Cassi with such force she almost fell to
  the ground. She hesitated as he opened the door and stormed outside.
 Cassi caught up to him at the bottom of the steps.
  "Thomas, if you're going to leave, then I'm coming. Let me get my coat."
  Thomas stopped short. "I don't want you with me. Why don't you just stay
  here and enjoy your affair!"
  Confused, Cassi watched him walk away. "My affair? This is your affair.
  I didn't want to come tonight!"
  Thomas didn't respond. Cassi gathered up the skirt of her long dress and
  ran after him. By the time she reached the Porsche she was shaking
  violently, but she didn't know whether it was from fear or the cold.
 "Why are you acting this way?" she sobbed.
  "I might be a lot of things, but I'm not stupid," snapped Thomas,
  slamming the car door against her. The engine started with a roar.
  "Thomas, Thomas," called Cassi, beating against the window with one hand
  and trying to open the door with the other. Thomas ignored her and backed
  up quickly. If Cassi had not stepped back, letting go of the car, she
  would have been pulled down. Staring mutely, she watched the Porsche roar
  down the long driveway.
  Mortified, she turned back to the house. Perhaps she could hide in one
  of the upstairs rooms until she could get a cab. When she reached the
  foyer, she was relieved to see the guests were again busy drinking and
  laughing. Only George and Dr, Ballantine were waiting at the door.
         71
 "I'M so sorry , Cassi said uneasily. "Don't be sorry," said Dr.
 Ballantine. "I understand George has had a little talk with you. We are
 concerned about Thomas and think he's overworking. We have
 204        Robin Cook

 plans that will tighten his load, but he's been so upset lately that we
 haven't had the opportunity to discuss it with him. "
 Ballantine exchanged glances with George.
  "That's right," agreed George. "I think this unfortunate episode tonight
  just underlines what we're saying."
 Cassi was too upset and confused to respond.
  "George also mentioned," said Ballantine, "that he gave you my private
  extension at the hospital. I'll be happy to see you any time you want,
  Cassi. In fact, why don't you stop by my office tomorrow?
  "Now, would you like to rejoin the party?" asked Ballantine, "or would
  you rather one of my boys drove you home?"
  "I'd like to go home," said Cassi, wiping her eyes with the back of her
  hand.
  "Fine," said Ballantine. 'Just a moment." He turned and mounted the
  stairs to the second floor.
  "I am sorry," said Cassi to George when they were alone. "I don't know
  what got into Thomas."
  George shook his head. "Cassi, if he knew how I really felt about you,
  he'd have every reason to be jealous. Now smile. I was just paying you
  a compliment." He stood, gazing fondly at her until Ballantine's son
  brought the car around.

               El

  Cassi didn't know what to expect when she turned the key in her front
  door. She was surprised to see a light in the living room. If Thomas was
  home and not in the hospital, she assumed he would be locked in his
  study. Nervously, she walked through the hall straightening her hair as
  best she could.
  But it was her mother-in-law, not Thomas, who was waiting for her.
            GODPLAYER          205

  Patricia was seated in a wingback chair, her face lost in the shadowy light
  of a single floorlamp. Upstairs, Cassi heard a toilet flush.
  For a long time neither woman spoke. Then Patricia stiffly stood up, her
  shoulders bowed as if under a heavy weight. Her face was drawn,
  accentuating the lines around her mouth. She walked directly up to Cassi
  and looked her in the eye.
 Cassi held her ground.
  "I'm shocked," she said at last. "How could you have done this? Maybe if he
  weren't my only child it wouldn't hurt so much."
  "What on earth are you talking about?" demanded Cassi.
  "And to pick one of Thomas's colleagues," Patricia went on, ignoring the
  younger woman. "A man who has been steadily trying to erode his position.
  If you wanted an affair, why not a stranger?"
  "I'm not having an affair," said Cassi desperately. "This is absurd. Oh
  God, Thomas is not himself."
  She watched her mother-in-law for some sign of understanding, but Patricia
  stood rigidly looking at her daughter-in-law with a mixture of sadness and
  anger.
  Cassi stretched her arms toward the woman. "Please," she pleaded. "Thomas
  is in trouble. Won't you help?"
 Patricia remained unresponsive.
  Letting her arms fall to her sides, Cassi watched as Patricia walked
  haltingly to the door. She seemed to have aged ten years since Cassi had
  last seen her. If only she'd listen. But Cassi realized at last that
  Patricia would rather break her heart over a lie than deal with the more
  frightening truth of Thomas's addiction. As much as Patricia criticized
  Thomas, Cassi knew that she could never conceive of the possibility of
  something significantly wrong with her son.
 Cassi remained in the semidarkness of the living room
 206       Robin Cook

 for a long time after she heard the front door close. She'd cried more tears
 in the last forty-eight hours than she had for the previous twenty years.
 How could Thomas possibly believe she was having an affair? The idea was
 preposterous.
  With heavy steps she finally ascended the stairs to find Thomas. There was
  no way she could just go to bed. She had to try to speak to him. For a
  moment she hesitated outside the study. Then she knocked softly.
 There was no answer.
  She knocked again, louder. When there was still no reply, she tried the
  door. It was locked. Determined to talk with him, she walked to the guest
  room and entered the study through the connecting bathroom.
  He was sitting immobile in his easy chair, staring straight ahead, his eyes
  unfocused. If he heard Cassi, his expression did not change. A slight smile
  lifted the comers of his mouth. Even after Cassi knelt down and pressed his
  hand to her cheek, he did not move.
 "Thomas," she called softly.
 Thomas finally looked down at her.
  "Thomas, I've never had an affair with George. I've never looked at anyone
  since we met. I love you. Please let me help."
  "I don't believe you," Thomas said, badly slurring his words. Then his eyes
  rolled up and he passed out, leaving Cassi still holding his hand. She
  unfolded the sofa bed and tried to get him to move, but he refused. She sat
  with him for a while before going back to her own room to try to sleep.
           CHAPTER
               8

 IN THE MORNING Cassi was up and dressed before she heard the alarm go off
 in the study. It kept ringing and ringing. Concerned, she ran down the
 hall and opened the door. Thomas was sprawled in his chair exactly as she
 had left him the night before.
 "Thomas," she said, shaking him.
 "Wha-what?" he whispered.
  "It's quarter to six. Don't you have surgery this morning?"
  "I thought we were going to Ballantine's party," he muttered.
  "Thomas, that was last night. Oh God, maybe you should call in sick. You
  never take a day off. Let me call Doris and see if she can postpone your
  operations. "
  Thomas struggled to his feet. He swayed and steadied himself against the
  arm of the chair.
  "No, I'm fine." His voice was still slightly slurred. "And with the
  cutback on my OR time, I won't be able to reschedule for weeks. Some of
  the patients this month have already waited too long."
  "Then let someone else . . . " Thomas raised his hand so quickly Cassi
  thought he was going to hit her, but instead he lunged into the bathroom,
  slamming the door. A few moments later she heard him turn on the

               207
 208        Robin Cook

 shower. When he came downstairs he seemed in better shape. Probably
 because he had taken a couple of Dexedrines, thought Cassi.
  He quickly drank juice and a cup of coffee and then headed for the
  garage.
  "Even if I can get home tonight, I'll be very late, so you better take
  your own car," he said over his shoulder.
  Cassi remained sitting at the kitchen table for a long time before she,
  too, began the long trip to the hospital. "For the first time," she
  thought, "it's not just Thomas I'm worried about. It's his patients. I
  don't know if it's safe for him to operate anymore."
  By the time she reached Boston Memorial, Cassi had made up her mind to
  do three things the minute she was finished with team meeting. She would
  make an appointment to have her eye surgery, arrange to take the
  necessary time off, and she would see Dr. Ballantine and confide her
  fears about Thomas. After all, the problem affected the hospital as well
  as her marriage.
  Joan noted Cassi's preoccupation, but before she had a chance to ask any
  questions, at the end of the meeting Cassi said something about seeing
  her ophthalmologist and hurried off the floor.
  Dr. Obermeyer interrupted his schedule the moment he heard Cassi had
  appeared. He came out of his inner office with his minerlike light still
  strapped to the top of his head.
 "I trust you've come to the right decision?" he said.
  Cassi nodded. "I'd like to be scheduled as soon as possible. In fact, the
  sooner the better before I have a chance to change my mind."
  "I was hoping you'd say that," said Dr. Obermeyer. "In fact, I took the
  liberty of scheduling you as a semi-emergency for the day after tomorrow.
  Is that all right with you?"
 Cassi's mouth went dry, but she nodded obediently.
            GODPLAYER          209

  "Perfect," said Dr. Obermeyer with a smile. "Don't you worry about a
  thing. We'll take care of all the arrangements. You'll be admitted to the
  hospital tomorrow." Dr. Obermeyer buzzed for a secretary.
  "How long will I be unable to work?" said Cassi softly. "I will have to
  say something to the chief of psychiatry. "
  "That depends on what we find, but I'd guess a week to ten days."
  "That long?" said Cassi. She wondered what would happen to her patients.
  Walking slowly back from the Professional Building, Cassi decided to
  phone Dr. Ballantine before her courage failed her. He answered the phone
  himself and assured her he had no surgery and could see her in half an
  hour.
  After arranging to take sick leave, Cassi decided to kill the rest of the
  time before her interview with Ballantine by visiting pathology. She
  could tell Robert about her surgery, and just seeing him always gave her
  confidence. But when she reached his office, it was empty. One of the
  technicians told her that Robert was not due in at all. He was being
  admitted early that afternoon for oral surgery, and he'd decided to go
  out to eat what would probably be his last real meal for a week.
  Cassi was back out at the elevator when she remembered Jeoffry
  Washington. Turning back into the lab, she asked the technician for the
  slides. The woman located Jeoffry Washington's tray without difficulty
  but explained that only half the slides were finished. She said it took
  at least two days to do a case and suggested that Cassi come back the
  next day for the full set. Cassi said she understood, but was interested
  only in the H & E mounts of the vein, which were probably ready.
 The slides Cassi wanted were available and, in fact,
 210        Robin Cook

 were the first slides she saw when she opened the tray. There were six in
 all, labeled LEFT BASILIC VEIN, H & E STAIN, followed by Jeoffry
 Washington's autopsy number.
  Cassi sat down at Robert's microscope and, adjusting the eyepieces,
  focused on the first of the slides. There was a small collapsed ringed
  structure inside a smudge of pink tissue. Even under low power Cassi saw
  something strange. Looking closer, she identified multiple small white
  precipitates ringing the interior of the vein. Cassi then examined the
  walls of the vein. They looked completely normal. There was no infiltrate
  of inflammatory cells. Cassi wondered if the small white flakes had been
  introduced in the mounting process. There was no way to tell. She checked
  the rest of the slides and found the same precipitate in all but one.
  Taking them back to the lab, Cassi showed them to the technician, who was
  also perplexed. Cassi decided to tell Robert the moment she found out his
  room number. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was time to see
  Ballantine.
  He was having a sandwich at his desk and asked Cassi if his secretary
  could bring her something from the cafeteria. She shook her head. Given
  what she had to say, she wasn't sure if she would ever want to eat again.
  She began by apologizing for the scene Thomas had caused, but Dr.
  Ballantine cut her off and assured her that the party had been a great
  success and he doubted if anyone even remembered the incident. Cassi
  wished she could believe that; unfortunately she knew it was just the
  kind of scandalous scene that stayed in peoples' minds.
  "I've talked with Thomas several times this morning," said Dr.
  Ballantine. "I happened to see him before surgery.
 "How did he seem?" asked Cassi. In her mind's eye
             GODPLAYER         211

 she could see Thomas unconscious in the leather armchair, then stumbling
 into the bathroom.
  "Perfectly fine. Seemed to be in a good mood. I was pleased that
  everything was back to normal."
  To her dismay Cassi's eyes filled with tears. She'd promised herself it
  wouldn't happen.
  "Now, now," said Dr. Ballantine. "Everyone occasionally blows up under
  stress. Don't place too much importance on last night's incident. The way
  he's been working, it's entirely understandable. Maybe not excusable, but
  understandable. The house staff have even commented that he's spending
  an unusual number of nights in the hospital. Tell me, my dear, has Thomas
  been acting normally at home?"
  "No," said Cassi, dropping her line of sight to her hands that lay
  immobile in her lap. Once she started talking, the words came out easily.
  She told Dr. Ballantine Thomas's reaction to her proposed operation and
  confessed that their relationship had been strained for some time, but
  she didn't think the cause was really her illness. Thomas had known she
  had diabetes before they were married, and, except for the eye problem,
  her condition had not changed. She didn't think her medical complications
  explained Thomas's anger.
 She paused, beginning to perspire with anxiety.
  I think the real problem is that Thomas has been taking too many pills.
  I mean lots of people take an occasional Dexedrine or sleeping pill, but
  Thomas may be overdoing it." She paused again, looking up at Ballantine.
  I have heard one or two things," mused Ballantine. "One of the residents
  commented on a tremor. He didn't realize I was behind him in the hall.
  What exactly has Thomas been taking?"
  "Dexedrine to keep awake and Percodan or Talwin to calm down."
 212       Robin Cook

  Dr. Ballantine strode over to the window and stared into the surgical
  lounge directly opposite. Turning back to Cassi, he cleared his throat. His
  voice had not lost any of its warmth.
  "The availability of drugs can be a severe temptation for a doctor,
  particularly if he is as severely overworked as Thomas." Ballantine moved
  back to his desk and eased into his chair.
  "But availability is only part of the story. Many physicians also have a
  sense of entitlement. They take care of people all day and feel they
  deserve a little aid themselves if they need it. Drugs or alcohol. It's an
  alltoo-common story. And since they have been trained to be
  self-sufficient, instead of talking to another doctor, they medicate
  themselves."
  Cassi was enormously relieved that Dr. Ballantine absorbed the news about
  Thomas with such composure. For the first time in days she felt optimistic.
  "I think the most important thing is that we keep this to ourselves," said
  Dr. Ballantine. "Gossip could be detrimental to both your husband and the
  hospital. What I will do is have a diplomatic talk with Thomas and see if
  we can't take care of the problem before it gets out of hand. Having seen
  this kind of thing before, I can assure you, Cassi, that Thomas's
  difficulties are minor. He has been carrying his usual surgical load."
  "You're not worried about his patients?" asked Cassi. "I mean, have you
  seen him operate recently?"
  "No," admitted Dr. Ballantine. "But I would be the first to hear if
  something were amiss."
 Cassi wondered.
  "I've known Thomas for seventeen years," Ballantine said reassuringly. "I'd
  know if there was something seriously wrong."
 "How will you bring up the subject?" asked Cassi.
 Dr. Ballantine shrugged. "I'll play it by ear."
            GODPLAYER          213

  "You won't mention that I spoke with you, will you?" asked Cassi.
 "Absolutely not," said Dr. Ballantine.

                F-1

  Carrying a handful of irises that she'd purchased in the hospital flower
  shop, Cassi walked down the eighteenth floor corridor to room 1847. The
  door was open about halfway. She rapped and peeked in. A figure was lying
  in the single bed holding a sheet up to his eyes. He was shaking in
  apparent terror.
 "Robert!" laughed Cassi. "What on earth .
  Robert bounced out of the bed dressed in his own pajamas and robe. "I
  happened to see you coming," he said. Eyeing the flowers, he asked, "Are
  those for me?"
  Cassi surrendered the small bouquet. Robert took the time to arrange them
  carefully in his water pitcher before placing them on the nightstand.
  Glancing around the room, Cassi could see she wasn't the first. There
  were a dozen bouquets blooming on every surface.
 "Kinda looks like a funeral," said Robert.
  "I don't want to hear that kind of humor," said Cassi, giving him a hug.
  "There is no such thing as too many flowers. It means you have a lot of
  friends." She settled down on the foot of the bed.
  "I've never been a patient in a hospital," said Robert, pulling up a
  chair as if he were the visitor. "I don't like it. I feel so vulnerable."
  "You get used to it," said Cassi. "Believe me, I'm a pro."
  "The real problem is that I know too much," said Robert. "I can tell you,
  I'm terrified. I've convinced the anesthesiologist to double up on my
  sleep meds. Otherwise I know I'll be up all night."
 214        Robin Cook

  "In a couple of days you'll wonder why you were nervous. "
  "It's easy for you to say, dressed in street clothes." Robert held up his
  wrist with its plastic name tag. "I've become a statistic. "
  "Maybe it will make you feel better to know that your courage has prodded
  me into action. I'm being admitted tomorrow."
  Robert's expression changed to one of compassion. "Now I feel foolish. Here
  I am worried sick over a couple of teeth while you face eye surgery."
 "Anesthesia is anesthesia," said Cassi.
  "I think you are doing the right thing," said Robert. "And I have a feeling
  that your operation is going to be a hundred percent successful."
 "What about your own chances," teased Cassi.
  "Urn ... fifty-fifty," said Robert, laughing. "Hey, I got something to show
  you."
  Robert stood up and went over to the nightstand. Picking up a folder, he
  joined Cassi on the edge of the bed. "With the help of the computer, I
  collated the data we have on the SSD cases. I found some interesting
  things. First of all, as you suggested, all of the patients were on ]Vs. In
  addition, over the past two years, the cases increasingly involved patients
  who were in stable physical condition. In other words, the deaths have
  become more unexpected."
 "Oh God," said Cassi. "What else?"
  "I played around for a while with the data, punching in all the parameters
  for our study except surgery. The computer spat out some other cases,
  including a patient by the name of Sam Stevens. He died unexpectedly during
  cardiac catheterization. He was retarded but in excellent physical
  condition."
 "Was he on IV?" asked Cassi.
 "Yup," said Robert.
            GODPLAYER          215

 They stared at each other for several minutes.
  "Finally," said Robert, "the computer indicated that there was a
  preponderance of males. Curiously enough, where the information was
  available, the computer pointed out an unusually high number of
  homosexuals!"
  Cassi looked up from the papers to Robert's friendly gaze. Homosexuality
  had never been mentioned between them, and Cassi felt a reluctance to
  discuss it.
  "I went to pathology to visit you this morning," she said, changing the
  subject. "I missed you, but I did find some of Jeoffry Washington's slides.
  When I looked at the sections taken from the IV site, I found white
  precipitate along the inside of the vein. At first I thought it was
  artifact, but they were present on all but one of the sections. Do you
  think they might be significant?"
  Robert pursed his lips. "No," he said finally. "Doesn't ring any bells. The
  only thing I can think of is that when calcium is inadvertently added to a
  bicarbonate solution, it causes a precipitation, but that would be in the
  IV bottle, not the vein. I suppose the precipitation could run into the
  vein, but it would be so apparent in the bottle that everyone would see it.
  Maybe I'll have an idea when I look at the section. Meanwhile, enough of
  this morbid stuff. Tell me about the party last night. What did you wear?"
  Cassi glossed over the evening. There was a chance Robert would hear what
  had happened on the hospital grapevine, but she didn't want to bring it up.
  In many ways Cassi was surprised Robert hadn't noticed her reddened eyes.
  He was usually so observant. She decided he was understandably preoccupied
  with his admission to the hospital. Promising to visit the next day, Cassi
  left before she was tempted to burden him with her own troubles.

               El
 216        Robin Cook

  Larry Owen felt like a piano wire drawn out to its limit, ready to snap
  at the slightest increase in tension. Thomas Kingsley had arrived late
  that morning and was furious that Larry had waited for him to physically
  appear before beginning to open the first patient's chest. Even though
  Larry completed the procedure with record speed, Thomas's foul mood had
  not changed. Nothing pleased the surgeon. Not only had Larry done a
  piss-poor job, but the scrub nurses weren't handing him the instruments
  properly; the residents weren't giving him adequate exposure, and the
  anesthesiologist was an incompetent son of a bitch. As chance would have
  it, Thomas was given a faulty needle holder, which he'd thrown against
  the wall with such force it had snapped in two.
  Yet Larry had weathered this kind of abuse before. What was making him
  crazy was Thomas's operative performance. It had been obvious from the
  moment he began work on his first patient that the surgeon was exhausted.
  His usually flawless coordination was off and his judgment faulty. And
  worst of all, Thomas had an uncontrollable tremor. It almost gave Larry
  heart failure to watch Thomas bend over the heart with a razor-sharp
  needle and try to direct the instrument to the dainty piece of saphenous
  vein he was attempting to sew to the minute coronary vessel.
  Vainly Larry had hoped the tremor would lessen as the morning progressed,
  Instead it got worse.
  "Would you like me to sew this one on?" asked Larry on several occasions.
  "I think I can see a bit better from my position."
  "If I want your help, I'll ask for it," was Thomas's only reply.
  Somehow they got through the first two cases with the bypasses sewn
  reasonably in place and the patients off the heart-lung machine. But
  Larry was not looking
             GODPLAYER         217

 forward to the third case, a thirty-eight-year-old married man with two
 little children. Larry had opened the patient's chest and was waiting for
 Kingsley to return from the lounge. The resident's pulse was racing, and
 he had begun sweating heavily. When Thomas finally burst through the OR
 door, Larry felt his stomach knot with fear.
  At first, things went reasonably well, although Thomas's shaking was no
  better and his frustration level seemed even lower. But the open-heart
  team, wary after the first two cases, was careful not to cross him in any
  way. The hardest job fell to Larry, who tried to anticipate Kingsley's
  erratic movements and do as much of the actual work as Thomas would allow
  him. The real trouble didn't begin until they'd started sewing the
  bypasses in place. Larry couldn't watch and turned his head away as
  Thomas's needle holder approached the heart.
 "Goddammit," shouted Thomas.
  Larry felt his stomach churn as he saw Thomas yank his hand from the
  operative site, the needle buried in his own index finger. Inadvertently
  Thomas also pulled out one of the large catheters that took blood from
  the patient to the heart-lung machine. As if a faucet had been turned on,
  the wound filled with blood and in seconds began soaking the sterile
  drapes and dripping onto the floor.
  Desperately Larry plunged his hand into the wound and groped blindly for
  the clamp holding the suture around the vena cava. Luckily his hand hit
  it iminediately. Deftly he pulled up on the tape and the blood loss
  slowed.
  "If I had decent exposure this kind of problem wouldn't happen," raged
  Thomas, pulling the needle out of his finger and dropping it on the
  floor. He stepped back from the table nursing his injured hand.
 218       Robin Cook

  Larry managed to suck out the blood from the wound. As he reinserted the
  catheter from the heart-lung machine, he tried to think what he should
  do. Thomas wasn't fit to operate anymore that day, yet to say anything
  risked professional suicide. In the end Larry decided that he could no
  longer stand the tension. When he'd secured the operative site, he
  stepped away from the table and joined Thomas, who was being regloved by
  Miss Goldberg.
  "Excuse me, Dr. Kingsley," said Larry with as much authority as he could
  muster. "This has been a trying day for You. I'm sorry we haven't been
  more on the ball. The fact of the matter is that you are exhausted. I'll
  take over from here. You needn't reglove."
  For a moment Larry thought Thomas was going to slug him, but he forced
  himself to continue. "You've done thousands of these operations, Dr.
  Kingsley. No one is going to fault you for being too tired to finish one
  of them. "
  Thomas began to shake. Then, to Larry's astonishment and relief, he
  snapped off his gloves and left.
  Larry sighed and exchanged glances with Miss Goldberg.
  "I'll be right back," said Larry to the team. With his gloves and gown
  still on, Larry left the OR. He hoped that one of the other staff cardiac
  surgeons would be available and was relieved when he saw Dr. George
  Sherman coming out of OR No. 6. Larry took him aside and quietly related
  what had happened.
  "Let's go," said George. "And I don't want to hear a word about this
  outside of the OR, understand? It could happen to any one of us, and if
  the public learned about the incident it would be disastrous, not just
  for Dr. Kingsley, but for the hospital."
 "I know," said Larry.
             GODPLAYER          219

                F]

  Thomas was angrier than he had ever been. How dared Larry suggest he was
  too tired to proceed? The scene had been a nightmare. It was the haunting
  fear of such disaster that had originally forced him to take an occasional
  pill to sleep. He'd been perfectly capable of finishing the operation, and
  if he hadn't been so upset over Cassi's infidelity, he certainly would not
  have left. Furiously he stomped into the surgical lounge and used the phone
  by the coffee machine. He called Doris to make sure there were no
  emergencies and asked her to reschedule his afternoon patients for another
  day. He was already late, and he didn't think he could stand to see
  patients. Doris was about to hang up when she remembered that Ballantine
  had called, asking if Thomas would stop by his office.
 "What did he want?" asked Thomas.
  "He didn't say," said Doris. "I asked him what it was in reference to, in
  case you'd need a patient folder. But he said he'd just like to see you."
  Thomas told the nurse at the main desk that he'd be in Dr. Ballantine's
  office in case there was a call. To steady himself and relieve his
  headache, which had gotten steadily worse, he took another Percodan from
  his locker. Then he donned a white lab coat and left the lounge wondering
  what the meeting could be about. He did not think the chief would call him
  in to discuss the scene at the party with George Sherman, and it certainly
  couldn't have anything to do with the episode with Larry Owen. It must have
  something to do with the department in general. He remembered the trustee's
  odd comment the night before and decided Ballantine was finally going to
  let Thomas in on his plans. There was always the chance that Ballantine was
  thinking
 220       Robin Cook

 about retiring and wanted to discuss turning over the department to Thomas.
  "Thanks for coming in to see me," said Dr. Ballantine, as soon as Thomas
  was seated in his office. He seemed somewhat ill at ease, and Thomas
  shifted in his chair.
  "Thomas," Ballantine finally began. "I think we should speak frankly. I
  assure you that whatever we say will not leave this room."
  Thomas rested an ankle on his knee, steadying it with his hands while his
  foot began to pump rhythmically.
  11 It's been brought to my attention that you might be abusing drugs. "
  Thomas's foot stopped its nervous movement. The low-grade headache became
  a pounding agony. Although anger flooded his consciousness, his expression
  stayed the same.
  "I want you to know," said Dr. Ballantine, "that this is not an uncommon
  problem."
  "What kind of drugs am I supposed to be taking?" asked Thomas, making a
  supreme effort to rein in his emotions.
  "Dexedrine, Percodan, and Talwin," said Dr. Ballantine. "Not uncommon
  choices."
  With narrowed eyes, Thomas studied Dr. Ballantine's face. He hated the
  older man's patronizing expression. The irony of being judged by this inept
  buffoon drove Thomas to the brink of frenzy. It was lucky that the Percodan
  he'd taken in the lounge was beginning to work.
  "I'd like to know who brought this ridiculous lie to your attention," he
  managed to ask quietly.
 "That is not important. What matters . . ."
  "It's important to me," said Thomas. "When someone starts this kind of
  vicious rumor, they should be held accountable. Let me guess: George
  Sherman."
 "Absolutely not," said Dr. Ballantine. "Which re-            GODPLAYER          221

 minds me. I spoke to George about the regrettable incident last night. He
 was mystified by your accusation."
  "I'll bet," snapped Thomas. "It's common knowledge that George tried
  unsuccessfully to marry Cassi before I met her. Then I gave them the
  opportunity by working so many nights . . ."
  Dr. Ballantine interrupted. "That doesn't sound like much solid evidence,
  Thomas. Don't you think that you might be overreacting?"
  "Absolutely not," said Thomas, uncrossing his legs and letting his foot
  down with a bang. "You saw them together yourself at your party."
  "All I saw was a very beautiful girl who seemed only interested in her
  husband. You're a lucky man, Thomas. I hope you know that. Cassi is a
  special person."
  Thomas was tempted to stand up and leave, but
 Ballantine was still talking.    I
  "I believe that you have been driving yourself too hard, Thomas. You're
  trying to do too much. My God, man, what are you trying to prove? I can't
  even remember the last time you took a day off."
  Thomas started to interrupt, but Dr. Ballantine cut him off.
  "Everyone needs to get away. Besides, you have some responsibility to
  your wife. I happen to know Cassi needs eye surgery. Shouldn't she be
  getting some of your time?"
  Thomas was now reasonably certain that Ballantine had talked with Cassi.
  As incredible as it sounded, she must have come to him with her wild
  stories about drug addiction. It wasnt enough, thought Thomas with anger,
  that she went to his mother. She also had to see his chief of service.
  Thomas suddenly realized that Cassi could destroy him. She could ruin the
  career that he'd spent his whole life constructing.
 Luckily for Thomas, his sense of preservation was
 222        Robin Cook

 stronger than his anger. He forced himself to think with cold, hard logic as
 Ballantine finished.
  "I'd like to suggest that You take some well-earned vacation. "
  Thomas knew that the chief would love to have him out of the hospital while
  the teaching staff whittled away at his OR time, but he managed to smile.
  "Look, this whole thing has gotten out of hand," Thomas said calmly. "Maybe
  I have been working too hard, but that's because there has been so much to
  do. As far as Cassandra's eye problem is concerned, of course I'm planning
  to spend time with her when she's laid up. But it really is up to Obermeyer
  to tell her how best to handle her retinal problems."
  Ballantine started to speak, but Thomas interrupted him.
  "I listened to you, now hear me," said Thomas. "About this idea that I'm
  abusing drugs. You know that I don't drink coffee. It's never agreed with
  me. So it's true that I occasionally take a Dexedrine. But it has no more
  effect than coffee. You just can't dilute it with milk or cream. I admit it
  has different social implications, especially if someone takes it to escape
  from life, but I only use it on occasion to work more efficiently. And as
  far as the Percodan and Talwin are concerned: yes, I've taken them at
  times. I've had a propensity for migraines since I was young. I don't get
  them often, but when I do, the only thing that helps is Percodan or Talwin.
  Sometimes the one, sometimes the other. And I'll tell you something. I'll
  be happy to have you or anyone else audit my prescribing habits. You'd see
  in an instant the amount of these drugs that I prescribe and for whom."
  Thomas sat back and folded his arms. He was still trembling and did not
  want Ballantine to notice.
  "Well," said Ballantine with obvious relief. "That certainly seems
  reasonable."
            GODPLAYER          223

  "You know as well as I, " said Thomas, "that all of us take a pill now and
  then."
  "True," said Dr. Ballantine. "The trouble comes when a physician loses
  control of the number he takes."
  "But then they're abusing the drug," said Thomas. "I've never taken more
  than two in twenty-four hours, and that's only with a migraine."
  "I must tell you that I feel relieved," said Dr. Ballantine. "Frankly, I
  was worried. You do work too hard. I still mean what I said about your
  taking some vacation."
 I'm sure you do, thought Thomas.
 "And I want you to know," continued Ballantine, that the whole department
 only wants the best for you. Even if we see some changes down the line, you
 will always be the keystone of our service."
  "That's reassuring," said Thomas. "I suppose it was Cassandra who came to
  you about the pills." Thomas's voice was matter of fact.
  "It really doesn't matter who called it to my attention," said Dr.
  Ballantine, standing up. "Especially since you've laid my fears to rest. "
  Thomas was now positive it had been Cassi. She must have looked in his desk
  and found bottles. He was swept by another wave of anger.
  He stood up, his fists tightly clenched. He knew he had to be alone for a
  while. Saying good-bye and forcing himself to thank Ballantine for his
  concern, Thomas hastily made his way out of the office.
  Ballantine stared after him for a moment. He felt better about Thomas, but
  not completely reassured. The scene at the party nagged him, and there were
  those persistent rumors that had cropped up recently among the house staff.
  He didn't want trouble with Thomas. Not now. That could ruin everything.

               F-1
 224        Robin Cook

  When the door to the waiting room opened, Doris quickly dropped the novel
  she was reading into a drawer and closed it with one smooth, practiced
  motion. Seeing Thomas, she picked up the telephone messages and came
  around from behind the desk. After being alone in the office all
  afternoon, she was happy to see another human being.
  Thomas behaved as if she were part of the furniture. To her surprise, he
  went past her without the slightest acknowledgment. She reached out to
  grasp his arm, but she missed, and Thomas continued into his office as
  if he were sleepwalking. Doris followed.
 "Thomas, Dr. Obermeyer called and
  "I don't want to hear about anything," he snapped, starting to close his
  door.
  In commendable saleswoman fashion, Doris got a foot over the threshold.
  She was intent on giving Thomas his messages.
  "Get out of here," screamed Thomas. Doris stepped back in fright as the
  door slammed in her face with jarring force.
  The fury that he'd suppressed during the harrowing interview with
  Ballantine engulfed him. His eyes searched for some object on which he
  could vent his anger. He grabbed up a bud vase Cassi had given him when
  they were engaged and smashed it on the floor. Looking at the shattered
  pieces, he felt a little better. He went over to his desk, pulled out the
  second drawer, and grabbed a bottle of Percodan, spilling several of the
  tablets onto his desk. He took one, putting the rest back, then went into
  the washroom for a glass of water.
  Returning to his desk, he put away the pill container and closed the
  drawer. He began to feel more in control, but he still could not get over
  Cassi's treachery. Didn't she understand that all he really cared about
  was his surgery? How could she be so cruel as to try to jeopar-
              GODPLAYER          225

 dize his career? First going to his mother, the one person who really had
 the power to upset him, then George, and now the head of his department. He
 would not tolerate this. He had loved her so much when they were first
 married. She had been so sweet, so delicate, so devoted. Why was she trying
 to destroy him? He would not let her. He would . . .
  Suddenly Thomas wondered if Ballantine was glad about all this. For some
  time he had the nagging feeling that something strange was going on with
  Ballantine and Sherman. Maybe it was all an elaborate play to undermine
  him.
  Thomas again felt a thrill of fear. He had to do something ... but what?
  Slowly at first, and then more rapidly, ideas began to form. All at once he
  knew what he could do. He knew what he had to do.

               F1

  Still troubled by his meeting with Thomas, Ballantine decided to drop down
  to OR to see if he could find George. Sherman may have lacked Thomas's
  genius, but he was a consistently excellent surgeon and an evenhanded and
  unflappable administrator. The house staff admired him, and Ballantine was
  increasingly considering backing George as chief when he himself stepped
  down. For a long time, the trustees had pushed to get Thomas to switch to
  full-time so he would be eligible for the post, but now Ballantine had
  doubts even if Kingsley would agree.
  Unfortunately George was still in surgery. Ballantine was surprised and
  hoped there was no trouble. He knew George had had only one seven-thirty
  case that morning. The fact that he was still in the OR in the middle of
  the afternoon was not auspicious.
 226       Robin Cook

  Ballantine decided to use the time to visit Cassi on Clarkson Two. Even
  if he wasn't totally sanguine about her husband's future, Ballantine
  wanted to offer what reassurance he could. Despite the years Dr.
  Ballantine had been on the staff of the Boston Memorial, he'd never once
  set foot on Clarkson Two, and when he pushed through the heavy fire door,
  he felt as if he'd entered another world.
  In a lot of ways it did not seem like a hospital at all. It had more the
  feeling of a second-class hotel. As he passed the main lounge, he could
  hear someone plunking atonally on the piano, as well as some mindless
  television game show. There were none of the sounds that he traditionally
  associated with the hospital, like the hiss of a cycling respirator or
  the characteristic clink of IV bottles. Perhaps the thing that made him
  the most uncomfortable was that everyone was dressed in street clothes.
  Dr. Ballantine could not be sure who was a patient and who was on staff.
  He wanted to find Cassi but was afraid of approaching the wrong person.
  The only place he could be sure of knowing who was who was the nurses'
  station. Dr. Ballantine walked to the counter.
  "Can I help you?" asked a tall, elegant black woman whose name tag said
  simply, Roxane.
  "I'm looking for Dr. Cassidy," said Dr. Ballantine self-consciously.
  Before Roxane could respond, Cassi's head appeared around the door to the
  chart room.
 "Dr. Ballantine. What a surprise!" Cassi stood up.
  Ballantine joined her, again admiring her fragile beauty. Thomas must be
  crazy to spend so many nights in the hospital, he mused.
 "Can I talk to you for a moment?" asked Ballantine.
 "Of course. Would you like to go to my office?"
  "Here's fine," said Ballantine, indicating the empty room.
             GODPLAYER         227

  Cassi pushed sonic of the charts away. "I've been writing summary notes
  on my patients for the other doctors to use while I'm in for my eye
  surgery."
  Ballantine nodded. "The reason I stopped down was to tell you in person
  that I've already spoken with Thomas. We had a very good talk. I feel
  he's been pushing it a bit, and he admitted a small reliance on Dexedrine
  to keep him awake, but he pretty well convinced me that he only took the
  pain-killers for his migraine headaches."
  Cassi didn't reply. She was certain Thomas hadn't had a migraine since
  he was in his teens.
  "Well," said Ballantine with forced joviality. "You get your eye taken
  care of and don't worry anymore about your husband. He's even offered to
  have his prescription roster audited." He stood up and patted Cassi on
  the shoulder.
  Cassi wanted desperately to share Dr. Ballantine's optimism. But he had
  not seen Thomas's pupils or his staggering gait. And the chief was not
  the recipient of his unpredictable moods.
 "I hope you're right," said Cassi with a sigh.
  "Of course I'm right," said Dr. Ballantine, annoyed that his pep talk
  hadn't worked. He started to leave.
  "And you didn't mention our conversation," Cassi added, seeing Ballantine
  was becoming impatient.
  "Of course not, Anyway, Thomas's jealousy makes it obvious he adores you.
  And with good reason." Ballantine smiled.
 "Thanks for coming down," said Cassi.
  "Don't mention it," said Ballantine, waving. He headed down toward the
  fire door, glad to be leaving Clarkson Two. He had never understood why
  anybody would take up psychiatry.
  Getting on the elevator, Ballantine shook his head. He hated getting
  mixed up with family problems. Here
 228       Robin Cook

 he had been trying to help both Kingsleys. He'd sought out Cassi in order
 to put her mind at ease. But she hadn't seemed willing to listen. For the
 first time he began to question Cassi's objectivity.
  Getting off the elevator, Ballantine decided to see if George was out of
  the OR.
  He found Sherman surrounded by house staff in the recovery room. When
  George caught the chiefs eye, he excused himself and followed Ballantine
  out into the hall.
  "I had a disturbing conversation with Kingsley's wife this morning,"
  Ballantine said, getting straight to the point. "I thought she had wanted
  to see me to apologize about the incident last night. But that wasn't it.
  She was worried that Thomas might be abusing drugs."
  George opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated. The residents had just
  been describing Kingsley's behavior in the OR that morning before George
  himself had taken over. If he told the chief that would mean real trouble
  for Kingsley. And it was always possible that Thomas had just drunk too
  much the night before, upset as he obviously was after the fight. George
  decided to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being.
 "Did you believe Cassi?" he asked.
  "I'm not sure. I spoke with Thomas, who had some very good answers, but
  even I have found his temper unusually erratic." Ballantine sighed. "You
  always said you didn't care about being chief of service, but even if
  Kingsley agrees to come full-time, he may not be right for the department
  when we are done reorganizing. He certainly opposes the new patients
  we're scheduling on the teaching service."
  "Yes," said George. "And I can't see Thomas accepting the idea of free
  surgery for the mentally retarded in order to train new teams of vascular
  surgeons."
 "His point of view isn't necessarily wrong. These
            GODPLAYER          229

 new expensive procedures should be made available first to the patients
 with the best chances for long-term survival. But practically speaking,
 the residents rarely get such cases. And as far as the hospital favoring
 patients most valuable to society, who's to judge? As you said, George,
 we're just physicians, not God."
  "Maybe he'll calm down," said George. "If our plans go through, we
  certainly will be needing him on the teaching staff. "
  "Let's hope," said Ballantine. "I've suggested he take a vacation with
  his wife. By the way, I assume his accusations were pure paranoia as far
  as you're concemed. "
  "Unfortunately yes. But I'll tell you, if she ever gave me a chance, I'd
  still fight for her. Aside from those amazing looks, she's one of the
  most caring women I've ever met."
  "Just don't upset our genius any more than you have to," said Ballantine
  with a laugh. "In the meantime, do you think I should review Thomas's
  prescriptions?"
  "How can it hurt? But there are other ways doctors can get hold of
  drugs," said George, thinking of Thomas's collapse in the OR.
  "Let's just hope he takes his vacation soon and comes back his old self."
  "Right," said George, though he personally had not been that fond of
  Thomas in happier days.
           CHAPTER
               9

 CASSI WAS IN A STATE of shock. She couldn't believe the change that had
 come over Thomas. At around five o'clock he'd called her saying his
 surgery for that evening had been canceled and that he was free. He then
 offered to drive her home in the Porsche, saying she should leave her car
 at the hospital.
  For the first time in months, dinner was a pleasant affair. Thomas had
  suddenly become his old charming self, the man Cassi had married. He
  tolerated Patricia's usual complaints with easy humor and was openly lov-
  ing and affectionate toward Cassi.
  Cassi was infinitely pleased although a little confused. It was hard to
  believe that Thomas had forgotten the wrenching events of the previous
  evening, but she watched in amazement as he hurried his mother back to
  her apartment and solicitously poured Cassi a Kahlua. He fixed himself
  a cognac. They settled on the oval couch in front of the fire.
  I got a call from Dr. Obermeyer," he said, sipping his drink. "But by the
  time I called him back he'd left for the day. What's happening about your
  eye?"
  I saw him today. He said that since my vision hasn't cleared I must have
  the surgery."

               230
            GODPLAYER          231

  "When?" Thomas's voice was mellow. He was swirling his cognac.
 "As soon as possible," said Cassi hesitantly.
  Thomas absorbed the news with apparent equanimity, and Cassi continued.
  "I guess Dr. Obermeyer was trying to reach you because he scheduled me
  for the day after tomorrow. Unless, of course, you object."
  "Object?" asked Thomas. "Why would I object? Your eyesight is far too
  important to take chances with."
  Cassi let out a sigh of relief. She had been so concerned about Thomas's
  response she hadn't realized she was holding her breath.
  "Even though I know it's a minor operation, I'm still frightened to
  death."
  Thomas leaned over and put his arm around her. "Of course you're scared.
  It's a natural reaction. But Martin Obermeyer is the best. You couldn't
  be in better hands."
 "I know," said Cassi, with a weak smile.
  "And I made a decision this afternoon," Thomas said holding her tighter.
  "As soon as Obermeyer gives you the green light, we'll take a vacation.
  Some place like the Caribbean. Ballantine convinced me that I need some
  time off, and what better time could there be than while you're
  recuperating. What do you say?"
  "I say that sounds wonderful." She turned her face up to kiss him as the
  phone rang.
  Thomas got up to answer it. She hoped he wasn't being called back to the
  hospital.
  "Seibert," said Thomas into the phone. "Nice to hear your voice."
  Cassi leaned forward and carefully set her glass on the coffee table.
  Robert had never called her at home. This was just the kind of
  interruption that could throw Thomas into a frenzy.
  But he was saying calmly, "She's right here, Robert. No, it's not too
  late."
 232       Robin Cook

 With a smile he handed the phone to Cassi.
  "I hope it's all right that I called you at home," said Robert, "but I
  managed to sneak up to pathology and look at Jeoffry Washington's vein
  sections. After I got back to my room, I remembered where I'd seen such
  precipitates before. I had been doing the post on a man killed in an
  industrial accident. He had spilled concentrated sodium fluoride onto his
  lap. Even though he'd rinsed himself off, enough of the substance had been
  absorbed to prove fatal. He had the same kind of precipitation in his
  veins."
  Cassi lowered her voice, turning her back to Thomas. She did not want him
  to know she was still following the SSD study. "But sodium fluoride isn't
  used as a medication."
 "It is on teeth," said Robert.
  "But it's not given internally," Cassi whispered. "And certainly not by
  IV."
  "That's true," said Robert. "But let me tell you how this accident victim
  died. He had grand mal seizures, and finally acute cardiac arrhythmia.
  Sound familiar?"
  Cassi knew that six patients in the SSD series had died with the same
  symptoms, but she didn't say anything. Sodium fluoride wasn't the only
  thing that could cause them, and there was no sense jumping to conclusions.
  "As soon as I get back in the lab," said Robert, "I'll be able to analyze
  these precipitates. I'll find out if they are sodium fluoride. If they are,
  you know what that means, don't you?"
 "I have an idea," said Cassi reluctantly.
 "It means murder," said Robert.
  "What was that all about?" asked Thomas when Cassi had rejoined him on the
  couch. "Does Robert have some new brainstorm about his SSD series?" To
  Cassi's surprise Thomas only seemed curious, not upset. She
             GODPLAYER         233

 decided it was safe to tell him a little about Robert's progress.
  "He's still working on it," she said. "He'd begun to collate the data just
  before he was admitted to the hospital. He got a computer printout that
  showed some rather interesting results."
 "Like what?" asked Thomas.
  "Oh, any number of possibilities," Cassi said evasively. "He can't rule out
  anything. I mean, all sorts of things can happen in hospitals. Remember
  those poor people in New Jersey who were given curare?" Cassi laughed
  nervously.
 "Surely he doesn't suspect murder?" said Thomas.
  "No, no," said Cassi, sorry she said so much. "He just noticed an odd
  precipitate at the last autopsy that he wanted to track through the data."
  Thomas nodded and appeared to be thinking. Hoping to restore his good
  humor, Cassi added, "Robert really appreciated your intervening on his
  behalf."
  "I know," said Thomas, suddenly smiling. "I didn't do it for his benefit,
  but if he insists on seeing it that way, it's fine with me. Now I think we
  should go to bed."
  As he tenderly guided her upstairs, Cassi wasn't sure just what she read in
  his extraordinary blue eyes. She shivered, not entirely sure if it was with
  pleasurable expectation.
           CHAPTER
              10

 CASSI HAD NOT BEEN a hospital inpatient since college. Now with medical
 school and internship behind her, it was a very different experience, just
 as Robert had suggested. Knowledge of all that could happen made the process
 far more frightening. Since she'd ridden into the hospital with Thomas, she
 was there far too early to be admitted. In fact, she'd been told she would
 have to wait until ten before the proper clerks were available. When Cassi
 protested that people were admitted all night long through the emergency
 room, the secretary just repeated that Cassi had to come back at ten.
  After spending three unproductive hours in the library, much too nervous to
  concentrate on anything more demanding than Psycbology Today, Cassi went
  back to admitting. The personnel had changed, although their attitude
  hadn't. Instead of smoothing the way through the admitting procedure, they
  seemed intent on making it as harrowing as possible, as if it were a rite
  of passage. Now Cassi was informed that she had no hospital card, and
  without one she could not be admitted. A disinterested clerk finally told
  her to go to the ID office on the third floor.
  Thirty minutes later, armed with a new ID which looked suspiciously like a
  credit card, Cassi returned to

               234
            GODPLAYER          235

 admitting. There she was confronted with another seemingly insurmountable
 problem. Since she used her maiden name, Cassidy, in the hospital because
 it was the name on her medical degree, and since Thomas had taken out her
 health insurance under Kingsley, the secretary claimed they needed her
 marriage certificate. Cassi said she didn't have it. It wasn't something
 she'd imagined she'd need to be admitted to the hospital, and surely they
 could just call Thomas's office and get it straightened out. The clerk
 insisted the computer had to have the certificate. She was only the
 machine's handmaiden, or so she said. This impasse was finally solved by
 the admitting supervisor who somehow got the computer to accept the
 information. Finally Cassi was assigned a room on the seventeenth floor,
 and a pleasant woman in a green smock, with a badge that said MEMORIAL
 VOLUNTEER, escorted Cassi upstairs.
  But not to seventeen. First Cassi was taken to the second floor for a
  chest X ray. She said she had just had one six weeks ago during a routine
  physical and did not want another. X ray claimed anesthesia would not
  anesthetize anyone who was not X-rayed, and it took Cassi another hour
  to get the chief of anesthesia to call Obermeyer, who in turn called
  Jackson, the chief of radiology. After Jackson checked Cassi's old film,
  he called Obermeyer back, who called back the chief of anesthesia, who
  called back the radiology clerk to say that Cassi didn't need another
  chest film.
  The rest of Cassi's admission went more smoothly, including the visit to
  the lab for standard blood and urine analysis. Finally Cassi was
  deposited in a nondescript light blue hospital room with two beds. Her
  roommate was sixty-one and had a bandage over her left eye.
 "Mary Sullivan's the name," said the woman after
 236       Robin Cook

 Cassi had introduced herself. She looked older than her sixty-one years
 because she wasn't wearing her dentures.
  Cassi wondered what kind of surgery the woman had had on her eye.
  "Retina fell off," said Mary, as if noting Cassi's interest. "They had
  to take the eye out and glue it back on with a laser beam."
  Cassi laughed in spite of herself. "I don't think they took your eye
  out," she said.
  "Sure did. In fact, when they first took my bandage off I saw double and
  thought they'd put it back in crooked."
  Cassi wasn't about to argue. She unpacked her things, carefully storing
  her insulin and syringes in the drawer of her nightstand. She would take
  her normal injection that evening, but after that she was not to medicate
  herself until she was cleared to do so by her internist, Dr. Mclnery.
  Cassi changed into pajamas. It seemed a silly thing to do at that time
  of day, but she knew why it was a hospital rule. Putting the patients
  into bedclothes psychologically encouraged them to submit to the hospital
  routine. Cassi could feel the change herself. She was now a patient.
  After all her years at the hospital, she was amazed at how uncomfortable
  she felt without the status of her white coat. Just leaving her assigned
  room made her feel uneasy, as if she were possibly doing something wrong.
  And when she emerged on the eighteenth floor to visit Robert, she felt
  as if she were an intruder.
  There was no answer when she knocked on 1847. Quietly she pushed open the
  door. Robert was flat on his back, snoring gently. At the corner of his
  mouth was a single drop of partially dried blood. Cassi went alongside
  the bed and gazed at him for a few moments. It was obvious he was still
  sleeping off his anesthesia.
             GODPLAYER         237

 Like a true professional, Cassi checked the IV. It was dripping smoothly.
 Cassi kissed the end of her finger and touched it to his forehead. On her
 way to the door, she noticed a pile of computer printouts. She went over and
 glanced at the first page. As she expected it was the data from the SSD
 study. For a moment she considered taking it with her, but the thought of
 Thomas's finding it in her room made her hesitate. She'd read it with Robert
 later.
  Besides, it she were to take her friend's new theory seriously, it was not
  the sort of evidence she cared to have in her room the night before an
  operation.

                EJ

  Thomas opened the door to his waiting room and crossed to the inner office.
  He nodded a greeting to the patients and mentally cursed the architect for
  not providing a separate entrance. He'd prefer to be able to get to his
  office unseen. Doris smiled as he approached but didn't leave her seat.
  After the episode the day before, she felt a little gun-shy. She handed him
  his messages.
  Inside his office, Thomas changed to the white coat he liked to wear when
  he saw his patients. He felt it encouraged not just respect but obedience.
  Sitting at his desk, he ran quickly through the multitude of phone calls
  until he got to Cassi's. He stopped and stared at the pink slip. Room 1740.
  Thomas frowned; it was a semiprivate directly opposite the nurses' station.
  Snatching the phone off the hook, Thomas put in a call to the director of
  admissions, Grace Peabody.
  "Miss Peabody," said Thomas with irritation. "I've just learned that my
  wife has been admitted to a semiprivate. I really wanted her to have her
  own room."
  "I understand, but we are a little crowded right now, and she was
  classified as a semi-emergency."
 238       Robin Cook

  "Well, I'm sure you can find her a private room since I feel it's
  important. If not, I'll be happy to call the hospital director."
  "I'll do the best I can, Dr. Kingsley," said Miss Peabody with irritation.
  "You do that," said Thomas and slammed the phone down.
  "Damn!" He hated the pea-brained bureaucrats who were running the hospital
  these days. They seemed intent on creating maximum inconvenience. He had
  trouble imagining how anyone could be so shortsighted not to give the wife
  of Memorial's most famous surgeon a private room.
  Glancing at the schedule that Doris had placed on his desk, Thomas massaged
  his temples. His head had begun to pound.
  Hesitating only briefly, he yanked open the second drawer. After three
  bypasses and with twelve office patients on the agenda, he deserved a
  little help. He got out one of his peach-colored tablets and gulped it
  down. Then he pressed the intercom button and told Doris to send in the
  first appointment.
  Office hours went better than Thomas had anticipated. Out of the twelve
  patients there were two postop visits that required no more than ten
  minutes each. Of the other ten, Thomas signed up five bypass cases and one
  valve replacement. The other four patients weren't operative and should not
  have been sent to Thomas in the first place. He got rid of them quickly.
  After signing several letters, Thomas called Miss Peabody back.
  "How does room 1752 sound?" asked Miss Peabody haughtily.
  Room 1752 was a private corner room at the end of the corridor. Its windows
  faced west and north with a fine view of the Charles River. It was perfect,
  and
            GODPLAYER          239

 Thomas said so. Miss Peabody hung up without saying good-bye.
  Thomas changed back to his suit coat and, after telling Doris he'd see
  her later, left for the Scherington Building. He made a brief stop in X
  ray to see some films before going to visit Cassi.
  When he reached seventeen, he was surprised to find his wife still in
  1740. He pushed in without knocking.
 "Why haven't you moved?" he demanded.
  "Moved?" asked Cassi, confused. She'd been talking with Mary Sullivan
  about having children.
  "I made arrangements for you to have a private room," said Thomas
  irritably.
  "I don't need a private room, Thomas. I've been enjoying Mary's company."
  Cassi tried to introduce Thomas, but he was already pressing the call
  button.
  "My wife is going to be treated properly," said Thomas, glancing down the
  hall to see where the nursing staff was hiding out. "If any of these
  supposedly indispensable hospital administrators have a member of their
  family in this hospital, they always make sure they have a private room."
  Thomas succeeded in causing an uproar and acutely embarrassing his wife.
  She had not wanted to bother the nurses when she was feeling well, but
  for almost a half hour, the entire staff was kept busy moving Cassi to
  her new room.
 "There," said Thomas finally. "This is much better."
  Cassi had to admit the room was more cheerful. From her position in bed
  she could see the wintry sun touching the horizon. While she hadn't liked
  all the fuss, she was touched by Thomas's apparent concern.
  "Now I have some good news," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I
  talked with Martin Obermeyer, and he said you should feel fine in a week
  for sure. So I
 240        Robin Cook

 went ahead and reserved a room in a small hotel on the beach in Martinique.
 How does that sound?"
  "That sounds wonderful," said Cassi. The idea of a vacation with just the
  two of them was something to look forward to even if for some reason it
  didn't work out.
  There was a knock at the partially opened door, and Joan Widiker peered
  around the edge.
 "Come in," said Cassi, and introduced her to Thomas.
  "I'm pleased to meet you," said Joan. "Cassi has spoken of you often."
  'Joan is a third-year psychiatry resident," explained Cassi. "She's been a
  big help to me, especially in building up my confidence."
  "It's nice to meet you," said Thomas, feeling an instant antipathy. He
  could tell she was one of those women who wore their femininity up front
  like a badge of privilege.
  "I'm sorry to barge in like this," said Joan, sensing she was interrupting.
  "I really just stopped by to tell Cassi that all her patients are being
  well taken care of. They all wished you the best, Cassi. Even Colonel
  Bentworth. It's the strangest thing," laughed Joan. "Your having a medical
  problem seemed to have had a therapeutically beneficial effect on them all.
  Maybe all psychiatrists should have surgery once in a while."
  Cassi laughed, watching her husband straighten his coat.
  "I'll come back another time," he said. "I've got rounds." Turning back to
  Cassi he gave her a kiss. "I'll see you in the morning before surgery.
  Everything is going to be fine. just get a good night's sleep."
  "I can't stay either," admitted Joan after he left. 441 have another
  consult on the medical floor. I hope I didn't chase your husband away."
 "Thomas is just being wonderful," beamed Cassi,
            GODPLAYER          241

 eager to share the good news. "He's been so considerate and supportive.
 We're even going on a vacation. I guess I was wrong about the extent of
 his drug taking."
  Joan questioned Cassi's objectivity, remembering the degree of her
  dependency on Thomas. But she kept her thoughts to herself and just told
  Cassi how glad she was that things were working out well. Wishing her all
  the best, Joan departed.
  For a while Cassi lay in her bed watching the sky change from pale orange
  to a silvery violet. She wasn't sure why Thomas was being so nice to her.
  But whatever the reason, Cassi was infinitely thankful.
  As the sky finally became dark, Cassi began to wonder how Robert was
  doing. She didn't want to call in case he was still asleep. Instead she
  thought she'd run up there and see for herself.
  The stairwell was conveniently opposite her room, and Cassi climbed
  quickly to the eighteenth floor. Robert's door was closed. She knocked
  quietly.
 A sleepy voice told her to come in.
 Robert was awake but still groggy.
  In response to Cassi's question, he assured her that he had never felt
  better. His only complaint was that his mouth felt like a hockey game had
  been played in it.
  "Have you eaten?" asked Cassi. She noticed the computer printout had been
  moved to his night table.
  "Are you kidding?" asked Robert. He held up his arm with his IV. "Liquid
  penicillin diet for this guy."
 "I'm having my surgery in the morning," said Cassi.
  "You're going to love it," said Robert, his eyelids resisting his
  attempts to keep them open.
 Cassi smiled, squeezed his free hand, and left.

               n

  The pain was so intense Thomas almost cried out. He'd stumbled against
  the antique trunk Doris kept at
 242        Robin Cook

 the foot of her bed. He was searching for his underwear in the dim light.
 Deciding he didn't care if he did wake her up, he switched on the lamp.
 No wonder he hadn't been able to find his shorts. She'd thrown them all
 the way across the room, where they had caught on one of the knobs on her
 bureau.
  After finding all his clothes, Thomas switched off the light and tiptoed
  into the living room, dressing rapidly. Being as quiet as possible, he
  let himself out. When he reached the street, he checked his watch. It was
  just before 1:00 A.M.
  He went directly to the surgical locker room, took off the clothes he'd
  just put on, and donned a scrub suit. Walking down the corridor, he
  paused outside the one OR that was in use. He tied on a mask and pushed
  through the door. The anesthesiologist told Thomas that the patient had
  suffered a dissecting aneurysm following a catheterization. attempt that
  afternoon.
  One of the staff abdominal surgeons was the attending on the case. Thomas
  went up behind him.
  "Tough case?" asked Thomas, trying to see into the incision.
  The doctor turned around and recognized Thomas. "Awful. We haven't
  determined yet how far up the aneurysm goes. May extend into the chest.
  If it does, you'd be a Godsend. Will you be available?"
  "Sure," said Thomas. "I'll probably catch a little sleep in the locker
  room. Give me a call if you need me."
  He left the OR and wandered back down the hall to the surgical lounge.
  Three nurses who'd just finished a case were taking a break there. Thomas
  waved at them and continued on to the locker room.

               El
             GODPLAYER         243

  Cassi's evening had passed pleasantly enough. She'd given herself her
  insulin, eaten a tasteless dinner, showered, and watched a little
  television. She'd tried to read her psychiatry journal but finally had
  given up, realizing she could not concentrate. At ten o'clock she'd taken
  her sleeping pill, but an hour later she was wide awake trying to analyze
  the consequences of Robert's findings. If there really was sodium
  fluoride in Jeoffry Washington's vein, then someone in the hospital was
  a murderer. Given the fact that she would be coming back from the OR
  tomorrow groggy and helpless, it was not surprising the thought kept her
  from sleeping.
  She was restlessly turning from side to side in the dark when she heard
  a sound. She wasn't positive but she thought it had been the door.
  Cassi lay on her side, holding her breath. There were no more noises, but
  she felt a presence as if she were no longer alone in the room. She
  wanted to roll over and look, but she felt irrationally terrified. Then
  she heard a very definite noise. It sounded like a glass object touching
  her night table. Someone was standing directly behind her.
  Breaking the paralysis her terror engendered took every ounce of mental
  strength Cassi possessed. But she forced herself to turn toward the door.
  She gave a muffled cry of fright as she found herself staring at a
  shadowed figure in white. Her hand shot out and flipped on her bedside
  reading lamp.
  "My God! You startled me!" said George Sherman, pressing a hand to his
  chest in a theatrical demonstration of distress. "Cassi, you've just
  taken ten years off my life."
  Cassi saw a huge bouquet of dark red roses in a vase on her night table.
  Attached to the side was a white envelope with "Cassi" written on it.
 244        Robin Cook

  "I'm sorry. I guess we scared each other," said Cassi. "I had trouble
  falling asleep. I heard you come in."
  "Well, I wish you'd said something. I expected you'd be asleep and didn~t
  want to wake you."
 "Are the beautiful roses for me?"
  "Yes, I thought I'd be through much earlier, but I got tied up at a meeting
  until a few minutes ago. I'd ordered these flowers this afternoon and
  wanted to be sure you got them. 11
 Cassi smiled. "That was so kind of you."
  "I heard you were to be operated on in the morning. I hope everything goes
  well." He suddenly seemed to realize she was sitting up in her nightgown.
  He reddened, whispered a fast goodnight, and beat a hasty retreat.
  Cassi smiled in spite of herself. The vision of him knocking her wine into
  her lap came back to her. She detached the envelope from the roses and
  slipped out the card. "All the best from a secret admirer." Cassi laughed.
  George could be so corny. At the same time she could understand his
  reluctance to sign his name after the scene Thomas had pulled at
  Ballantine's.
  Two hours later Cassi was still wide awake. In desperation she threw back
  the covers and slid out of the bed. Her robe was draped over the chair, and
  she pulled it on, thinking maybe she'd see if Robert was awake. Talking to
  him might finally calm her down enough to sleep.
  If Cassi had felt out of place walking the hospital dressed as a patient
  that afternoon, now she felt positively delinquent. The corridors were
  deserted, and within the stairwell there wasn't a sound. Cassi hurried up
  to Robert's room hoping no one in authority would spot her and send her
  back to seventeen.
  She ducked inside the darkened room. The only light came from the bathroom
  whose door was slightly open. Cassi could not see Robert but she could hear
  his regu-
              GODPLAYER          245

 lar breathing. Silently moving over next to the bed, she got a glimpse of
 his face; he was still fast asleep.
  She was about to leave when she again noticed the computer printout on
  the night stand. As quietly as possible she picked it up. Then she moved
  her hand blindly over the surface of the table to search for the pencil
  she'd seen that afternoon. Her fingers found a water glass, then a
  wristwatch, and finally a pen.
  Retreating to the bathroom, Cassi tore a blank sheet from the printout.
  Pressing against the edge of the sink she wrote: "Couldn't fall asleep.
  Borrowed the SSD material. Statistics always knock me out. Love, Cassi."
  When she came out of the lighted bathroom, Cassi found it even harder to
  see as she made her way back to the night stand. Feeling her way, she
  propped her note on the water glass and was about to leave when the door
  slowly swung open.
  Suppressing a cry of fright, Cassi nearly collided with a figure coming
  into the room. "My God, what are you doing here?" she whispered. Some of
  the computer papers slipped from her hands.
  Thomas, still holding the door, motioned for Cassi to be quiet. Light
  from the corridor fell on Robert's face, but he did not stir. Convinced
  he was not going to wake up, Thomas bent to help Cassi gather her papers.
  As they stood up, Cassi whispered again, "What on earth are you doing
  here?"
  In answer, Thomas silently guided her out into the hall, pulling the door
  shut behind them. "Why aren't you asleep?" he said crossly. "You've got
  surgery in the morning! I stopped by your room to make sure everything
  was in order only to find an empty bed. It wasn't hard to guess where you
  might be."
  "I'm flattered you came to see me," whispered Cassi with a smile.
 "This is not a joking matter," said Thomas sternly.
 246       Robin Cook

 "You're supposed to be asleep. What are you doing up here at two A.M.?"
  Cassi held up the computer sheets. "I couldn't fall asleep so I thought
  I'd be industrious."
  -This is ridiculous," said Thomas, taking Cassi's arm and leading her
  back to the stairs. "You should have been asleep hours ago!"
  "The sleeping pill didn't work," explained Cassi as they went downstairs.
  "Then you're supposed to ask for another. My word, Cassi. You should know
  that."
  Outside tier room, Cassi stopped and looked up at Thomas. "I'm sorry.
  You're right. I wasn't thinking."
  "What's done is done," said Thomas. "You get into bed. I'll get you
  another pill."
  For a moment Cassi watched Thomas resolutely walk down the corridor
  toward the nurses' station. Then she turned into her room. Putting the
  SSD data on her night table, she tossed her robe onto the chair and
  kicked off her slippers. With Thomas in charge she felt more secure.
  When he returned with the pill, he stood by the bed watching as she
  swallowed it. Then, half-teasing, he opened her mouth and pretended to
  search inside to see if it was gone.
  "That's a violation of privacy," said Cassi, pulling her face away.
 "Children must be treated like children," he laughed.
  He picked up the printout, carried it over to the bureau, and dumped it
  into a lower drawer. "No more of this stuff tonight. You're going to
  sleep."
  Thomas pulled the chair over to the bed, switched off the reading light,
  and took Cassi's hand.
  He told Cassi he wanted her to relax and think about their upcoming
  vacation. Quietly he described the un-
              GODPLAYER          247

 touched sands, the crystal water, and the warm tropical sunshine.
  Cassi listened, enjoying the images. Soon she felt a peace settle over
  her. With Thomas there she could relax. Consciously she could feel the
  sleeping pill begin to work, and she realized that she was falling
  asleep.

               0

  Robert was caught in the netherworld between sleep and consciousness.
  He'd been having a terrifying dream: he was imprisoned between two walls
  that were relentlessly closing in on him. The space where he stood became
  smaller and smaller. He could no longer breathe.
  Desperately he pulled himself awake. The entrapping walls were gone. The
  dream was over, but the awful sense of suffi)cation was still there. It
  was as if the room had been sucked dry of its air.
  In panic he tried to sit up, but his body would not obey. Flailing his
  arms in terror, he thrashed around looking for the call button. Then his
  hand touched someone standing silently in the dark. He had help!
  "Thank God," he gasped, recognizing his visitor. "Something's wrong. Help
  me. I need air! Help me, I'm suffocating!"
  Robert's visitor pushed Robert back onto the bed so roughly the empty
  syringe in his hand almost dropped to the floor. Robert again reached
  out, grabbing the man's jacket. His legs kicked at the bed rails setting
  up a metallic clamor. He tried to scream, but his voice came out muffled
  and incoherent. Hoping to silence Robert before anyone came to
  investigate, the man leaned over to cover his mouth. Robert's knee flew
  up and thumped the man on the chin, snapping his teeth on the tip of his
  tongue.
 Enraged by the pain, the man leaned his entire weight
 248       Robin Cook

 on the hand clamped over Robert's face, pushing his head deep into the
 pillow. For a few minutes more Robert's legs jerked and twitched. Then he
 lay still. The man straightened up, removing his hand slowly as if he
 expected the boy to struggle anew. But Robert was no longer breathing; his
 face was almost black in the dim light.
  The man felt drained. Trying not to think, he went into the bathroom and
  rinsed the blood out of his mouth. Always before when he dispatched a
  patient, he had known he was doing the right thing. He gave life; he took
  life. But death was only administered to further the larger good.
  The man remembered the first time he had been responsible for a patient's
  death. He had never doubted it was the right thing to do. It had been
  many years ago, back when he was a junior resident on thoracic surgery.
  A crisis had arisen in the intensive care unit.
  All the patients had developed complications. None could be discharged,
  and all elective cardiac surgery in the hospital had come to a halt.
  Every day at rounds the chief resident Barney Kaufman went from bed to
  bed to see if anyone was ready to be transferred, but no one was. And
  each day, they stopped last by a patient Barney had labeled Frank Gork.
  A shower of emboli from a calcified heart valve had been loosed during
  surgery and Frank Gork, formally Frank Segelman, had been left
  brain-dead. He'd been on the unit for over a month. The fact that he was
  still alive, in the sense that his heart was beating and his kidneys were
  making urine, was a tribute to the nursing staff.
  One afternoon Kaufman looked down at Frank. "Mr. Gork, we all love you,
  but would you consider checking out of this hotel? I know it's not the
  food that's keeping you here."
 Everyone snickered but the man who had continued
            GODPLAYER          249

 to stare into Frank's empty face. Later that night, the man had gone into
 the busy intensive care unit and walked up to Frank Gork with a syringe
 full of potassium chloride. Within seconds Frank's regular cardiac rhythm
 degenerated with T waves peaking, and then flattening out. It had been the
 man himself who called the code, but the team only made a halfhearted
 attempt at resuscitation.
  After the fact everyone was pleased, from the nursing staff to the
  attending surgeon. The man almost had to restrain himself from taking
  credit for the event. It had been so simple, clean, definite, and
  practical.
  The man had to admit that killing Robert Seibert had not been like that.
  There wasn't the same sense of euphoria of doing what had to be done and
  knowing that he was one of the few with the courage to do it. Yet Robert
  Seibert had had to die. It was his own fault, dredging up all the
  so-called SSD series.
  Returning from the bathroom, the man quickly searched the room for any
  papers relating to Robert's research. Finding none, he moved to the door
  and opened it a crack.
  One of the night nurses was coming down the hall with a small metal tray.
  For a terrifying moment the man thought she might be coming to see
  Robert. But she turned into another room, leaving the corridor free.
  His heart pounding, the man slipped into the hall. It would be a disaster
  to be seen on the floor. When he was a resident, he had reason to be in
  the corridors or patients' rooms or even the intensive care unit at all
  hours of the night. Now it was different. He had to be more careful.
  When he reached the safety of the stairwell, panic overtook him. He
  plunged down three floors without pausing for breath and kept up this
  frantic descent until he'd passed the twelfth floor. Only then did he
  begin to
 250       Robin Cook

 slow down. At the landing on five, he stopped, flattening his back against
 the bare concrete wall, his chest heaving from his exertion. He knew he
 had to collect himself
  Taking a deep breath, the man eased open the stairwell door. Within a few
  moments he felt safe, but his mind wouldn't stop racing. He kept thinking
  about the SSD data, realizing that Robert probably had a source in his
  office, very likely a floppy disc. With a sigh the man decided he'd
  better visit pathology right away, before Robert's death was known. Then
  the only problem would be Cassi. He wondered exactly how much Robert had
  told her.
CHAPTER
11

 CASSANDRA WOKE UP with a start, looking into the smiling face of a lab
 technician who was calling "Dr. Cassidy" for the third time.
  "You do sleep soundly," she said, seeing Cassi's eyes finally open.
  Cassi shook her head, wondering why she felt drugged. Then she remembered
  getting the second sleeping pill.
  "I've got to draw some blood," apologized the technician. "You've got a
  fasting blood sugar ordered."
  "Okay," said Cassi equably. She let the technologist have her left arm,
  remembering that for the next couple of days she would not be
  administering her own insulin.
  A few minutes later a nurse came in and deftly started an IV in Cassi's
  left arm, hanging up a bottle of D5W with ten units of regular insulin.
  Then she gave Cassi her preop medication.
  "That should hold you," said the nurse. "Try to relax now. They should
  be coming for you presently."
  By the time Cassi was picked up and wheeled down to the elevator she felt
  a strange sense of detachment, as if the experience were happening to
  someone else. When she reached the OR holding area, she was only vaguely
  aware of the profusion of gurneys, nurses, and doctors. She didn't even
  recognize Thomas until he bent over

               251
 252        Robin Cook

 and kissed her, and then she told him that he looked silly in his operating
 paraphernalia. At least she thought she told him SO.
  "Everything is going to be fine," said Thomas, squeezing her hand. "I'm
  glad you decided to go ahead with your surgery. It's the best thing."
  Dr. Obermeyer materialized on Cassi's left. "I want you to take good care
  of my wife!" she heard Thomas say. Then she must have fallen asleep. The
  next thing she was aware of was being pushed down the OR corridor into the
  operating room itself. She didn't feel at all scared.
  "I'm going to give you something to make you sleepy," said the
  anesthesiologist.
  "I am sleepy," she murmured, watching the drops fall into the micropore
  chamber of the IV bottle hung over her head. In the next second, she was
  fast asleep.
  The OR team moved swiftly. By 8:05 her eye muscles had been isolated and
  tapes had been passed around them. As soon as complete immobilization had
  been achieved, Dr. Obermeyer made stab wounds in the sclera and introduced
  his cutting and sucking instruments. Using a special microscope, he sighted
  through the cornea and pupil to the blood-stained vitreous. By 8:45 he
  began to see Cassi's retina. By 9:15 he found the source of the recurrent
  bleeding. It was a single aberrant loop of new vessel coming from Cassi's
  optic disc. With great care, Dr. Obermeyer coagulated and obliterated it.
  He felt very encouraged. Not only was the problem solved, there was no
  reason to expect it to recur. Cassi was a lucky woman.

               0

  Thomas had finished his only coronary bypass for the day. He'd canceled the
  next two. Happily the case had
            GODPLAYER          253

 gone tolerably well although he again had trouble sewing the anastomoses.
 Unlike the previous day, though, he was able to finish, but the moment Larry
 Owen began to close, Thomas changed into his street clothes. Normally he
 waited until Larry brought the patient to the recovery room, but this
 morning he was too nervous to sit around with nothing to do. Instead he
 stopped down in the OR to see how things were going.
  "Just fine," shouted Larry over his shoulder. "We're closing the skin now.
  The halothane's been stopped."
 "Good. I've been called on an emergency."
 "Everything under control here."
  Thomas left the hospital, something he rarely did during a working day, and
  climbed into his Porsche. It thrilled him to hear the powerful engine as he
  turned on the ignition. After the frustration of the hospital, the car
  provided an enormous sense of freedom. Nothing on the road could touch him.
  Nothing!
  Driving across Boston, Thomas left the car in a No Parking zone directly in
  front of a large pharmacy, confident his MD license plate would save him
  from a ticket. Entering the store, he went directly to the prescription
  counter.
  The pharmacist, in his traditional high-necked tunic, emerged from behind
  the high counter.
 "Can I help you?"
  "Yes," said Thomas. "I called earlier about some drugs. "
  "Of course. I've got it right here," said the pharmacist, holding up a
  small cardboard carton.
  "Do you want me to write a script for it?" asked Thomas.
  "Nah. Let me see your M.D. license. That'll be adequate. "
 Thomas flipped open his wallet and held it out for
 254       Robin Cook

 the pharmacist who just glanced at the license, then asked: "That'll be
 all?"
 Thomas nodded, putting his wallet away.
  "We don't have much call for that dosage," said the pharmacist.
 "I'll bet," said Thomas, taking the parcel.

                R

  Cassandra awoke from her anesthesia, unsure of what was dream and what
  was reality. She heard voices, but they seemed to be far away, and she
  couldn't make out what they were saying. Finally she realized they were
  calling her name. She heard them tell her to wake up.
  Cassi tried to open her eyes but found that she couldn't. A sense of
  panic gripped her, and she attempted to sit up only to be inunediately
  restrained.
  "Easy now, everything is okay," said a voice by her side.
  But everything wasn't okay. Cassi could not see. What had happened?
  Suddenly she remembered the anesthesia and the operation. "My God! I'm
  blind!" shouted Cassi, trying to touch her face. Someone grabbed her
  hands.
 "Easy now. You have patches on your eyes."
 "Why patches?" Cassi yelled.
  "Just to keep your eyes quiet," said the voice calmly. "They'll only be
  on for a day or so. Your operation went smoothly. Your doctor said you
  are a lucky woman. He coagulated a troublesome vessel, but he doesn't
  want it to bleed again, so you must stay quiet."
  Cassi felt a little less anxious, but the darkness was frightening. "Let
  me see, just for a moment," Cassi pleaded.
 "I can't do that. Doctor's orders. We're not supposed
            GODPLAYER          255

 to touch your bandages. But I can shine a light directly at you. I'm sure
 you'll see that. Okay?"
  "Yes," said Cassi, eager for any reassurance. Why hadn't she been warned
  about this before the operation? She felt as if she had been cast adrift.
  "I'm back," said the voice. Cassi heard a click and saw the light
  immediately. What's more, she perceived it equally with both eyes. "I can
  see it," she said excitedly.
  "Of course you can," said the voice. "You're doing fine. Do you have any
  pain?"
 "No," said Cassi. The light was switched off.
  "Then just relax. We'll be right here if you want us. just call. "
  As Cassie let herself relax, she listened to the various nurses as they
  moved about their patients. She realized she was in the recovery room and
  wondered if Thomas would come down to see her.

                F1

  Thomas finished seeing his office patients early. By 2:10 he had just one
  appointment left at 2:30. While he waited he checked the OR to see which
  attending was on call that night for the thoracic service. Learning it was
  Dr. Burgess, Thomas gave him a call.
  Thomas explained that he was planning to sleep in the hospital anyway to be
  near Cassi and suggested he take call as well. Dr. Burgess could pay back
  the favor when the Kingsleys were away.
  Thomas hung up and, seeing he still had fifteen minutes to spare, decided
  to visit Cassi. She had just been brought up to her room, and Thomas could
  not tell if she were asleep or not. She was lying quietly, her face covered
  with bulky eye patches secured with heavy elasticized tape. An IV dripped
  slowly into her left arm.
 256       Robin Cook

 Thomas went silently to the side of her bed.
 "Cassf?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"
 "I am," said Cassi. "Is that you, Thomas?"
  Thomas grasped Cassi's arm. "How do you feel, honey?"
  "Pretty well. Except for these patches. I wish Obermeyer had told me about
  them."
  "I talked with him," said Thomas. "He called me right after the surgery. He
  said everything went better than he could have anticipated. Apparently only
  one vessel was involved. He took care of it, but it was a large one and
  that made him opt for the patches. He didn't expect to use them either."
 "It doesn't make this any easier," said Cassi.
 "I can imagine," said Thomas sympathetically.
  Thomas stayed for another ten minutes, then said he had to get back to the
  office. He gave her hand a squeeze and told her she should get as much
  sleep as possible.
  To her surprise Cassi did doze and didn't wake up until late in the
  afternoon.
 "Cassi?" someone was saying.
  Cassi jumped, startled by the unexpected voice so close to her.
 "It's me, Joan. I'm sorry if I woke you."
 "It's all right, Joan. I just didn't hear you come in."
  "I heard your operation went well," said Joan, pulling up a chair.
  "So I understand," said Cassi. "And I'm going to feel a lot better when
  these patches come off."
  "Cassi," said Joan. "I have some news. I've debated all afternoon whether
  I should tell you or not."
  "What is it?" asked Cassi anxiously. Her first thought was that one of her
  patients had killed themselves. Suicide was a constant worry on Clarkson
  Two.
 "It's bad news."
            GODPLAYER          257

 "I guessed that from the tone of your voice."
 "Do you think you're up to it? Or should I wait?"
  "You have to tell me now. If you don't I'll just keep worrying. "
 "Well, it's about Robert Seibert."
  Joan paused. She could guess what effect the news was going to have on her
  friend.
  "What about Robert?" demanded Cassi instantly. "Dammit, Joan, don't keep me
  in suspense." In the back of her mind she knew what Joan was going to say.
  "Robert died last night," said Joan, reaching out and grasping Cassi's
  hand.
  Cassi lay motionless. Minutes went by; five, ten. Joan wasn't sure. The
  only sign of life from Cassi was her shallow breathing and the force with
  which she gripped Joan's hand. It was as if Cassi were holding on for her
  own life. Joan didn't know what to say. "Cassi, are you all right?" she
  finally whispered.
  For Cassi the news seemed like the final blow. Sure, everyone worried when
  they went into the hospital, but with no more seriousness than one expected
  to win the lottery if he bought a ticket. There was a chance, but it was so
  infinitesimally small that it wasn't worth thinking about.
 "Cassi, are you all right?" Joan repeated.
 Cassi sighed. "Tell me what happened."
  "They don't know for sure," said Joan, relieved to hear Cassi speak. "And
  I don't know all the details. He apparently just died in his sleep. The
  nurses told me the autopsy showed that he had more severe heart disease
  than anyone suspected. I suppose he had a heart attack, but I don't know
  for sure."
 "Oh God!" said Cassi, fighting tears.
  "I'm sorry to bring you such sad news," said Joan. "I just felt if it were
  the other way around I'd want to know."
 258        Robin Cook

  "He was such a wonderful man," said Cassi. "And such a good friend."
  The news was so overwhelming that Cassi suddenly felt devoid of emotion.
 "Can I get you anything?" asked Joan solicitously.
 "No, thank you."
  There was a silence that made Joan feel acutely uncomfortable. "Are you
  sure you're all right?" she asked.
 "I'm fine, Joan."
  "Do you want to talk about how you feel?" asked Joan.
  "Not now," said Cassi. "I don't feel anything right now."
  Joan could sense that Cassi had withdrawn. She questioned the
  advisability of having told Cassi, but what was done was done. She sat
  for a while holding Cassi's hand. Then she left, turning at the door to
  wish her a good night.
  On her way out, she stopped at the nurses' station and spoke to the head
  nurse. She said she'd seen Cassi as a friend, not a consult, but she felt
  she should point out that Cassi was extremely depressed over the death
  of a friend. Maybe the nurses should keep an eye on her.
  Cassi lay motionless for a long time. She'd not objected when Joan left,
  but now felt very much alone. Robert's death had triggered all her old
  fears of abandonment. She kept remembering the nightmare she had as a
  child that her mother would send her back to the hospital in exchange for
  a healthy child.
  In a panic Cassi groped for the call button. She hoped someone would come
  soon and help her.
  "What is it, Dr. Cassidy?" asked a nurse coming into the room a few
  minutes later.
             GODPLAYER         259

  "I feel panicky," said Cassi. "I can't take the patches. I want them
  off."
  "As a doctor, you know we can't do that. It's against orders. I'll tell
  you what I'll do," said the nurse. "I'll go call your doctor. How does
  that sound?"
  "I don't care what you do," said Cassi. "I don't want eye patches."
  The nurse left and Cassi was again plunged into darkness. Time dragged.
  When she allowed herself to listen, she could hear reassuring sounds of
  people moving up and down the corridor.
  Finally the nurse came back. "I talked with Dr. Obermeyer," she said
  cheerfully. "He said to tell you he'd be stopping by shortly. He also
  told me that your operation went fantastically well but it is imperative
  that you rest. He ordered another sedative, so if you'll just roll over,
  I'll give it to you."
  "I don't want another sedative! I want these patches off!"
  "Come on now," urged the nurse. She pulled back Cassi's covers.
  For a moment Cassi hovered between defiance and compliance. Then she
  reluctantly rolled over and got the shot.
  "There," said the nurse. "That should make you feel a little calmer,"
 "What was it?" asked Cassi.
  "nat's a question you'll have to ask your doctor. Meanwhile, lie back and
  enjoy poor health. How about your television. Want it on?" Without
  waiting for an answer she turned on the set and went out.
  Cassie found the voice of the newscaster reassuring. Soon the sedative
  began to have an effect and Cassi fell asleep. She woke briefly when Dr.
  Obermeyer stopped in to tell her in person how well her operation went.
  He said that he expected the vision in her left eye to be
 260        Robin Cook

 about normal when the patch came off, but that the next few days were
 critical and that she should try and be patient. He also told her that
 he'd left a standing order for sedatives and that she should ask for
 medication whenever she felt anxious.
  Feeling better, Cassi drifted back to sleep. When she awoke some hours
  later, she could hear voices whispering in her room. Listening, she
  recognized one of them.
 "Thomas?" she said.
 "I'm here, dear." He picked up her hand.
  "I'm afraid," she said, shocked to feel tears running out from under the
  bandages.
 "Cassi, why are you crying?"
  "I don't know," said Cassi, remembering that it was because Robert was
  dead. She started to tell Thomas but began to weep so hard she couldn't
  talk.
  "You have to get control of yourself. It's important for your eye."
 "I feel so alone."
  "Nonsense. I'm here with you. You have a bevy of attentive nurses. You're
  in the best hospital. Now just try to relax."
 "I can't," said Cassi.
  "I think you need more sedatives," said Thomas. Cassi could hear Thomas
  talk to the other person in the room.
 "I don't want another shot," she said.
  "But I'm the doctor and you're the patient," said Thomas.
  Afterward Cassi was glad he'd insisted. She felt herself drift off into
  merciful sleep while Thomas was talking to her.
  Thomas pressed the nurse's call button. When the nurse arrived, he stood
  up from his perch on the bedside. "I want you to give her two sleeping
  pills this evening.
            GODPLAYER          261

 She was wandering the halls last night after one dose, and we certainly
 don't want her up tonight."
  The nurse left, and Tho ' mas waited a little longer to make sure Cassi
  remained asleep. Within minutes her mouth fell open and she began a
  throaty, uncharacteristic snoring. Thomas walked to the door, hesitated,
  then returned to the bureau and opened the bottom drawer. As he'd
  expected, the SSD data had not been touched. Under the circumstances he
  didn't want Cassi to be pulling it out as soon as her patches came off.
  Quickly fie picked up the computer printout and slipped it under his arm.
  With a final glance over at Cassi, Thomas left the room and walked down
  to the nurses' station. He asked for the head nurse, Miss Bright.
  "I'm afraid that my wife is not standing up too well to the stress," said
  Thomas apologetically.
  Miss Bright smiled at Dr. Kingsley. She knew him professionally very
  well. It was a surprise to hear him admit anyone might have a human
  weakness. For the first time she felt sorry for him. Obviously having his
  wife in the hospital was a strain on him, too.
 "We'll take good care of Cassi," she said.
  "I'm not her doctor and don't want to interfere, but as I told the other
  nurse, I think for psychological reasons she should be kept under pretty
  heavy sedation."
  "I'll see to it," said Miss Bright. "And don't you worry."

  Cassi could not remember having had dinner, although the nurse who
  brought in sleeping pills assured her that she had.
 "I don't remember it at all," said Cassi.
 "That's not a very good recommendation for the hos- 262        Robin Cook

 pital kitchen," said the nurse. "Nor for me. I fed it to you.
 "What about my diabetes?" asked Cassi.
  "You've been doing fine. We gave you a little extra insulin after your
  meal, but otherwise it's all in here." The nurse knocked the IV bottle with
  her knuckle so Cassi could hear. "And here's your sleep meds."
  Cassi dutifully put out her right hand and felt two pills drop into her
  palm. She put them in her mouth. Then, reaching out again, she felt the
  glass of water.
 "Do you think you need a sedative too?"
  "I don't think so," said Cassi. "I feel like I've slept all day."
  "It's good for you. Now your night table is right here. "
  The nurse took the glass from Cassi, then guided her hand over the bedside
  rail so she could feel the water glass, pitcher, telephone, and call
  button.
  "Is there anything else?" asked the nurse. "Do you have any pain?"
  "No, thank you," said Cassi. She was surprised she'd had so little
  discomfort from the operation.
 "Do you want me to switch off the TV?"
 "No," said Cassi. She liked the sound.
  "Okay, but here's the switch." The nurse guided Cassi's hand to the button
  by the side of the bed. "Have a good night's sleep, and if you want
  anything, give us a call."
  After the nurse left, Cassi did a little exploring of her own. Reaching
  out, she touched the side table. The nurse had pulled it away from the wall
  so it would be slightly more accessible. With some difficulty she pulled
  out the metal drawer and felt for her watch. Thomas had given it to her,
  and she wondered if she should have it put in the hospital safe. She didn't
  find it immediately. Her hand touched her own vials of insulin and a
  hand-
              GODPLAYER          263

 ful of syringes. The watch was under the syringes. It was probably safe
 enough.
  She pulled her hand back under the covers. As the medicine took hold she
  realized why people were tempted to misuse it. It made reality recede.
  The problems were there, but at a distance. She could think of Robert
  without feeling the pain of his loss. She remembered how peacefully he
  had been sleeping last night. She hoped his death had been as calm.
  Cassi suddenly pulled herself back from the abyss of sleep. With a jolt
  she realized that she must have been one of the last people to see Robert
  alive. She wondered at what time he'd died. If only she'd been there
  maybe she could have done something. Thomas certainly might have saved
  him.
  Cassi stared into the darkness. of her eyelids. The memory of Thomas
  coming into Robert's room replayed itself slowly in her mind. She
  remembered her shock at seeing him. Thomas had said that when he hadn't
  found Cassi in her room, he'd assumed she was visiting Robert. That had
  satisfied her at the time, but now Cassi wondered why Thomas would have
  been visiting her in the middle of the night.
  Cassi tried to imagine what the autopsy on Robert showed, wondering
  specifically if a definitive mechanism of death was found. She didn't
  want to think about such things, but she found herself worrying if Robert
  had been cyanotic or if he'd convulsed at the time of his death. All at
  once Cassi began to fear that Robert might have been a candidate for his
  own study. He could have been case twenty. What if the last person to see
  Robert alive had been Thomas? What if Thomas had gone back to Robert's
  room after he'd left her? What if Thomas's sudden change of behavior was
  not as innocent as it appeared?
 Cassi began to shake. She knew she was being
 264        Robin Cook

 paranoid, and knew how self-fulfilling delusions could be. She understood
 the stress she'd been under, and she'd had an enormous amount of drugs,
 including the sleep medication that she could already feel sapping her
 ability to think.
  Yet her mind would not give up its horrifying thoughts. Involuntarily she
  found herself recognizing the fact that the first SSD case occurred at the
  same time as Thomas's residency. Cassi wondered if any of the deaths coin-
  cided with the nights Thomas had spent in the hospital.
  All at once she became aware of her utter dependency and vulnerability. She
  was alone in a private room with an IV running, blindfolded and sedated.
  There was no way for her even to know when someone came into the room.
  There was no way for her to defend herself.
  Cassi wanted to scream for help, but she was paralyzed with fear. She drew
  herself up into a ball. Seconds passed, then minutes. Eventually Cassi
  remembered the call button. Ever so slowly she inched her hand in its
  direction, half expecting her fingers to encounter some unknown enemy. When
  she touched the plastic cylinder, she pressed the button, holding it down
  with her thumb.
  No one came. It seemed as if she had been waiting for an eternity. She let
  the button out and pushed it again several more times, praying for the
  nurse to hurry. At any second she expected something terrible to happen.
  She didn't know what, just something terrible.
  "What is it?" asked the nurse curtly, pulling Cassi's hand away from the
  call button. "You only have to ring once, and we'll come as soon as we can.
  You have to remember there are a lot of patients on this floor and most are
  sicker than you are."
  "I want to change rooms," said Cassi. "I want to go back to a semiprivate."
             GODPLAYER         265

  "Cassi," said the nurse with exasperation. "It's late at night.
 "I don't want to be alone!" shouted Cassi.
  "All right, Cassi. Calm down. As soon as we finish our medication
  records, I'll see what I can do."
 "I want to talk to my doctor," said Cassi.
 "Cassi, you do know what time it is, don't you?"
 "I don't care. I want to talk with my doctor."
 "All right. I'll put in a call if you promise to lie still."
 Cassie allowed the nurse to straighten her legs.
  "There, that must feel better. Now you relax and I'll call Dr.
  Obermeyer."
  By the time the nurse left, Cassi's panic had lessened. She realized she
  was behaving irrationally. She was acting worse than her own patients.
  Thinking of Clarkson Two reminded her of Joan. She was the one person who
  would understand and wouldn't be angry at being awakened. Groping with
  her hand, Cassi found the phone and Ifited it onto her stomach. With the
  receiver propped up between her shoulder and the pillow, she got the
  hospital operator. After Cassi explained who she was, the operator put
  the call through to Dr. Widiker.
  The phone rang for a while, and Cassi began to worry that Joan had a late
  date. She was about to hang up when Joan answered.
  "Oh, thank God," said Cassi. "I'm so glad you're home."
 "Cassi, what's the matter?"
 "I'm terrified, Joan."
 "What are you terrified of?"
  Cassi paused. With Joan on the line, she realized exactly how silly her
  fears were. Thomas was the most respected cardiac surgeon in the city.
 "Has it something to do with Robert?" asked Joan.
 "Partly," Cassi admitted.
 "Cassi, listen to me," said Joan. "It's natural you're
 266       Robin Cook

 upset. Your best friend has just died and you've undergone surgery. Your
 eyes are bandaged. You mustn't let your imagination run riot. Ask the nurse
 for a sleeping pill. "
 "I've already had a lot of drugs," said Cassi.
  "Either you had too little or the wrong kind. Don't try to be a hero. Do
  you want me to call Dr. Obermeyer?"
 "No. "
 "Is there anything I can do?"
  "Do you know if Robert Seibert was cyanotic when he was found or if there
  was evidence he convulsed?"
  "Cassi, I don't know! And it's not the sort of thing you should be
  torturing yourself over. He's dead. That's more than enough for you to deal
  with right now."
  "I guess you're right," said Cassi. "Just a minute, Joan. Someone's here."
  "It's Miss Randall," said the nurse. "Dr. Obermeyer is trying to call you."
  Cassi thanked Joan and hung up. The receiver was barely back in the cradle
  when it rang again.
  "Cassi," said Dr. Obermeyer, "I got a call from the nursing office staff
  that you were upset. I don't know how to convince you that everything is
  fine. Your surgery went extremely well. I'd expected to find the usual
  diabetic pathology but I didn't. You should feel relieved."
  "I think it's the patches over my eyes," said- Cassi apologetically. "I
  feel terrified of being alone. I'd like to be transferred into a room with
  another patient. Now."
  "I think that's asking a bit much from the nursing staff, Cassi. Perhaps
  tomorrow we can think about transferring you. For now I'm more interested
  in getting you relaxed. I've advised the nurses to give you another
  sedative. "
 "The nurse is here right now," said Cassi.
 "Good. Take the shot and go to sleep. I guess I
            GODPLAYER          267

 should have expected this. Doctors and doctors' wives always make the
 worse patients. And you, Cassi, are both! "
  Cassi allowed herself to be given yet another shot. She felt Miss Randall
  give her a final pat on the shoulder. Cassi was alone again, but it
  didn't matter. Drug-induced sleep descended like a silent avalanche.

               E]

  Cassi awoke from a violent dream filled with wild noise and clashing
  colors. Despite the heavy sedation, a faint throbbing pain in her left
  eye reminded her immediately that she was in the hospital.
  For a moment she lay perfectly still, her ears straining to pick up the
  slightest sound. Behind the bandages wild colors continued to dance
  before her eyes, presumably caused by the pressure of the bandages. Cassi
  heard nothing save for the distant, muffled sounds of the sleeping
  hospital. Then she thought she felt something. She waited and felt it
  again. It was the plastic tube of her IV line. tier pulse quickened. Was
  it her imagination?
  "Who's there?" called Cassi, suddenly finding the courage to speak.
 There was no response.
  Cassi lifted her right hand and swung it over the left side of the bed
  . No one was there. Reaching down, she felt the tape that secured the IV
  to her arm. Quickly she traced her finger up the plastic tube and pulled
  gently. The sensation was exactly the same twitch she'd felt. In the
  darkness someone had touched her IV line!
  Trying to control her mounting fear, Cassi groped on the night table for
  the call button. It wasn't there. She touched the pitcher, the phone, the
  water glass, but nothing else. She felt over a larger area, moving her
 268       Robin Cook

 hand faster, feeling her sense of isolation and vulnerability mounting.
 There was no call button. It was gone.
  Cassandra found herself frozen by the power of her own imagination. Someone
  was in her room. She could sense a presence. Then she smelled something
  familiar. Yves St. Laurent cologne.
  "Thomas?" called Cassi. Pushing herself up with her right elbow, she called
  again. "Thomas!"
 There was no answer.
  Cassi felt herself break out in a profuse sweat. In seconds her entire body
  was drenched. Her heart, which had already been beating quickly, began to
  pound. Cassi knew instantly what was happening. It had happened before, but
  never with such devastating swiftness. She was having an insulin reaction!
  Desperately she grabbed for the patches, trying to get her fingers under
  the plastered-down edges of the adhesive. Her left hand, previously
  immobilized because of the IV, also tore at the bandages.
  Cassi tried to call out, but her voice had no strength. The bed began to
  spin. She threw herself to the side, against the raised rail. Thrashing
  wildly, she again tried to find the call button. Instead she inadvertently
  tipped over the bedside table sending the phone, the pitcher of ice water,
  and the glass crashing to the floor. But Cassi didn't hear. Her body was
  already locked into the grip of full-fledged grand mal seizure.

               M

  Carol Aronson, the night charge nurse on seventeen, was in the medication
  room drawing up an antibiotic when she heard the distant tinkle of breaking
  glass. She hesitated for a moment, then stuck her head into the chart area
  where she exchanged a questioning glance with Lenore, the LPN. Together the
  two women left
            GODPLAYER          269

 the nurses' station to investigate. Both had the uncomfortable feeling that
 someone had toppled out of bed. They'd advanced only a short way down the
 hall when they heard the clatter of Cassi's side rails.
  The women rushed into the room. Cassi was still convulsing wildly, her arms
  jammed through the rails, banging them back and forth.
  Carol, who was aware Cassi was diabetic, knew immediately what was
  happening.
  "Lenore! Call a code and bring me an ampule of fifty-percent glucose, a
  fifty cc syringe, and a fresh bottle of 135W."
 The LPN ran out of the room.
  Meanwhile Carol managed to pull Cassi's anus from between the rails. Next
  she tried to get a tongue depressor between Cassi's clenched teeth but that
  was impossible. Instead she stopped the rapidly running IV, and
  concentrated on keeping Cassi from hitting her head against the top of the
  bed.
  Lenore returned and Carol took the D5W and immediately changed the IV
  bottle. She put the old bottle aside, knowing the doctor would want to
  check the insulin level. Then she opened the IV all the way and transferred
  the fifty-percent glucose from the ampule to the large syringe. When she
  finished, she debated using it. Technically she was supposed to wait for a
  doctor to arrive, but Carol had spent enough time in crisis medicine to
  know that under the circumstances the glucose should be the first thing
  tried and that it certainly couldn't hurt. She decided to give it. The
  amount of perspiration on Cassi's body suggested a severe insulin reaction.
  Carol stuck the needle into the IV and depressed the plunger. Even before
  she'd injected the last few cc's, the result was dramatic. Cassi stopped
  convulsing and seemed
 270        Robin Cook

 to regain consciousness. Her lips opened and sounded as if she were trying
 to say something.
  But the improvement didn't last. Cassi sank back again into
  unconsciousness, and, although she did not convulse again, the isolated
  muscles continued to contract.
  When the code team arrived, Carol reported what she had done. The senior
  resident examined Cassi and began issuing orders.
  "I want you to draw blood for electrolytes, including calcium, arterial
  blood gases, and a blood sugar," he said to the junior resident. "And I
  want you to run an EKG," he said to the medical student. "And Miss
  Aronson, how about another ampule of fifty-percent glucose?"
  While the team fell to work, Lenore picked up the bedside table,
  replacing the phone. With her foot she pushed the shards of glass from
  the broken pitcher into the corner. The drawer had come out of the table
  and Lenore replaced it. It was then she found several used vials of
  insulin. Shocked, she handed them to Carol, who in turn handed them to
  the resident.
  "My God," he said. "Was she supposed to give herself insulin
  blindfolded?"
  "Of course not," said Carol. "She had insulin in her IV and was being
  supplemented according to the amount of sugar in her urine."
  "So why did she give herself insulin?" asked the resident.
  "I don't know," admitted Carol, "Maybe she was confused with all her
  sedatives and gave herself the medicine by rote. Hell, I don't know."
 "Could she do that blindfolded?"
  "Sure she could. Remember, she's been injecting herself twice a day for
  twenty years. She couldn't get the dose right, but she could certainly
  inject herself. Besides, there's another possibility."
             GODPLAYER         271

 "What's that."
  "Maybe she did it on purpose. The day nurse said she was depressed, and
  her husband said she'd been acting strangely, I guess you know who her
  husband is. "
  The resident nodded. He didn't like to think of the case being a suicide
  gesture because he hated psych cases, especially at three o'clock in the
  morning.
  Carol, who had been filling another syringe with glucose while talking,
  handed it over. The resident injected it immediately. As before, Cassi
  improved for a few minutes, then again lost consciousness.
  "Who's her doctor?" asked the resident, taking a third syringe of glucose
  from Carol.
 "Dr. Obermeyer, Ophthalmology."
  "Somebody give him a call," said the resident. "This isn't a case for a
  house officer to fool around on."

               0

  The phone rang and rang before Thomas groggily reached out and picked up
  the receiver. He had taken two Percodan before stretching out in his
  office, and he found it very hard to concentrate.
  "You're a hard one to wake up," said the cheerful hospital operator. "You
  had a call from Dr. Obermeyer. He wanted to be put through immediately,
  but I told him you'd left specific orders. Do you want the number?"
 "Yes!" said Thomas, fumbling on the desk for a pencil.
  The operator gave Thomas the number. He started to dial and then stopped.
  Noticing the time, he was concerned. Obviously it was about Cassi. Going
  into the bathroom he splashed water on his face, trying to gather his
  wits.
  He waited until some of the drug-induced fog receded before dialing.
 272        Robin Cook

  "Thomas, we had a complication tonight," said Dr. Obermeyer.
 "A complication?" asked Thomas anxiously.
  "Yes," said Dr. Obermeyer. "Something we didn't expect. Cassi gave herself
  an overdose of insulin."
 "Is she all right?" asked Thomas.
 "Yes, she seems to be fine."
 Thomas was stunned.
  "I know this must be a shock for you," Dr. Obermeyer was saying, "But she
  is okay. Dr. McInery, her internist, is here and thanks to the quick
  thinking of the charge nurse, he says Cassi will be fine. We've moved her
  to the ICU for the time being just as a precaution."
  "Thank God," said Thomas, his mind whirling. "I'll be right over."
  As soon as he reached the hospital, Thomas rushed to Cassi's bedside. She
  seemed to be resting peacefully. He noticed that the patch on her right eye
  was gone.
  "She's sleeping but she's arousable," said a voice at his side.
  Thomas turned to face Dr. Obermeyer. "Do you want to talk with her?" he
  asked, reaching to shake Cassi's shoulder.
 Thomas caught his arm. "No thanks. Let her sleep."
  "I knew she was upset tonight," said Dr. Obermeyer contritely. "I ordered
  extra sedatives. I never expected anything like this."
  "She was panicky when I saw her," said Thomas. "A friend of hers died last
  night, and she's been very upset. I hadn't planned to tell her, but I
  learned one of the psych residents had the poor judgment to do so."
  "Do you think this was a suicide attempt?" asked Dr. Obermeyer.
  "I don't know," said Thomas. "She could have just been confused. She is
  accustomed to giving herself insulin twice a day."
            GODPLAYER          273

  "What do you think about a psychiatry consult?" asked Dr. Obermeyer.
  "You're the doctor. I can't be very objective. But if I were you, I'd
  wait. Obviously she's safe in here."
  "I took the patch off her right eye," said Dr. Obermeyer. "I'm afraid the
  bandages may have been a large factor in her anxiety reaction. I'm happy
  to say her left eye is still clear. Considering the fact she just had a
  grand mal seizure, which is probably the severest test imaginable for my
  coagulation of that vessel, I don't think we have to worry much about
  further bleeding."
 "What's her blood sugar?" asked Thomas.
  "Pretty normal right now, but they're going to follow it closely. They
  think she gave herself a whopping dose of insulin. "
  "Well, she's been careless at times in the past," said Thomas. "She's
  always~tried to minimize her illness. But this seems like more than
  carelessness. Still, it's possible she just didn't realize what she was
  doing." Thomas thanked Obermeyer for his good work and walked slowly out
  of the ICU.
  The nurses at the desk looked up as he went by. They had never seen Dr.
  Kingsley so depressed and anxious.
CHAPTER
12

 CASSI BECAME CONSCIOUS of her surroundings around five o'clock in the
 morning. She could see the large wall clock over the nurses' station and
 thought she was in the recovery room. She had an awful headache, which she
 attributed to the eye surgery. Indeed, when she tried to look from side
 to side she got a sharp pain in her left eye. Gingerly she felt the
 bandage over the operative site.
  "Well, Dr. Cassidy!" said a voice on her left. She slowly turned her head
  and looked into the smiling face of one of the nurses. "Welcome back to
  the land of the living. You gave us quite a scare."
  Bewildered, Cassi returned the smile. She stared at the nurse's name tag.
  Miss Stevens, Medical ICU. That confused Cassi further.
 "How do you feel?" asked Miss Stevens.
 "Hungry," said Cassi.
  "Could be your blood sugar is a bit low again. It's been bouncing up and
  down like a rubber ball."
  Cassi moved slightly and felt an uncomfortable burning sensation between
  her legs. She realized she'd been catheterized.
  "Was there a problem with my diabetes during surgery?"
 "Not during surgery," said Miss Stevens with a smile.

               274
             GODPLAYER         275

 "The night after. As I understand it, you gave yourself a little extra
 insulin."
 "I did?" said Cassi. "What day is it?"
 "Five A.M., Friday morning."
  Cassi felt very confused. Somehow she'd lost an entire day.
  "Where am l?" she asked. "Isn't this the recovery room?"
  "No, this is the ICU. You're here because of your insulin reaction. Don't
  you remember yesterday at all?"
  "I don't think so," said Cassi vaguely. Somewhere in the back of her mind
  she began to remember a sensation of terror.
  "You had your operation yesterday morning and were sent back to your
  room. Apparently you'd been doing fine. You don't remember any of that?"
  "No," said Cassi without conviction. Images were beginning to emerge from
  the haze. She could recall the horrid sensation of being enclosed within
  her own world, feeling acutely vulnerable. Vulnerable and terrified. But
  terrified of what?
  "Listen," said Miss Stevens. "I'll get you some milk. Then you try to go
  back to sleep."
  The next time Cassi looked at the clock it was after seven, Thomas was
  standing by the side of her bed, his blue eyes puffy and red.
  "She woke up about two hours ago," said Miss Stevens, standing on the
  other side. "Her blood sugar is slightly low but seems stable."
  "I'm so glad you're better," said Thomas, noticing Cassi had awakened.
  "I'd visited you in the middle of the night, but you were not completely
  lucid. How do you feel?"
  "Pretty good," said Cassi. Thomas's cologne was having a peculiar effect
  on her. It was as if the smell of Yves St. Laurent had been part of her
  devastating
 276       Robin Cook

 nightmare. Cassi knew that whenever she'd been unlucky enough to have an
 insulin reaction, she'd always had wild dreams. But this time she had the
 sensation that the nightmare wasn't over.
  Cassi's heart beat faster, accentuating her pounding headache. She could
  not tell the difference between dream or reality. She was relieved a few
  minutes later when Thomas left, saying, "I've got surgery. I'll be back
  as soon as I'm done."
  By noon, Cassi had been visited by Dr. Obermeyer and her internist, and
  released from the unit. She was taken back to her private room at the end
  of the corridor, but she raised such a fuss about being alone that they
  finally moved her to a multibed unit across from the nurse's station. She
  had three roommates. Two had had multiple broken bones and were in
  traction; the other, a mountain of a woman, had had gallbladder surgery
  and was not doing too well.
  Cassi had had one other insistent request. She wanted her IV out. Dr.
  McInery tried to reason with her, arguing that she'd just had a severe
  insulin reaction. He told her that had she not had the IV originally and
  gotten the sugar when she had, she might have slipped into irreversible
  coma. Cassi had listened politely but remained adamant. The IV was
  removed.
  In the middle of the afternoon Cassi felt significantly better. Her
  headache had settled down to a tolerable level. She was listening to her
  roommates describe their ordeals when Joan Widiker walked in. "I just
  heard what happened," she said with concern. "How are you?"
 "I'm fine," said Cassi, happy to see Joan.
  "Thank God! Cassi, I heard that you'd given yourself an insulin
  overdose."
 "If I did, I can't remember it," said Cassi.
  "You're sure?" asked Joan. "I know you were very upset about Robert . .
  ." Her voice trailed off.
             GODPLAYER         277

  "What about Robert?" asked Cassi anxiously. &f6re Joan could respond,
  something clicked in Cassi's mind. It was as if some missing block fell
  into place. Cassi remembered that Robert had died the night after his
  surgery.
 "You don't remember?" asked Joan.
  Cassi let her body go limp, sliding down into her bed. "I remember now,
  Robert died." Cassi looked up into Joan's face, pleading that it wasn't
  true, that it was part of the insulin-induced nightmare.
  "Robert died," agreed Joan solemnly. "Cassi, have you been dealing with
  your sorrow by trying to deny the fact? "
  "I don't think so," said Cassi, "but I don't know." It seemed doubly
  cruel to have to learn such news twice. Could she have suppressed it or
  did the insulin reaction just remove it from her disturbed memory?
  "Tell me," said Joan, pulling over a chair so she could talk privately.
  The other three women pretended not to be listening. "If you didn't give
  yourself the extra insulin, how did it get in your bloodstream?"
  Cassi shook her head. "I'm not suicidal, if that's what you're implying."
 "It's important you tell me the truth," said Joan.
  "I am," snapped Cassi. "I don't think I gave myself the extra insulin
  even in my sleep. I think it was given to me."
 "By accident? An accidental overdose?"
 "No. I think it was deliberate."
  Joan regarded her friend with clinical detachment. Thinking that someone
  in the hospital was trying to do you harm was a delusion that Joan had
  heard before. But she had not expected it from Cassi. "Are you sure?"
  Joan asked finally.
  Cassi shook her head. "After what I've been through it's hard to be sure
  about anything."
 278       Robin Cook

 "Who do you think could have done it?" asked Joan. Cupping her hand over her
 mouth, Cassi whispered. "I think it might have been Thomas."
  Joan was shocked. She was not a fan of Thomas's, but this statement smacked
  of pure paranoia. She wasn't sure how to react. It was becoming obvious
  that Cassi needed professional help, not just advice from a friend. "What
  makes you think it was Thomas?" Joan finally asked.
  "I awoke in the middle of the night and smelled his cologne. "
  If Joan had had the slightest concern that Cassi was schizophrenic, she
  would not have challenged her. But she knew Cassi was an essentially normal
  person who'd been placed under extreme stress, Joan felt it was advisable
  not to let Cassi build on her delusional thought patterns. "I think, Cassi,
  that smelling Thomas's cologne in the middle of the night is awfully weak
  evidence."
  Cassi tried to interrupt, but Joan told her to let her finish.
  "I think that under the circumstances, you are confusing a dream state with
  reality."
 'Joan, I've already considered that."
  "Furthermore," said Joan, ignoring Cassi, "insulin reactions include
  nighmares. I'm sure you know that better than 1. 1 think you experienced an
  acute delusional psychosis. After all, you've been under enormous stress,
  what with your own surgery and Robert's unfortunate death. I think in that
  state it's entirely possible you gave yourself the injection and then
  afterward suffered all sorts of nightmares you now think may be real. "
  Cassi listened hopefully. She'd had trouble sorting out the real from
  insulin-induced dreams in the past.
 "But it is still very difficult for me to believe that I
             GODPLAYER          279

 could have given myself an overdose of insulin," she said.
  "It might not have been an overdose. You could have just given yourself
  your usual dose. You may have thought it was time for your evening shot."
  It was an attractive explanation. Certainly an easier one to accept than
  that Thomas wanted her to die.
  "My real concern," Joan went on, "is whether you are depressed now."
  "I guess a little, mostly about Robert. I suppose I should be happy about
  the results of the surgery, but under the circumstances, it's difficult.
  But I can assure you, I don't feel self-destructive. Anyway, they've
  taken away all my insulin."
  "It's just as well," said Joan, standing up. She was convinced C assi was
  not suicidal. "Unfortunately I've got two legitimate consultations to do.
  I've got to get a move on. You take care and call if you need me,
  promise?"
  "I promise," said Cassi. She smiled at Joan. She was a good friend and
  a good doctor. She trusted her opinion.
  "Was that lady a psychiatrist?" asked one of Cassi's roommates after Joan
  left.
  "Yes," said Cassi. "She's a resident like I am, but further along in her
  training. She'll be finishing this spring. "
 "Does she think you're crazy?" the woman asked.
  Cassi thought about the question. It wasn't as stupid as it sounded. In
  a way Joan did think she was temporarily crazy. "She thought I was very
  upset," said Cassi. Euphemisms seemed easier. "She thought that I might
  have tried to hurt myself in my sleep. If I start doing anything weird,
  you'll call the nurses, won't you?"
 "Don't worry. I'll scream my bloody head off."
  Cassi's other roommates, who had been listening, enthusiastically
  concurred.
 280        Robin Cook

  Cassi hoped she hadn't scared the three women, but in a way it made her
  feel more comfortable that they would be watching her. If it were true
  that she had given herself an overdose without knowing it, she could use
  a little nervous concern.
  She closed her eyes and wondered when Robert's funeral was. She hoped
  she'd be released in time to go. Then she thought of the SSD project and
  wondered what would happen to it. Remembering the printouts she'd taken
  from his room, she decided to see if someone could locate them for her.
  She rang for the nurse, who promised to check Cassi's former room. A
  half-hour later, the nurse returned and said that the two LPNs who had
  helped move Cassi had not seen the computer printout. The nurse added
  that she'd checked all the drawers herself without success.
  Maybe the SSD data had been a hallucination, too, thought Cassi. She
  seemed to recall going into Robert's room, picking up the material, and
  then bumping into Thomas. But perhaps it was all a dream. Cassi wondered
  how she could check. The easiest way would be to ask Thomas, but she
  wasn't sure she wanted to do that.
  Glancing around the room, Cassi was glad to see her three roommates
  getting ready for dinner. Just having them there made her feel safe.

               F-1

  Thomas stopped short of the bridge over the marsh inlet. He switched off
  the engine and checked for any traffic before opening the door. Getting
  out of the car, he walked out onto the arched wooden bridge, his shoes
  making a hollow noise on the old planks. The tide was on its way out and
  the current rushed beneath the small bridge, swirling in frenetic eddies
  about the support pilings.
            GODPLAYER          281

  Thomas needed a breath of air. The two Talwin he'd taken before leaving
  the office had had disappointingly little effect on his mood. He'd never
  felt such anxiety before. The Friday afternoon conference had been a
  disaster. And on top of that were the mushrooming problems with Cassi.
  Thomas stood on the deserted bridge for almost half an hour, letting the
  damp breeze chill him to the bone. The discomfort was therapeutic, making
  it possible for him to think. He had to do something. Ballantine and his
  cohorts were intent on destroying everything Thomas had carefully built.
  In his hand he gripped a drug vial, intending to throw it into the water.
  But he didn't. Instead he returned it to his coat.
  Slowly Thomas felt better. He had an idea, and as the idea took form, he
  began to smile. Then he laughed, wondering why he hadn't thought of it
  before. With a new surge of energy he returned to his car and warmed his
  fingers by holding them over the defroster vent.
  After pulling into the garage, he crossed the courtyard to the house at
  a run. He moved the drug container to his suit pocket when he took off
  his coat and, feeling better than he had all day, went in to greet his
  mother.
  "I'm so glad you're on time," she said. "Harriet is just putting dinner
  on the table." She took his arm and led him into the dining room. He knew
  she was in a good mood because she had him to herself, but she managed
  to inquire politely about Cassi before serving herself from the platter
  of Yankee pot roast.
  When Harriet had gone back into the kitchen, she began asking about
  Thomas's day.
 "Are things going better at the hospital?"
  "Hardly," said Thomas, not eager to discuss the worsening hospital
  situation.
 282       Robin Cook

  "Have you spoken with George Sherman?" asked Patricia with disgust.
 "Mother, I don't want to talk about hospital politics."
  They ate in silence for a few minutes, but Patricia could not contain
  herself and again spoke up. "You'll know what to do with the man when you
  become chief. "
 Thomas put down his fork.
 "Mother, can't we talk about something else?"
  "It's hard to avoid the issue when I can see how much it is bothering you."
  Thomas tried to calm himself with a series of deep breaths. Patricia could
  see him tremble.
  "Look at you, Thomas, you're like a spring wound too tightly." Patricia
  reached over to stroke her son's arm, but Thomas evaded her touch by
  pushing back his chair and standing up.
 "The situation is driving me crazy," admitted Thomas.
  "When do you think you'll be chief?" asked Patricia, watching her son begin
  to pace back and forth Re a caged lion.
  "God, I wish I knew," said Thomas through clenched teeth. "But it better be
  soon. If not, the department will be in shambles. Everyone seems to be
  going out of their way to destroy the cardiac vascular program I set up.
  Boston Memorial is famous because my operating team made it so. Yet instead
  of letting me expand, they are constantly cutting down my time in the OR.
  Today I learned that my surgical time is being reduced again. And you know
  why? Because Ballantine made arrangements for the Memorial Teaching Service
  to have free access to a large state mental institution out in the western
  part of the state. Sherman went out there and said the place was a cardiac
  surgical gold mine. What he didn't say was that the average mental age of
  the pa-
              GODPLAYER          283

 tients was less than two years. Some of them are acrually deformed monsters.
 It makes me furious!"
  "Well, won't you be backing the house staff on those cases?" asked
  Patricia, trying to think of the positive side of the issue.
  "Mother, they are mentally defective pediatric cases, and Ballantine plans
  to recruit a full-time pediatric cardiac surgeon."
 "Well, then, that won't affect you."
  "But it will," shouted Thomas. "It will put more pressure on me to cut back
  my OR time." Thomas felt his temper rising. "My patients will either have
  dangerous delays before surgery or will have to go elsewhere."
  "But surely your patients will be scheduled first, dear. "
  "Mother, you don't understand," said Thomas, making an effort to speak
  slowly. "The hospital doesn't care that I only take on patients who not
  only have a good chance of survival but are worth saving. To build the
  reputation of the teaching school, Ballantine would rather sacrifice
  valuable OR time for a bunch of imbeciles and defectives. Unless I become
  chief I won't be able to stop them. "
  "Well, Thomas," said Patricia. "if they don't give you the position, you'll
  just have to go to another hospital. Why don't you sit down and finish your
  dinner?"
 "I can't just go to another hospital," shouted Thomas.
 "Thomas, calm down."
  "Cardiac surgery requires a team. Don't you understand that?" Thomas threw
  his napkin into his halfeaten food.
  "You've upset me!" he shouted irrationally. "I come home for once expecting
  a little peace and you upset me!" He stormed out of the room, leaving his
  mother wondering what on earth she had done.
 Walking down the upstairs corridor, Thomas could
 284       Robin Cook

 hear the surf breaking on the distant beach. The waves must be four to six
 feet high. He loved the sound. It reminded him of his childhood.
  Snapping on the light in the morning room, he looked around. The white
  furniture had a harsh, cold appearance. He hated the way Cassi had
  insisted on redecorating the room. There was something brazen about it
  despite the lace curtains and flowered cushions.
  He stayed for only a short time before going back to his study. With
  trembling hands he found his Percodan. For a while he entertained the
  idea of returning to town to see Doris. But soon the Percodan began to
  make him feel calmer. Instead of going out into the frigid night, he
  poured himself a Scotch.
          CHAPTER
              13

 CASSI HAD HOPED that she'd become accustomed to the opthalmologist's
 light, but each time Obermeyer examined her was as uncomfortable as the
 last. It had been five days since her surgery, and except for the insulin
 reaction, the postoperative course had been smooth and uneventful. Dr.
 Obermeyer had come by each day to peer into her eye for a moment, always
 saying that things were looking good. Now on the day of her scheduled
 discharge, Cassi had been escorted over to Dr. Obermeyer's office for one
 last "good" look, as he called it.
 To her relief, he finally moved the light away.
  "Well, Cassi, that troublesome vessel is in good shape, and there's no
  rebleeding. But I don't have to tell you that. Your vision has improved
  dramatically in that eye. I want to follow you with fluorescein studies
  and at some point in the future you may need laser treatments, but you're
  definitely out of the woods."
  Cassi was not certain what laser treatments involved, but it didn't
  dampen her enthusiasm for getting out of the hospital. Convinced that her
  fear of Thomas had been imaginary and that a good deal of their problems
  were at least partially her own fault, she was anxious to get home and
  try to put her marriage back on course.

               285
 286        Robin Cook

  Although Cassi was entirely capable of walking, the green-smocked
  volunteer who came to escort her back to her room in the Scherington
  Building insisted that she ride in a wheelchair. Cassi felt silly. The
  volunteer was almost seventy and had a disturbing wheeze, but she
  wouldn't give in, and Cassi had to allow the woman to push her back to
  the room.
  After she was packed, Cassi sat by her bed and waited for her formal
  discharge. Thomas had canceled his office hours and was going to drive
  her home around one-thirty or two. Since she had been admitted, his
  loving attention had not faltered. Somehow he'd managed to find time to
  visit four or five times a day, often eating dinner in the room along
  with Cassi's roommates, whom Thomas had charmed. He'd also completed
  plans for their vacation, and now with Dr. Obermeyer's blessings they
  were to leave in a week and a half
  The thought of the vacation alone was enough to make Cassi feel
  enormously happy. Except for their honeymoon in Europe, during which
  Thomas had taken time out to operate and lecture in Germany, they'd never
  been away together for more than a couple of days. Cassi was anticipating
  the trip like a five-year-old waiting for Christmas.
  Even Dr. Ballantine had visited Cassi during her hospital stay. Her
  insulin overdose seemed to have particularly unnerved him, and Cassi
  wondered if he felt responsible because of their talks. When she tried
  to bring up the subject, he refused to discuss it.
  But what really made the rest of the hospitalization so pleasant was
  Thomas. He had been so relaxed the last five days, Cassi had even been
  able to talk to him about Robert. She had asked Thomas if she really had
  met him in Robert's room the night Robert died or if she'd dreamt it.
  Thomas laughed and said that he indeed did find her there the night
  before her surgery. She had
             GODPLAYER         287

 been heavily sedated and hadn't seemed to know what she was doing.
  Cassi had been relieved to know she had not hallucinated all the events
  that night, and although she still questioned certain vague memories, she
  was willing to ascribe them to her imagination. Especially after Joan made
  Cassi comprehend the power of her own subconscious.
  "Okay," said Miss Stevens, bustling into the room to see if Cassi was
  ready. "Here are your medicines. These drops are for daytime use. And this
  ointment is for bedtime. I also tossed in a handful of eye patches. Any
  questions?"
 "No," said Cassi, standing up.
  Since it was a little after eleven, Cassi carried her suitcase down to the
  foyer and left it with the people at the information booth. Knowing that
  Thomas would be busy for at least another two hours, Cassi took the
  elevator back up to pathology. One of the vague memories she'd not wished
  to discuss with Thomas concerned the SSD data. She could remember something
  about the data, but it wasn't clear, and the last thing she wanted to do
  was suggest to Thomas she was still interested in the study.
  Reaching the ninth floor, Cassi went directly to Robert's office. Only it
  was no longer Robert's. There was a new name plate in the stainless steel
  holder on the door. It said Dr. Percey Frazer. Cassi knocked. She heard
  someone yell to come in.
  The room was in sharp contrast to the way Robert had kept it. There were
  piles of books, medical journals, and microscopic slides everywhere she
  looked. The floor was littered with crumpled sheets of paper. Dr. Frazer
  matched the room. He had unkempt frizzed hair that merged into a beard
  without any line of demarcation.
 "Can I help you?" he asked, noting Cassi's surprised
 288        Robin Cook

 reaction to the mess. His voice was neither friendly nor unfriendly.
 "I was a friend of Robert Seibert," said Cassi.
  "Ah, yes," said Dr. Frazer, rocking back in his chair and putting his
  hands behind his head. "What a tragedy."
  "Do you happen to know anything about his papers?" asked Cassi. "We'd
  been working on a project together. I was hoping to get hold of the
  material."
  "I haven't the slightest idea. When I was offered this office, it had
  been completely cleaned out. I'd advise you to talk to the chief of the
  department, Dr ......
  "I know the chief," interrupted Cassi. "I used to be a resident here
  myself."
  "Sorry I can't help you," said Dr. Frazer, tipping forward again in his
  chair and going back to his work.
  Cassi turned to go, but then thought of something else. "Do you know what
  the autopsy on Robert showed?"
  "I heard that the fellow had severe valvular heart disease. "
 "What about the cause of death?"
  "That I don't know. They're waiting on the brain. Maybe they haven't
  finished."
 "Do you know if he was cyanotic?"
  "I think so. But I'm not the one to be asking. I'm new around here. Why
  don't you talk to the chieP"
 "You're right. Thanks for your time."
  Dr. Frazer waved as Cassi left the office, closing the door silently
  behind her. She went to look for the chief but he was out of town at a
  meeting. Sadly Cassi decided to sit in Thomas's waiting room until he was
  ready to go. Seeing Robert's old office already occupied had brought his
  death back to her with unpleasant finality. Having been forced to miss
  the funeral, Cassi sometimes had trouble remembering her friend was gone.
  Now she wouldn't have that problem anymore.
             GODPLAYER         289

  When Cassi reached Thomas's office she found the door locked. Checking her
  watch, she realized why. It was just after twelve and Doris was on her
  lunch break. Cassi got SeCUrity to open the door to the waiting room and
  settled herself on the rose sofa.
  She tried flipping through the collection of outdated New Yorker magazines,
  but she couldn't concentrate. Looking around, she noticed that the door to
  Thomas's office was ajar. The one thing Cassi had been effectively denying
  for the past week was Thomas's drug taking. With the change in his
  behavior, she wanted to believe that he'd stopped. But when she was sitting
  in his office, curiosity got the better of her. She got up, walked past
  Doris's desk, and entered the inner office.
  It was one of the few times she'd been there. She glanced at the photos of
  Thomas and other nationally known cardiac surgeons that were arranged on
  bookshelves. She couldn't help noticing that there were no pictures of
  herself. There was one of Patricia, but that was with Thomas Sr. and Thomas
  himself when he was in college.
  Nervously, Cassi seated herself behind the desk. Almost automatically her
  hand went to the second drawer on the right, the same one where she'd found
  the drugs at home. As she pulled it out, she felt like a traitor. Thomas
  had been behaving so wonderfully the last week. Yet there they were: a
  miniature pharmacy of Percodan, Demerol, Valium, morphine, Talwin, and
  Dexedrine. ' Just beyond the plastic vials was a stack of mail-order forms
  for an out-of-state drug firm. Cassi bent over to look more closely. The
  firm's name was Generic Drugs. The prescribing doctor was an Allan Baxter,
  M.D., the same name that had been on the vials she'd found at home.
  Suddenly she heard the waiting room door shut. Resisting a temptation to
  slam the drawer, she quickly
 290       Robin Cook

 eased it shut. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked out of Thomas's
 office~
  "My God!" exclaimed Doris with a start. "I had no idea you were here."
  "They let me out early," said Cassi with a smile. "Good behavior."
  After recovering from her initial shock, Doris felt compelled to inform
  Cassi that she'd spent the entire previous afternoon canceling today's
  office patients so that Thomas could take her home. Meanwhile, she
  glanced at the inner office, then closed the door.
  "Who is Dr. Allan Baxter?" asked Cassi, ignoring Doris's attempt to make
  her feel like a burden.
  "Dr. Baxter was a cardiologist who occupied the adjoining professional
  suite that we took over when we added the extra examination rooms."
 "When did he move?" asked Cassi.
  "He didn't move. He died," said Doris, sitting down behind her typewriter
  and directing her attention at the material on her desk. Without looking
  up at Cassi, she added, "If you'd like to sit down, I'm sure that Thomas
  should be along soon." She threaded a sheet of paper into her machine and
  began to type.
 "I think I'd prefer to wait in Thomas's office."
  As Cassi passed behind her desk, Doris's head shot up. "Thomas doesn't
  like anyone in his office when he's not there," she protested with
  authority.
  "That's understandable," returned Cassi. "But I'm not anyone. I'm his
  wife."
  Cassi went back through the door and closed it, half expecting Doris to
  follow. But the door didn't open, and presently she could hear the sound
  of the typewriter.
  Going back to Thomas's desk, she quickly retrieved one of the mail order
  forms, noting that it was not only printed with Dr. Baxter's name, but
  also his DEA narcotics number. Using a direct outside line, Cassi
             GODPLAYER         291

 placed a call to the Drug Enforcement Administration. A secretary
 answered. Cassi introduced herself and said she had a question about a
 certain physician.
  "I think you'd better talk with one of the inspectors," said the
  secretary.
  Cassi was placed on hold. Her hands were trembling. Presently one of the
  inspectors came on the line. Cassi gave her credentials, mentioning that
  she was an M.D. on the staff at the Boston Memorial. The inspector was
  extremely cordial and asked how he could be of assistance.
  "I'd just like some information," said Cassi. "I was wondering if you
  keep track of the prescribing habits of individual physicians."
  "Yes, we do," said the inspector. "We keep records on computer using the
  Narcotics and Drugs Information Systems. But if you are looking for
  specific information on a particular physician, I'm afraid you can't get
  it. It is restricted."
 "Only you people can see it, is that right?"
  "That's correct, Doctor. Obviously we don't look at individual
  prescribing habits unless we are given information by the board of
  medical examiners or the medical society's ethics committee that suggests
  there is an irregularity. Except, of course, if a physician's prescribing
  habits change markedly over a short period of time. Then the computer
  automatically kicks out the name."
  "I see," said Cassi. "There's no way for me to check a particular
  doctor."
  "I'm afraid not. If you have a question about someone, I'd suggest you
  raise it with the medical society. I'm sure you understand why the
  information is classified."
 "I suppose so," said Cassi. "Thanks for your time."
  Cassi was about to hang up when the inspector said, "I can tell you if
  a specific doctor is duly registered and actively prescribing, but not
  the amount. Would that help?"
 292       Robin Cook

  "It sure would," said Cassi. She gave Dr. Allan Baxter's name and DEA
  number.
  "Hang on," said the inspector. "I'll enter this into the computer. "
  As Cassi waited, she heard the outer door close. Then she heard Thomas's
  voice. With a surge of anxiety she stuffed the drug order form into her
  pocket. As Thomas came through the door the inspector came back on the
  line. Cassi smiled self-consciously.
  "Dr. Baxter is active and up-to-date with a valid number."
 Cassi didn't say anything. She just hung up.

                El

  Thomas was both talkative and solicitious as he drove Cassi home. If he'd
  been angry at her presence in his office, he'd hidden the fact beneath
  a welter of questions about how she was feeling. Although Cassi insisted
  she felt fine, Thomas had made her wait by the hospital entrance so that
  he could run and bring the car around.
  Cassi was thankful for Thomas's attentiveness, but she was so upset by
  what she had just learned from the Drug Enforcement Administration that
  she remained silent most of the way home. She now understood how Thomas
  managed to procure his drugs without detection. He'd supply Allan
  Baxter's narcotics registration. All he had to do was fill out a form
  every year and send in five dollars. With the number and some idea of the
  level at which Dr. Baxter had been prescribing before he died, Thomas
  could obtain plenty of drugs. Probably more than he could consume.
  And the fact that he had resorted to such deception made it clear that
  his problem was more extensive than Cassi had allowed herself to believe.
  His behavior had been so normal this last week she let herself hope that
            GODPLAYER          293

 he had already begun to control his abuse. Perhaps they could talk further
 when they were away.
  "I have some bad news," said Thomas, breaking into her thoughts.
  Cassi turned. She saw his eyes flick over at her for the briefest instant
  as if to make certain he had her attention.
  "Before I left the OR today I got a call from a hospital in Rhode Island.
  They're bringing in a patient for emergency surgery tonight. I tried to
  get someone else to take the case because I wanted to be with you, but
  there was no one available. In fact, after I make sure you're
  comfortable, I'll have to be on my way. 1~
  Cassi didn't respond. She was almost glad Thomas would stay over at the
  hospital. It would give her a chance to decide what to do. Maybe she
  could document the amount of drugs Thomas was taking. There was still the
  chance he'd stopped.
  "You do understand?" asked Thomas. "I didn't have any choice about it."
 "I understand," said Cassi.
  Thomas drove up to the house, insisting on getting out and opening the
  car door for Cassi. It was something he hadn't bothered to do since their
  first dates.
  As soon as they were inside, Thomas insisted that she go directly up to
  the morning room.
  "Where is Harriet?" asked Cassi when Thomas followed her with a pitcher
  of ice water.
  "She took the afternoon off to visit her aunt," said Thomas. "But don't
  worry. I'm sure she made something for you to eat."
  Cassi wasn't worried. She could certainly make herself dinner, but it
  seemed odd not to have Mrs. Summer bustling about.
 "What about Patricia?" asked Cassi.
 294        Robin Cook

  "I'll take care of everything," said Thomas. "I want you to relax."
  Cassi lay back on the chaise and allowed Thomas to settle a comforter
  over her lap. With her backlog of psychiatric reading at her fingertips,
  she had plenty to do.
 "Can I get you anything else?" asked Thomas.
 Cassi shook her head.
  Thomas bent and kissed her forehead. Before he left he dropped a travel
  folder in her lap.
  Cassi opened it and found two American Airlines tickets.
  "Something for you to look forward to while I'm gone. Meanwhile, get a
  good night's sleep."
  Cassi reached up and put her arms around Thomas's neck. She hugged him
  with as much force as she could muster.
  Thomas disappeared into the connecting bathroom, being careful to close
  the door quietly. Cassi heard the toilet flush. When he reappeared, he
  kissed her again and told her he'd call after surgery if it wasn't too
  late.
  After a quick stop in the study as well as the living room and kitchen,
  Thomas was ready to go.
  With Cassi back home from her stay in the hospital, Thomas felt better
  than he had for many days. He even looked forward to surgery, hoping it
  would be a challenging case. But before he could be on his way, he had
  one more job: to see his mother.
  Thomas rang her bell and waited while Patricia came down the stairs. She
  was pleased to see him until he told her he was returning directly to the
  hospital.
 "I brought Cassi home today," he said.
  "Well, you know Harriet's off. I hope you're not expecting me to look
  after her."
 "She's fine, Mother. I just want you to leave her
            GODPLAYER          295

 alone. I don't want you going over there tonight and upsetting her."
  "Don't worry. I certainly won't go where I'm not wanted," said Patricia,
  contrary to the last.
  Thomas walked away without saying anything more. A few minutes later, he
  climbed into his car and, after wiping his hands on the rag he kept under
  the front seat, started the engine. He looked forward to the drive back to
  Boston, knowing there would be very little traffic. Carefully he eased the
  powerful car out into the crisp afternoon air.
  Arriving at the hospital. Thomas was pleased there was a spot next to the
  attendant's booth. He called a loud hello as he climbed from the car. He
  went into the hospital and took the elevator directly up to surgery.

               F-1

  As evening approached, Cassi let the pale, wintry light fade without
  turning on the lamp. She watched the windswept sea change from pale blue to
  gunmetal gray. The airplane tickets still in her lap, she hoped that once
  they were away she and Thomas could honestly discuss his addictive problem.
  She knew that recognition and acknowledgment were more than half the
  problem. Trying to take a positive attitude, Cassi closed her eyes and
  conjured up visions of long talks on the beach and the beginning of a whole
  new relationship. Still tired from her ordeal in the hospital, she fell
  asleep.
  It was completely dark when she awoke. She could hear the wind rattling the
  storm windows and the steady beat of the rain on the roof. True to form,
  the New England weather had made another about-face. She reached up and
  snapped on the floor lamp. For a moment the light seemed glaringly bright,
  and Cassi shielded her eye to look at her watch. She was surprised to see
 296        Robin Cook

 that it was almost eight o'clock. Irritated at herself, she tossed off the
 comforter and got to her feet. She did not like to be so late with her
 insulin.
  In the bathroom, Cassi noted that she was showing two-plus sugar.
  Returning to the morning room, she went to the refrigerator and took out
  her medicine. Carrying the paraphernalia over to her desk, she meticu-
  lously drew up the correct amounts, fifty units of the regular and ten
  units of the Lente. Deftly she injected herself in her left thigh.
  She carefully broke off the needle and dropped the syringe into the
  wastebasket, then put the insulin containers back into the refrigerator.
  Cassi kept the regular and Lente insulins on different shelves just to
  make sure she did not confuse them. Then she unpacked her eye medication,
  removed her eye patch, and managed to put the drops in her left eye. She
  was on her way down to the kitchen when she felt the first wave of
  dizziness.
  She stopped, thinking it would pass quickly. But it didn't. Cassi felt
  perspiration break out on her palms. Confused as to why eyedrops would
  cause such a rapid systemic effect, she returned to the morning room and
  checked the label. It was an antibiotic as she'd suspected. Putting the
  eye medication down, Cassi wiped her hands; they were drenched. Then her
  whole body began to sweat, accompanied by a rush of unbelievable hunger.
  Cassi knew then that it wasn't the eyedrops. She was having another
  insulin reaction. Her first thought was that she'd misread the
  calibration on the syringe, but retrieving it from the wastebasket proved
  that to be false. She checked the insulin bottles, but they were just as
  they'd always been, U 100. Cassi shook her head, wondering how her
  diabetic balance could have been thrown off so much.
  In any case the cause of the reaction was less important than treating
  it. Cassi knew she'd better eat without
            GODPLAYER          297

 delay. Halfway down the hall to the kitchen, she felt streams of
 perspiration began to run down her body and her heart began to beat wildly
 in her chest. She tried to feel her pulse, but her hand was shaking too
 much. This was no mild reaction! This was another overwhelming episode
 like the one in the hospital.
  In a panic Cassi dashed back to the morning room and threw open the
  closet. The black leather doctor's bag she'd gotten in medical school was
  somewhere there. She had to find it. Desperately she pushed the clothes
  to the side, searching the shelves in the back. There it was!
  Cassi pulled the bag down and ran over to her desk. Undoing the catch,
  she dumped out the contents, which included a container of glucose in
  water. With shaking hands, she drew some up and injected herself. There
  was little or no effect. The shaking was getting worse. Even her vision
  was changing.
  Frantically Cassi snatched up several small IV bottles of fifty-percent
  glucose which had also been in the doctor's bag. With great difficulty
  she got a tourniquet around her left arm. Then with a spastic hand
  managed to jam a butterfly needle into one of the veins on the back of
  her left hand. Blood squirted out of the open end of the needle, but she
  ignored it. Loosening the tourniquet, she connected the tubing from the
  IV bottle. When she held the bottle above her head, the clear fluid
  pushed the blood slowly back into her hand, then started to run freely.
  Cassi waited for a moment. With the glucose running she felt a little
  better and her vision immediately returned to normal. Balancing the
  bottle between her head and shoulder, Cassi put a few pieces of adhesive
  tape over the site where the butterfly needle entered her skin. The
  adhesive did not stick too well because of the blood. Then, taking the
  IV bottle in her right hand, she
 298        Robin Cook

 ran into the bedroom, lifted the telephone receiver, and dialed 911.
  She was terrified she would pass out before anyone answered. The phone was
  ringing on the other end. Someone answered, saying "911 emergency."
  "I need an ambulance . . ." began Cassi, but the person on the other end
  interrupted her, saying, "Hello, hello!"
 "Can you hear me?" asked Cassi.
 "Hello, hello!"
  "Can you hear me?" screamed Cassi, her panic returning.
  Cassi could hear the person on the other end of the line say something to
  a colleague. Then the line went dead.
  Cassi tried again with the same result. Then she dialed the operator. It
  was the same maddening problem. She could hear them, but they couldn't hear
  her.
  Grabbing the second IV bottle in her left hand and carrying the running
  bottle above her head, Cassi ran on wobbly legs down the corridor to
  Thomas's study.
  To her horror his phone also wasn't working. She could hear the other party
  vainly saying hello, but it was obvious they couldn't hear her. Bursting
  into tears, she slammed the phone down and picked up the second IV bottle.
  Cassi's panic mounted as she struggled to descend the stairs without
  falling. She tried the phones in the living room and kitchen without
  success.
  Fighting against a powerful drowsiness, she ran back through the hall to
  the foyer. Her keys were on the side table, and she clutched them along
  with the unused IV bottle. Her first thought was to try to drive to the
  local hospital, which wasn't far-ten minutes at most. With the IV running,
  the insulin reaction seemed to be controlled.
            GODPLAYER          299

  Getting the front door open was an effort that ultimately required Cassi
  to put down her IV bottle for a moment. Blood backed up into the IV but
  cleared again when she raised the bottle over her head.
  The cold, rainy night seemed to revive her as she ran for the garage.
  juggling the IV, she managed to open the car door and slide behind the
  wheel. Tilting the rearview mirror, Cassi slipped the ring of the IV
  bottle over it. she pushed the key into the ignition.
  The engine turned over and over, but it would not start. She took out the
  key and closed her eyes. She was shivering violently. Why wouldn't the
  car start! She tried again with the same result. Looking at the IV she
  realized the bottle was almost empty. Shaking, she removed the cover,
  from the second bottle. Even during the few minutes it took to make the
  exchange she could feel the effect. There was no doubt in her mind that
  when the glucose ran out, she'd most likely lose consciousness.
  She decided her only chance now was Patricia's phone. Emerging from the
  garage into the rain, Cassi rounded the building and ran to Patricia's
  door. Still holding the IV bottle above her head, she rang the buzzer.
  As on her previous visit, Cassi was able to see Patricia descend the
  stairs. She came slowly, warily peering out into the night. When she
  recognized Cassi and saw her holding aloft an IV bottle, she quickly
  fumbled with the door and threw it open.
  "My God!" said Patricia, noticing Cassi's pale, perspiring face. "What
  happened?"
  "Insulin reaction," managed Cassi. "I have to call an ambulance."
  Patricia's face registered concern, but seemingly paralyzed with shock,
  she did not get out of the way. "Why didn't you call from the main
  house?"
 "I can't. The phones are out of order. Please."
 300       Robin Cook

  Cassi blundered forward, pushing clumsily past Patricia. The movement
  caught Patricia by surprise and she stumbled back. Cassi didn't have time
  to argue. She wanted a phone.
  Patricia was incensed. Even if Cassi wasn't well, she didn't have to be
  rude. But Cassi had turned a deaf ear to her mother-in-law's complaints
  and was already dialing 911 when Patricia caught up to her in the living
  room. To Cassi's relief, this time she could be heard by the emergency
  operator. As calmly as she could, she gave her name and the address and
  said she needed an ambulance. The dispatcher assured her that one would
  be there immediately.
  Cassi lowered the receiver with a trembling hand. She looked at Patricia,
  whose face reflected confusion more than anything else. Exhausted, Cassi
  sank to the couch. Patricia did the same, and the two women sat quietly
  until they heard the sirens coming down the drive. The years of unspoken
  antagonism made communication difficult, but Patricia helped Cassi, who
  was now nearly unconscious, down the stairs.
  As Patricia watched the shrieking ambulance race back across the salt
  marsh, she had a moment's real sympathy for her daughter-in-law. Slowly
  she went back upstairs and called Boston Memorial. She felt her son
  should try to meet his wife at the local hospital. But Thomas was in
  surgery. Patricia left word that he should call as soon as possible.

               F1

  Thomas glanced down at the clock on the instrument panel. It was 12:34
  A.M. The charge nurse had given him Patricia's message the moment he came
  out of the OR at 11:15. When he'd spoken to his mother she'd been very
  upset, telling him what had happened. She
             GODPLAYER         301

 chided him about having left Cassi alone and urged him to go to the local
 hospital as fast as he could.
  Thomas had called Essex General, but the nurse hadn't been able to say yet
  how Cassi was doing. She just told Thomas that she'd been admitted. Thomas
  didn't need any urging to hurry. He was desperate to find out Cassi's
  condition.
  At the red light the block before the hospital, Thomas slowed but did not
  stop. When he reached the hospital grounds, he turned so sharply the wheels
  of his car squealed in protest.
  The front desk of the hospital was deserted. A small sign said INQUIRIES GO
  TO EMERGENCY. Thomas sprinted down the hall.
  There was a tiny waiting area and a glassed-in nurses' station. A nurse was
  having coffee and watching a miniature TV set. Thomas pounded on the glass.
  "Can I help you?" she asked with a strong Boston accent.
  "I'm looking for my wife," said Thomas nervously. "She was brought in here
  by ambulance."
 "Would you mind sitting down for a moment."
 "Is she here?" asked Thomas.
  "If you'll sit down, I'll get the doctor. I think you'd better talk to
  him."
  - Oh God, thought Thomas as he turned and obediently sat down. He had no
  idea what was coming. Luckily he didn't have to wait long. An Oriental man
  in a crumpled scrub suit appeared, blinking in the bright fluorescent
  light.
  "I'm sorry," he said, introducing himself as Dr. Chang. "Your wife is no
  longer with us."
  For a moment Thomas thought the man was telling him Cassi was dead, but
  then the doctor went on to say Cassi had signed herself out.
 "What?" shouted Thomas.
 302       Robin Cook

 "She was a doctor herself," apologized Dr. Chang.
  "What are you trying to say?" Thomas tried to stifle his fury.
  "She arrived suffering from an insulin overdose. We gave her sugar and she
  stabilized. Then she wanted to leave. "
 "And you allowed her to."
  "I didn't want her to leave," said Dr. Change. "I advised against it. But
  she insisted. She checked out against medical advice. I have her signature.
  I can show you."
  Thomas grabbed the man's arms. "How could you let her leave! She was in
  shock. She probably wasn't thinking clearly."
  "She was lucid and signed a release form. There wasn't much I could do. She
  said she wanted to go to the Boston Memorial. I knew she'd get better care
  there. I'm not a specialist in diabetes."
 "How did she go?" asked Thomas.
 "She called a taxi," said Dr. Chang.
  Thomas ran back down the corridor and out through the front door. He had to
  find her!
  Thomas drove recklessly. Luckily there was almost no traffic. After a brief
  stop at home, he headed back into Boston. When he pulled into the parking
  garage at the Memorial it was just before 2:00 A.M. He parked and ran into
  emergency.
  In contrast to Essex General, the ER at the Memorial was flooded with
  patients. Thomas ran straight to the admitting office.
  "Your wife hasn't come into the ER," one of the clerks told him.
  The other clerk punched Cassi's name into the computer. "She hasn't been
  admitted either. It shows she was discharged this morning."
 Thomas felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his abdomen.
             GODPLAYER         303

 Where could she be? He had only one other thought. Maybe she'd gone up to
 Clarkson Two.
  Although he'd never stopped to wonder why, Thomas did not like to be on the
  psychiatry floor. It made him feel uncomfortable. He didn't even like the
  sound the heavy fire door made when it closed behind him with its airtight
  seal.
  As he walked down the dark corridor, his heels echoed loudly. He passed the
  common room where the TV was still on although no one was watching. At the
  desk a nurse who'd been reading a medical journal looked up at him as if he
  were one of the patients.
 "I'm Dr. Kingsley," said Thomas.
 The nurse nodded.
  "Frn looking for my wife, Dr. Cassidy. Have you seen her?"
  "No, Dr. Kingsley. I thought she was on medical leave. "
 "She is, but I thought she might have come in here."
  "Nope. But if I see her I'll tell her you're looking for her. "
  Thomas thanked the woman and decided to go to his office while he tried to
  figure out what to do.
  As soon as he opened the door he went to his desk to get several Talwin. He
  took them with a splash of Scotch, then sat down. He wondered if he were
  getting an ulcer. He had a boring pain just below his sternum that he also
  felt in his back. But the pain he could live with. What was worse than the
  pain was the pervasive anxiety. He felt as if he were about to shatter into
  a million pieces. He had to find Cassi. His life depended on it.
  Thomas pulled over the phone. Despite the hour, he called Dr. Ballantine.
  Cassi had spoken to him before, and there was a chance she'd approach him
  again.
 Dr. Ballantine, groggy with sleep, answered on the
 304       Robin Cook

 second ring. Thomas apologized and asked if he'd heard from Cassi.
  "I haven't," said Dr. Ballantine, clearing his throat. "Is there some
  reason I should?"
  "I don't know," admitted Thomas. "She was discharged today, but after I
  took her home I had to come back to the hospital for an emergency. When
  I got out of surgery there was a message to call my mother. She told me
  Cassi had apparently given herself another overdose of insulin. An
  ambulance took her to the local hospital but by the time I got there
  she'd signed herself out. I have no idea where she is or what state she's
  in. I'm worried sick."
  "Thomas, I'm so sorry. If she calls, I'll get in touch with you
  immediately. Where will you be?"
 "Just call the hospital. They'll have my number."
  As Dr. Ballantine replaced the receiver, his wife rolled over and asked
  what the trouble was. As chief of service, Ballantine got few emergency
  calls at night.
  "It was Thomas Kingsley," said Ballantine, staring into the darkness.
  "His wife is apparently very unstable. He's afraid she may have tried to
  kill herself."
  "The poor man," said Mrs. Ballantine as she felt her husband throw off
  the covers and get up. "Where are you going, dear?"
 "No place. You go back to sleep."
  Dr. Ballantine put on his robe and walked out of the bedroom. He had an
  awful feeling that things were not happening the way he'd planned.
           CHAPTER
              14

 CASSI AWOKE with the same violent headache she'd had in the intensive care
 unit. The difference now was that her mind was clear. She remembered
 everything that had happened the previous night. After checking out of Essex
 General she headed into Boston thinking she should call Dr. McInery, but
 when she reached the hospital she no longer felt she needed emergency care.
 But before she could face her fears about what had happened, she knew she
 needed sleep. She'd gone to the empty on-call room on Clarkson Two and
 stretched out on the cot.
  As she fell asleep she knew she'd have to find someone to talk to about
  Thomas. Had he been involved in her second insulin overdose? She didn't see
  how since she had taken her regular medicine herself. But the fact that all
  the phones except Patricia's were out seemed too much of a coincidence to
  be an accident, and her car had never in the past failed to start. What if
  her fears about Thomas's connection to the SSD cases were true? What if she
  hadn't been hallucinating and he was responsible for Roberes death?
  If it were true, he had to be ill, mentally ill. He needed help. Dr.
  Ballantine had said he would do anything he could if Thomas needed
  counseling. Cassi de-
  
  
               305
 306        Robin Cook

 cided to see him in the morning. For the moment she was safe.
  Checking her urine a final time, she decided she might as well fall asleep.
  Hopefully Patricia couldn't alarm Thomas until morning.
  When she awoke well before dawn, the psychiatry ward was still deserted.
  Cassi washed up as best she could and ran down to the lab where she
  persuaded a sleepy technician to draw some blood for a sugar level, only to
  have the night lab supervisor refuse to run it because Cassi didn't have
  her hospital card with her. Not up to arguing, Cassi left the sample and
  told the man to do whatever his conscience dictated. She said she'd stop
  back later. Then she went up to Ballantine's office and parked herself in
  the hall opposite his door.
  An hour and a half passed before he appeared. He saw Cassi as he came down
  the hall.
  "If you have a moment, I'd like to talk to you," she said.
  "Of course," said Dr. Ballantine, turning to unlock his door. "Come in." He
  acted as if he'd expected her.
  Cassi walked into the office, looking out the window to avoid meeting *Dr.
  Ballantine's gaze. She could see over the Charles River to the MIT building
  directly opposite. Although she wasn't sure why, Cassi thought that Dr.
  Ballantine seemed somewhat annoyed to see her.
 "Well, what can I do for you?" he asked.
  "I need help," said Cassi. Dr. Ballantine was standing before his desk. He
  was not making her feel comfortable, but she didn't know who else to turn
  to.
  "And what kind of help do you need?" asked Dr. Ballantine. He made no
  gesture for Cassi to sit down.
  "I'm not entirely sure," said Cassi slowly. "But before dealing with
  anything else I must get Thomas into therapy. I know he's abusing drugs."
            GODPLAYER          307

  "Cassi," said Dr. Ballantine with patience. "Since we last talked, I've
  checked Thomas's prescribing habits. If he errs, he errs on the side of
  caution as far as narcotics are concerned."
  "He doesn't get pills under his own name," said Cassi. "But drugs are only
  part of the story. I think Thomas is ill. Mentally ill. I know that I
  haven't been on psychiatry long, but Thomas is definitely sick. I'm afraid
  he considers me a threat. "
  Ballantine didn't respond immediately. He looked at Cassi with surprise
  and, for the first time since he'd seen her, concern. His expression
  softened and he put an arm around her shoulders. "I know you've been under
  a lot of stress. And I think the problem has gone beyond my capabilities.
  What I'd like you to do is sit down and rest for a few minutes. There is
  someone else I think you should talk to."
 "Who?" asked Cassi.
  "Please sit down," said Dr. Ballantine softly. He moved his wing chair from
  the comer and placed it in front of the desk, facing the window. "Please."
  He took Cassi's hand and gently encouraged her to sit down. "I want you to
  be comfortable."
  This was the Dr. Ballantine Cassi had remembered. He would take care of
  her. He would take care of Thomas. Gratefully she sank into the soft
  leather cushions.
 "Let me get something. Coffee? Something to eat?"
  "I could use something to eat," said Cassi. She felt hungry and guessed her
  blood sugar was still low.
  "All right, you wait here. I'm sure everything is going to work out fine."
 Dr. Ballantine left the room, closing the door quietly.
  Cassi wondered whom Dr. Ballantine was calling. It had to be someone in a
  position of authority who would have some influence over Thomas. Otherwise
  he wouldn't
 308        Robin Cook

 listen. Cassi began to rehearse her story in her mind. She heard the door
 open behind her and glanced around expecting to see Dr. Ballantine. But it
 was Thomas.
  Cassi was stunned. Thomas pushed the door shut with his hip. In his hands
  he had a plate of scrambled eggs and a carton of milk. He came over and
  handed her the food. He was unshaven and his face looked haggard and sad.
  "Dr. Ballantine said you needed something to eat," he said softly. Cassi
  took the plate automatically. She was hungry but too shocked to eat. "Where
  is Dr. Ballantine?" she asked hesitantly.
  "Cassi, do you love me?" asked Thomas in a pleading voice.
  Cassi was nonplussed. It wasn't what she'd expected to hear. "Of course I
  love you, Thomas, but . . ."
  Thomas reached out and touched her lips, interrupting her.
  "If you do, then you should understand that I'm in trouble; I need help,
  but with your love I know I can get better."
  Cassi's heart turned over. What had she been thinking? Of course Thomas had
  nothing to do with the terrible events of the previous night. His sickness
  was making her equally crazy.
  "I know you can," said Cassi with encouragement. She'd not thought Thomas
  was capable of having such insight into his own problems.
  "I have been taking drugs," said Thomas, "just as you suspected. I've been
  better this last week, but it's still a problem, a major problem. I've been
  fooling myself, trying to deny it."
  "Do you really want to do something about it?" asked Cassi.
 Thomas's head shot up. Tears streaked his cheeks.
            GODPLAYER          309

 "Desperately, but I can't do it alone. Cassi, I need you with me, not
 against me."
  All at once Thomas appeared like a helpless child. Cassi put the plate
  down and took his hands in hers.
  "I've never asked for help before," said Thomas. "I've always been too
  proud. But I know I've done some awful things. One thing has led to
  another. Cassi, you must help me."
  "You need psychiatric attention," said Cassi, watching Thomas's response.
  "I know," said Thomas. "I just never wanted to admit it. I've been so
  afraid. And instead of admitting it, I just took more drugs."
  Cassi stared at her husband. It was as if she'd never known him. She
  struggled with the desire to ask if he'd been responsible for her insulin
  overdose, or if he had anything to do with Robert's death, or with any
  of the cases in the SSD series. But she couldn't. Not then. Thomas was
  too broken.
  "Please," he begged. "Stand beside me. It's been so difficult to admit
  all this."
 "You'll have to be hospitalized," said Cassi.
  "I understand that," said Thomas. "It just cannot be here at the
  Memorial."
 Cassi stood up and put her hands on his shoulders.
  "I agree, the Memorial would not be a good idea. Confidentiality is
  important. Thomas, as long as you agree to professional care. I'll stand
  beside you for as long as it takes. I'm your wife."
  Thomas clasped Cassi in his arms, pressing his wet face against her neck.
  Cassi hugged him reassuringly. "There's a small, private hospital in
  Weston called the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. I think we should go
  there."
 Thomas nodded in silent agreement.
 "In fact I think we should go immediately. This
 310        Robin Cook

 morning." Cassi pushed Thomas away so she could see his face.
  Thomas looked directly at her. His turquoise eyes seemed clouded with pain.
  "I'll do anything you think I should, anything to relieve the anxiety I
  feel. I can't bear it any longer."
  The doctor in Cassi conquered all other reservations. "Thomas, you've
  driven yourself so hard. You wanted to succeed so much that the process of
  winning became more important than the goal. I think it's a common problem
  with doctors, particularly surgeons. You mustn't think you are alone."
  Thomas tried to smile. "I'm not sure I understand, but as long as you do
  and you won't leave me, it doesn't matter. "
 "I wish I'd understood sooner."
  Cassi pulled Thomas back into her arms. Despite everything, she felt she
  had her husband back. Of course she'd stand by him. She of all people knew
  what it was like to be ill.
  "Everything is going to be all right," she said. "We'll get the best
  doctors, the best psychiatrists. I've done some reading about impaired
  physicians. The rate of rehabilitation is almost one hundred percent. All
  it takes it commitment and desire."
 "I'm ready," said Thomas.
 "Let's go," said Cassi, taking his hand.

               F1

  Like lovers, Thomas and Cassi ignored the morning crowds pouring into the
  Boston Memorial. Walking arm in arm to the garage in the early morning
  light, Cassandra kept up a steady stream of enthusiastic conversation about
  the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. She even told
            GODPLAYER          311

 Thomas she had a specific psychiatrist in mind who'd had lots of
 experience treating other doctors.
  After they'd climbed into the Porsche, Cassi asked Thomas if he felt well
  enough to drive. Thomas assured her that he was fine. Cassi reached up
  and pulled down her seat belt. As usual she had the urge to tell Thomas
  to do the same, but she thought better of it. She had the feeling that
  his emotions were so volatile, he would explode at the slightest
  frustration.
  Thomas started the car and carefully backed out of the parking lot. After
  they'd passed through the automatic gate, Cassi asked how Dr. Ballantine
  had found Thomas so quickly.
  "I called him during the night when I couldn't find you," said Thomas,
  stopping for a red light. "I had a feeling you might go to see him. I
  asked him to call me in my office if he heard from you."
  "Didn't he think it was a little odd? What exactly did you say?"
  The light changed and Thomas accelerated toward Storrow Drive. "I just
  told him you had another insulin reaction. "
  Cassi considered her own behavior. She recognized that her actions would
  appear irrational, especially signing out of a hospital against medical
  advice when she had barely been stabilized. Then hiding from everyone.
  As usual Thomas drove recklessly, and when they reached Storrow Drive
  Cassi braced herself against the door for the sharp left turn that would
  take them toward Weston. Instead Thomas swung the wheel to the right, and
  Cassi had to grab the dash to keep from falling against him. He must have
  turned out of habit, thought Cassi.
  "Thomas," she said. "We're heading home rather than to Vickers."
 Thomas didn't answer.
 312       Robin Cook

  Cassi turned to look at him. He seemed to be holding the wheel in a death
  grip as the speedometer gradually inched upward. Cassi reached over and
  put her hand on his neck, massaging the tight muscles. She wanted to get
  him to calm down. She could sense that he was becoming enraged.
  "Thomas, what is the matter?" asked Cassi, trying to keep her fear in
  check.
  Thomas did not respond, driving the car as if he were an automaton. They
  rose up the ramp, banked, and merged into the multiple lanes of
  Interstate 93. At that time of the morning there was no outbound traffic,
  and Thomas let the car go.
  Cassi turned toward him as much as her seat belt would allow. She let her
  hand trail down Thomas's side, at a loss as to what to do. Her fingers
  hit something sharp in Thomas's jacket pocket. Before he could react,
  Cassi reached in and pulled out an opened package of U500 insulin.
  Thomas snatched the package away, returning it to his pocket.
  Cassi turned and watched the road rush toward her in a bewildering blur.
  Her mind was racing as she began to understand the cause of her last
  insulin reaction. There could only be one reason for Thomas to have U500
  insulin. It was a rarely used drug. He must have replaced her U100
  insulin with the more concentrated drug, forcing her to give herself five
  times her normal dosage. It would have been easy enough to do, forcing
  a syringe through the sealed cap in the same way that she drew out her
  regular dosage. If it had not been for her glucose solution, she'd have
  been in a coma now, or maybe worse. And the hospital episode? She hadn't
  been dreaming when she smelled the Yves St. Laurent cologne. But why?
  Because she, like Robert, was analyzing the sudden death data. Suddenly
  it was clear that
            GODPLAYER          313

 Thomas's performance before they left the hospital had been a trick. With
 horror she realized that Ballantine must have thought she was the mentally
 troubled person, not Thomas.
  Cassi felt the emergence of a new emotion: anger. For a moment it was
  directed almost as much at herself as at Thomas. How could she have been
  so blind?
  Turning, she studied Thomas's sharp profile, seeing it in a different
  light. His lips looked cruel and his unblinking eyes appeared deranged.
  It was as if she were with a stranger ... a man whom she intuitively
  despised.
  "You tried to kill me," hissed Cassi, tightening her hands into fists.
  Thomas laughed with such harshness that Cassi jumped.
  "Such clairvoyance! I'm impressed. Did you really think the broken phones
  and your car not starting were coincidences?"
  Cassi looked out at the blur of scenery. Desperately she tried to control
  her anger. She had to do something. The city was falling behind them.
  "Of course I tried to kill you," snapped Thomas. "Just like I got rid of
  Robert Seibert. Jesus Christ! What did you think I was going to do, sit
  and let you two destroy my life?"
 Cassi's head shot around.
  "Look," shouted Thomas, "all I want to do is surgery on people who
  deserve to live, not a bunch of mental defectives or people who are going
  to die of other illnesses. Medicine has to understand that our resources
  are limited. We can't let worthy candidates wait while people with
  multiple sclerosis or gays with autoinummal deficiencies take valuable
  beds and OR time."
 "Thomas," said Cassi, trying to control her fury, "I
 314       Robin Cook

 want you to turn this car around immediately. Do you understand?"
  Thomas stared at Cassi with unconcealed hatred. He smiled cruelly, "Did you
  really think I would go to some quack hospital?"
  "It's your only hope," said Cassi, while she tried to tell herself that he
  was sick crazy. But all she felt was an overwhelming loathing.
  "Shut up!" screamed Thomas, his eyes bulging, his skin flushed with anger.
  "Psychiatrists are full of shit, and no one is going to sit in judgment of
  me. I'm the best goddamn cardiac surgeon in the country."
  Cassi could feel the irrational power of Thomas's narcissistic rage. She
  had little doubt as to what was in store for her, especially since everyone
  thought she'd already given herself two overdoses of insulin.
  Ahead, Cassi could see the Somerville exit rapidly approaching. She knew
  she had to do something. Despite the speed at which they were traveling,
  she reached across and grabbed the steering wheel, pulling the car sharply
  to the right, hoping to force them off the interstate.
  Thomas struck out and slapped the side of Cassi's head, throwing her
  forward with the force of his blow. She released her hold on the steering
  wheel to protect herself. Thomas, thinking she still had hold of the wheel,
  jerked it back with all his strength, and the car, which was already out of
  control, careened wildly to the left. Thomas desperately swung the wheel to
  the right and the Porsche skidded sideways, then rammed into the concrete
  abutment in a crescendo of broken glass, twisted metal, and blood.
           CHAPTER
              15

 CASSANDRA COULD HEAR someone calling her name from a great distance. She
 tried to answer but couldn't. With a great effort, she opened her eyes.
 Joan Widiker's concerned face emerged as if from a dense fog.
  Cassi blinked. Slowly glancing upward, she could see a tangle of IV
  bottles. To her left she heard the incessant beep of a cardiac monitor.
  She took a deep breath and felt a stab of pain.
  "Don't try to talk," said Joan. "It may not feel like it, but you're
  doing fine."
  "What happened?" whispered Cassi with great difficulty.
  "You were in a car accident," said Joan, smoothing back the hair from
  Cassi's forehead. "Don't try to talk."
  As if recalling a dream, - Cassi remembered the nightmare ride with
  Thomas. She could remember her anger and grabbing the wheel. She had a
  vague memory of being slapped and then bracing herself against the dash.
  But after that, it was as if a curtain had been dropped over the scene.
  It was blank.
 "Where is Thomas?" said Cassi, struggling up- in fear.
 "He was hurt too," said Joan, urging her to lie quietly.
 Cassi suddenly knew that Thomas was dead.
 "Thomas didn't have his seat belt on," said Joan.

               315
 316       Robin Cook

 Cassi hesitated, then said the word aloud. "Dead?" Joan nodded. Cassi let
 her head fall to the side. But as the tears poured down her cheeks, the
 memory of her last conversation with 'rhomas returned. She thought of
 Robert and all the others. Gripping Joan's hand, she said, I thought I
 loved him, but thank God . . ."
          EPILOGUE

           (six montbs later)

 DR. BALLANTINE PUSHED THROUGH the swinging door into the surgical lounge.
 He'd finished his only case for the day and it hadn't gone smoothly.
 Perhaps it really was time to slow down. Yet he loved to operate. He loved
 the triumphant feeling that came at the end of a successful case.
  Pouring himself a cup of steaming black coffee, he felt a hand on his
  shoulder. Turning, he found himself looking into the smiling face of
  George Sherman.
  "You'll never guess who I had dinner with last night," said George.
  Dr. Ballantine examined George's worn face. Since Thomas's death, the
  inpatient load was taking its toll on all the staff, but George was
  perhaps the most overworked. Under the pressure he had matured. Although
  he still had a ready smile and ready joke for his colleagues, he seemed
  increasingly thoughtful. But now he looked at Ballantine with the old
  roguish grin.
 "So who did you have dinner with?" the chief asked.
 "Cassandra Kingsley."
  Dr. Ballantine's eyebrows lifted in a gesture of admiration. "Very good.
  How is that one-sided romance coming?"
  "I think the opposition is weakening," smiled George. I have her
  convinced to go down to the Caribbean come

               317
 318       Robin Cook

 January. That would be wonderful. She really is a fabulous person."
 "How's that eye of hers doing?" said Dr. Ballantine.
  'Just fine. And every one of those bones healed flawlessly. She's really
  got courage, especially getting back to work so fast. And she seems to be
  making quite a name for herself on Clarkson Two. One of the attendings told
  me she has all the makings of a chief resident."
  "Does she ever talk about Thomas?" asked Dr. Ballantine on a more serious
  note.
  "On occasion. I have a feeling there is part of that story that no one but
  Cassi knows. She's still confused as to what she should do, but personally
  I think she's going to let it go."
  Dr. Ballantine sighed with relief. "God, I hope so. At our last meeting I
  thought I'd convinced her that making Thomas's story public would do more
  harm than good. But I wasn't sure."
  "She doesn't want to hurt the hospital," said George. "Her main point is
  that she thinks peer review doesn't work. People like Thomas are allowed to
  go on destroying themselves and their patients because their colleagues
  won't take action."
  "I know. At least I contacted the Drug Enforcement Administration and
  suggested they force the medical licensing board to contact them whenever
  a physician dies. That way no one can abuse a dead physician's license."
 "That's a good idea," said George. "Did they do it?"
  Dr. Ballantine shrugged. "I don't know. To tell you the truth, I never
  followed up on it."
  "You know," said George, "the thing about Thomas that bothers me the most
  is that he seemed so normal. But he must have been taking a lot of pills.
  I wonder how it got out of hand. I take a Valium now and then myself."
  "So do I," said Ballantine. "But not every day like Thomas apparently did."
 "No, not every day," admitted George, shaking his
            GODPLAYER          319

 head. "You know I never could understand why he wouldn't face the fact the
 whole department was going full-time. Maybe the pills did blunt his sense
 of reality. After that late-night meeting with the trustees, he could have
 written his own ticket. The money men were wild to keep him happy. Even
 if they did want him to give up an independent practice."
  "As good a surgeon as Thomas was," said Dr. Ballantine, "he had trouble
  seeing beyond his own nose. He was like the subject of all those jokes.
  You know, the doctor who plays God."
  George was silent for a minute, thinking they all made decisions
  affecting their patients' lives. "What about that triple valve
  replacement you mentioned last week," George said, following his train
  of thought. "What have you decided to do?"
  Ballantine took a careful sip of his coffee: "I'm not even going to
  present the case. The woman's got questionable kidneys; she's over sixty;
  and she's been on welfare for years. Some of Thomas's objections to our
  teaching cases were valid, and I don't even want the committee to know
  about her, If that goddamn philosopher hears about this woman, he'll
  probably insist we operate."
  George nodded, ostensibly agreeing. But in his mind he recognized they
  all played God to a degree, and he knew that was Cassi's real concern.
  He'd promised her that when he became chief, which he'd already been
  guaranteed, he'd let such decision-making rest with the committee,
  including the philosopher.
  George broke off from Ballantine and passed through the crowded lounge
  into the locker room. Passing by the phone he realized he felt more and
  more uncomfortable concerning Ballantine's decision about the triple
  valve case. Abruptly he picked up the phone, called the operator, and put
  in a page for Rodney Stoddard.
         About the Author

 Dr. Robin Cook, a graduate of Columbia University Medical School, has also
 been a professional diver who served as an aquanaut for Sea Lab and worked
 at Jacques Cousteau's oceanographic institute in the south of France.
 Currently on leave from the Massachusetts Eye and Ear Institute, he lives in
 New Hampshire with his wife, Barbara. His previous books, including Year of
 the Intern, Coma, Brain, Fever, Sphinx and Mindbend, are also available in
 Signet editions.