Page 38 of Collateral Claim
“She’ll change her mind,” Slada says. “Please change your mind, Doc.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I ask.
Endo’s eyes are cold. Merciless. Ruthless. He issued an order, and I’d be pretty stupid not to take him seriously. “Okay. We’ll operate, but I can’t guarantee his survival.”
“All I’m asking is that you give it your best.”
“And even if he doesn’t survive, I want these people released.”
“They’re not your concern.”
“Promise me!” I stomp my foot like a toddler because I have no leverage against this man, who is the law in his sovereign territory.
“I promise.”
Oh. Okay. That was easier than I thought it would be.
I approach Marquis and ask Slada to leave. She stays. I glance at Endo as I take his friend’s limp arm. I barely register a pulse.
“I don’t want them to work under the pressure of her gun. Guns make me uneasy.”
Slada leaves.
Also easier than I thought it would be.
There’s a wash basin, and while I scrub in for the procedure, I introduce myself to the three people, all of whom are wearing masks and goggles. It’ll be difficult for me to identify them later. For which I am grateful. Meanwhile, they could pick me out of a lineup with one eye closed.
A short, stocky woman presses a button on a remote control. A television screen on a portable mount opens, and a man wearing a mask greets me.
“Dr. Pembroke,” he says, his voice deep and commanding. “I’m a surgeon, and I will guide you through the procedure.”
Great. Just great. A colleague of mine, whom I don’t know but who knows me, will witness my untrained practice of medicine. The three others, nurses, I presume, will assist.
I wish Endo had told me that he had a team ready and all he needed was a pair of steady hands.
I would have told him mine would shake.
As they are shaking right now.
Judging by the medical scan at Marquis’s feet, they’ve confirmed the position of the bullet. All I have to do is remove it. Easy-peasy. The surgeon explains the first steps, and I pick up the scalpel.
I hold the scalpel a centimeter above Marquis’s skin, but I can’t cut yet because my hand is trembling. The surgeon is quiet. The three people are quiet as well. Marquis is sedated.
If I cut this man, there’s no going back.
There would be no way I could deny that I performed a surgery I’m not supposed to. This could cost me my license. I’ve worked hard, I’ve studied hard, I sacrificed my twenties to become a doctor and to be able to make my own free choices.Make my own money. Own my life. My freedom. And now, the single slice of a scalpel could take it all away.
Everyone’s disguised except me.
They can recognize me. Describe me. No doubt Endo’s going to use this against me or, at the very least, hold it over my head.
“My name is Scarlett Pembroke,” I say. “I don’t want to do this, but I have to.”
“None of us wants to, lady,” the man monitoring the anesthesia and two other monitors says. “The sooner we’re done here, the better.”
“Speak for yourselves,” a woman says. “When that hot, tall guy with the different-colored eyes offered me a hundred grand, I jumped into his car.”
“A hundred grand? I only got fifty,” the monitor man says.
