Implant

She dammed up the rage and humiliation as she waited. It wasn't supposed to be like this, wasn't supposed to work this way.

The car finally came, the doors closed behind her and the box began its slow fall. Alone, sealed off, she wanted to scream, wanted to sob.

She did neither. She wiped a single tear from her right eye and whispered one word.

"Damn." She found Gerry waiting for her in the atrium. She forced a smile and hoped her eyes weren't red.

"What are you doing here? " "Waiting for you. What else? " He looked good. Even at the end of a workday with a little five-o'clock shadow stippling his cheeks, he looked damn good. But the excitement Gin had felt the last couple of times they were together was missing today.

She didn't want to be with anyone now.

"But how did you know? " "You told me. Remember? On the phone?

Maybe five hours ago? " "Oh. Right." Her mind wasn't working too well at the moment.

"So how about a drink? " A polite demurral began in her throat but she held it back. She'd been injured and her instincts urged her to retreat to a corner and be alone.

But that was what Pasta would have done.

"Sure. I'd love one."

"Great. I know just the place. We'll take a shortcut." He took her arm and led her toward the rear of the Hart Building. "A celebratory drink, I hope."

"No, " she said slowly.

"I'm afraid not."

"You're kidding. Whar, ? ' "I"II tell you about it." * * * Gerry clenched and unclenched his fists under the table as Gin told her story.

They sat at an isolated table near the window. He'd broughr her to the Sommelier, a little wine bar on Mass, because he'd learned that she preferred wine to liquor, and had a fondness for Italian reds.

Gerry preferred Irish sipping whiskey, preferably Black Bush. But if wine was the only thing, he usually toughed it out with white zinfandel.

No wine snob he.

He could see Gin was hurt. She spoke softly, almost matter-offactly, over her glass of valpolicella, swirling then sipping it, swirling and sipping. Her voice was steady, as were her hands, she looked perfectly composed. But Gerry sensed the pain.

As his mood darkened, he wished he hadn't brought her here. The gleaming surfaces of the polished brass and chrome and marble of the Sommelier were too clean, too bright for the story she told. They should have been in a seedy cocktail lounge.

No. This was better. Clean and shiny suited her. Here it was only the third time they'd been together and already he was feeling protective.

And so attracted. He hadn't felt this way since college, when he and Karen had started dating and getting serious. A good, warm feeling.

Thoughts of Gin were beginning to intrude on his work. He'd find himself thinking about her at the most inconvenient times, wondering what she was doing, wondering if she was thinking about him.

And now he was sharing her anger, her anguish. She had expected better of a U. S. senator's office. She deserved better.

Sometimes he hated this goddamn town.

"That's the way it is here, " he told her after she finished. "Not just with you. With everything. It's a mindset."

"So I shouldn't take it personally? ' Her eyes flashed. "Is that what you're saying?

" . "Yes and no, " he said slowly. Had to choose his words carefully here. He didn't want to wind up a lightning rod for that anger. "You should be offended, angry, even feel humiliated, but realize too that Blair is simply doing what comes naturally on the Hill. He's just playing by the rules as he's learned them." '"Hill rat, " she said, shaking her head. "Boy, if ever a term fit someone. But aren't there laws, ? " "Yeah, probably written by the Hill rats themselves, and passed by their bosses. But for other people, for the constituents.

They don't apply up here on the Hill. You've entered an ethical Twilight Zone."

"You seem so casual about it." Was he? Was she right? Had he been investigating political corruption long enough to take it for granted?

Maybe. He didn't like that answer.

But he wasn't talking about blatant graft here. No, it was more of an atmosphere, an ambience. A different set of values.

"I can't be casual about you being hurt." She gave him a little smile. He loved the way her lips curled up at the corners. Her eyes said thank you.

He reached across and gripped her hand. She didn't pull away.

"Look, Gin, " he said. "If you want to be a part of the doings on the Hill, you're going to have to play by their rules. The people up here aren't going to change for you."

"I never expected them to, but, " "Think of yourself as having entered the world's largest bazaar, where everything is for sale but no prices are marked. The currency is influence, and the best hagglers walk away with the fullest shopping carts."

"That's pretty damn grim, Gerry."

"Gin, " he said, leaning forward, "I'm sure you see influence peddling in hospital politics, but that's penny-ante stuff. This is the major leagues. This Blair guy, he's got influence with his senator to get you something you want, you, in turn, have got something he wants.

Sounds as if he's experienced at the game, very circumspect in his hallway negotiation, and that's just what it was, a negotiation. And don't think that it occurred in an empty hallway by accident. No quid pro quo proposition, just a generous offer to help you deal with a possible hitch in your appointment. And no witnesses. Very smooth."

"You sound as if you almost admire him."

"I will admire my fist in his face if I ever meet up with him, " he said.

Gerry was rewarded with another smile, this one big enough to reveal the glistening white of Gin's teeth.

"Don't get yourself in trouble on my account."

"It's a good account.

" "Does that mean I can make a professional request? " " Professional?

" "Yes. Police-type stuff. I'm trying to find out about Duncan Lathram's daughter." Gerry felt his insides tighten as they always did at mention of Lathram's name, but he remained impassive. Obviously she was tired of talking about Joe Blair.

"What about her? She in trouble? " "No. She died in an accident five years ago." "What kind of accident? " "A fall at home."

"You're suspicious about something? " "Oh, no. Not at all. I just can't find out anything about her. Nobody's talking."

"It's just idle curiosity, then? " He could tell from her manner it was anything but.

She was holding something back.

"No. I don't know what it is, really. I was just wondering if you could get hold of a copy of the death certificate." Now there was an odd request. But not a difficult one if you knew who to call. And perfectly legal. Death certificates were public records.

"No biggee. Just have to know where she lived at the time The rest is easy."

"Alexandria, I believe. Northern Virginia for sure."

"Okay. Have it for you in a day or two." And he would. But first he'd give it a thorough going over himself. His curiosity was piqued.

"Unless there's a rush." He watched her closely as she answered.

"No. No rush. ' That settled, he could almost see her drift away as she lapsed into silence. She sighed.

He said, "What are you thinking? " Was it about Lisa Lathram, or about this Blair character, or something else?

"Maybe you and Duncan are right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this town.

" So . . . it was back to Blair. An ache grew within him as he sensed the disappointment in her voice, watched discouragement etch lines around her frown. He wasn't sure what, but he was going to do something.

"Don't give up hope, " he said. "Things have a way of working out. ' '"Maybe sometimes, " she said. "Not this time" He drained the white zinfandel.

"You never know, Gin. You never know." Gerry stood in the wide, fresh-smelling, brightly lit hallway outside the apartment door in the Watergate-at-Landmark, a high-rise condo complex in northern Virginia, and waited for his ring to be answered.

He knew Blair was home, a hang-up phone call had confirmed that. Maybe he was eating. Gerry hoped he was alone. If he wasn't, Gerry would have to improvise. But one way or another, he was going to make this creep see the light.

As soon as he'd left Gin at her car he'd hustled up Pennsylvania to the Bureau. He ran a check on Blair, but no criminal record. Too bad.

That would have made things easier.

So he'd have to bluff.

Gerry shrugged some of the tension out of his tight shoulder muscles.

This sort of unofficial visit could land him in a serious load of official trouble if Blair called his blu*.

But Gerry knew how these highly placed Hill rats operated. They couldn't vote, but lots of times they had control of the line by line wording of a bill, and that could be more important than a Yea or Nay.

The lobbyists courted them with trips, gifts, and honoraria for speaking engagements, just like their bosses. Gerry remembered one case, still mentioned by Hill rats in awed tones, of two staffers, Michaels and Bill Patterson, who netted a total of twenty eight thousand dollars from a host of lobbyists in forty-eight hours.

Blair no doubt had dreams of topping that record.

Gerry meant to disturb those dreams.

Because if Blair planned to cash in all the influence chips that would accrue from the Guidelines bill, the last thing he wanted was a ticked-off FBI agent watching his every move.

But Gerry didn't have much time Mrs. Snedecker had said she'd keep Martha a couple of extra hours today. Gerry would have to get to it with Blair right away.

The condo door opened and a pale face with a see-through mustache cautiously peered at him through the opening. This was a gated building.

Drop-in company was not the norm.

"Yes? " Gerry held up the same badge that had got him past the doorman.

"FBI, Mr. Blair." Blair opened the door a little wider for a better look. He squinted at the badge.

"What is it? What do you want? " Gerry flipped the leather badge folder closed and stepped closer, quietly wedging his foot against the bottom edge of the door. He slipped the badge into his pocket.

'"Don't worry. It's not official business." . "Then what, ? " Gerry put a hand against Blair's chest and gently pushed him back into his apartment. There were times when subtlety was called for and times when it wasn't.

"You and me, Blair. We're gonna have us a little talk." GINA GINA YAWNED AS SHE HEADED FOR THE DOCTORS lounge. A busy night at Lynnbrook. Sometimes she could catch a catnap during the shift. Not this time

Not that she would have got much more sleep if she'd stayed home. What a state she was in. Worse than waiting to hear about her residency match. Almost as bad as the months waiting to hear if she'd been accepted into medical school.

She ran into Dr. Conway again.

"I see Mrs. Thompson finally went home. That must be a relief.

"I guess so. Everybody's making nice-nice now that they think I caved in. Actually, she made a dramatic turnaround. Almost miraculous. One day she's dragging around, next day she's chipper and demanding to go home." A warning bell sounded in the back of Gin's brain.

"When was that? " "Wednesday."

"I wonder, ' Gin said uneasily. "I had a talk with her just the night before and she said she'd heard you were in trouble I

because of her. I remember her saying something like, I won't be a burden to anyone. I'll be out of here sooner than you think." Conway stared at her. "Christ. That'd be just like her." He picked up the phone and called medical records. He got Mrs. Thompson's phone number and dialed. And listened. He redialed and listened again. Then he hung up.

"No answer. I'm going over there."

"She could be out, " Gin said.

"At seven A. M. ? A seventy-eight-year-old lady? " "I'll go with you.

' "You're on duty. I'll let you know how it goes." Gin spent the next hour wondering what Conway would find. When she wasn't thinking about that, it was back to the committee. At one point she found herself dialing her apartment, readying to activate the remote playback on her answering machine.

What am I doing? she thought, and hung up.

It was too early. No one from a senator's office would be calling before ten. Before noon, more likely.

She was about to leave when she was paged by the emergency department.

Dr. Conway was asking for her assistance.

Gin found him standing by the x-ray box, studying a chest film. She took one look at the opacified right lung field and said, "Not Harriet, I hope." Conway nodded. "Found her on her back steps, barely conscious, a bunch of bread crusts in her hand. Looked like she'd gone out to feed the birds last night and collapsed."

"She was out all night? " "Sure as hell looks that way. She's shocky, hypothermic, and hypoxemic, plus", he tapped the chest film, "three fractured ribs and I'll bet that's a hemothorax. I called in Fielding.

He's going to intubate her and put her on a respirator, then it's up to ICU ." He snapped the film off the view box.

"Damn! I never should have sent her home! " "She told you she was fine. What else were you going to do? " "I should have seen through that. I believed her because I wanted to.

I was so damn glad to get the PRO and the rest of them off my back I jumped at the chance to discharge her."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, " Gin said. "Where is she? " Conway jerked a thumb over his shoulder at one of the curtained-off alcoves.

Gin wasn't sure which way to go until she saw Fielding, the pulmonologist, step through a set of curtains and approach the nurses station. She slipped behind the curtains.

Harriet Thompson was almost unrecognizable. The right side of her face was swollen and purple where it must have struck pavement. A ribbed plastic tube curved from the corner of her mouth, connected by a larger tube to a hissing and puffing respirator. Her eyes were half open but they weren't seeing anything. Gin gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze.

'"Hang in there, Harriet, " she said. "You're in good hands." There wasn't much Gin could do. Between Conway and Fielding and the ICU staff, all bases were covered. When she came out, she patted Dr. Conway on the back and wished both him and Harriet good luck.

She got behind the wheel of her Sunbird and rubbed her burning eyes.

She was scheduled to assist Duncan this morning. Despite her fatigue, that had its up side, Time would move faster. But first a shower.

She noticed the message light blinking on her answering machine. She hurried over to it but her finger hesitated, hovering above the replay button. Dread and anticipation swirled through her. Was this it? The big turndown?

She shook herself. She was going off the deep end. No way it could be Marsden's office.

She hit the button. It was Gerry. A rush of warmth filled her at the sound of his voice. He'd been so sympathetic yesterday.

Hi, Gin. It's about eleven now. I forgot you were moonlighting tonight, so you probably won't hear this till tomorrow morning. But I want to remind you to call me as soon as you hear from Marsden's office. the .

It's a good bet you'll be hearing early. When you get word, call me at home. I won't be leaving till around nine. Good luck, but it'll be their good luck to get you. Bye.

How sweet, she thought, smiling as she hit the erase button. And how naive. She wouldn't be hearing early from anyone.

Funny, though, how sure Gerry seemed about the early call. And he was anything but naive.

Gin heard the phone ringing as she stepped out of the shower. Still dripping, she wrapped a towel around herself and rushed to the bedroom to grab it. It was Alicia Downs.

"You're in, Gin." Gin was stunned, speechless for a moment.

"Hello? " Alicia said. "You still there? " "Yes. I'm here. I just can't believe this. I'm in? " "You are. I heard Blair telling one of the secretaries to call you and give you the word. I'm doing it for her. ' "But how, ? " "Don't ask me. I put in my vote for you. I don't know about Blair. All I know is that sometime between last night and this morning the senator made up his mind. You're our new legislative assistant on medical affairs." She felt weak. "This . .

. this is wonderful. Thanks for the call. And for your support. " "Don't thank me. I mean, I think you're a nice person and bright and I'm sure you'll do a good job and all, but I want you for other reasons.

You'll be a good PR asset."

"An asset. Wow." Alicia laughed.

"Hey, you're not just a doctor, you're a bright, attractive, female doctor fresh out of training. You're not Washington.

An outsider, no connections to the bureaucracy. You're now. Your presence shows the senator's got a mind open to fresh ideas from the medical profession." Gin felt herself going cold, and not from the water dripping down her legs.

"Look, if I'm just going to be window dressing, you can tell, " "No way.

Not with this senator. He wants you for your medical expertise. I'm the one who's concerned with appearances."

"That's a relief. I think." She laughed again. "Relax, Gin. You're in. And you're in with one of the good guys. I've been earning my living up here for twenty years now, and Senator Marsden is the first guy in a long time to restore my faith in the electoral process. I can't tell you what a joy it is to polish the image of a guy you really like. ' "That's good to hear. Really good."

"Then I take it you accept? " "Of course I do." Great. Our staff is meeting here tomorrow at ten A. M. t sharp.

I hope you don't have any major plans for the weekend."

"Well, nothing firm." She'd been hoping she and Gerry might get together.

"Good. With the hearings opening next week, you can expect to work through the weekend. Welcome aboard. See you tomorrow." Gin hung up and stood in the center of her bedroom, grinning foolishly, absently toweling herself off as she let the reality sink in.

"I'm in. I . . . am . . . in! " She pumped her fist into the air.

"Yes! " As she dried her hair, she began to dance around, shuffling into the front room, blindly turning, gyrating, undulating her hips in time to a regge tune on the radio.

Here she is, ladies and gentlemen! The latest, the greatest, the hottest legislative assistant in the nation's capital, dancing under her stage name, Pasta Primavera, with her own exclusive interpretation of the Hill Rat Hustle!

Gin lowered the towel from her hair and found herself in front of the bay window, standing nude as a jaybird over Kalorama Road.

"Whoa! " She ducked away and hurried back to her room. As she pulled open her underwear drawer she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror.

She turned to give her body a closer look, twisting this way and that to get different angles on her breasts and hips.

The hips were a little more generous than she liked. But her abdomen was nice and flat. She ran her hand lightly over the puckered scar of her old incision, then traced a fine line of hair down to the dark tangle over her pubes. Time for another bikini wax.

Not too bad, she thought. Not too bad at all for an old broad looking thirty in the eye.

She had two careers now. Why not go for a third as Pasta Primavera, exotic dancer? No . . . there was another term for it, a Duncan word. What was it . . . ?

Ecdysiast flashed into her mind.

Right. Regina Panzella, doctor, legislative assistant, and ecdysiast.

She tried a little bump and grind before the mirror.

Pretty lame.

Ah, well.

She turned away and began picking through her underwear.

Once she was dressed, her high spirits were brought down by the thought of Harriet Thompson. She called the Lynnbrook ICU and learned she was stable. Okay.

Then she called Gerry. He seemed genuinely happy for her, but not as surprised as she'd expected.

"See, " she told him. "Sometimes things work out. It doesn't do you any good to be cynical all the time Hard work and persistence still pay off."

"I knew all along you were the best person for the job.

Now I guess this guy Blair and the senator know it too. But what's really great is that it means you'll be down in my neighborhood a lot more often."

"That's right, isn't it? " She hadn't thought of that.

"I'm glad of that too." She liked Gerry more each time she saw him.

Maybe an FBI agent wasn't as glamorous as a high-powered internist like Peter, but she sensed something deeply caring in Gerry. If this kept up . . .

"By the way, " he said. "I located a death certificate on Lisa Lathram in Fairfax County." Gin felt her breath catch. One part of her wanted to tell him never mind, leave the dead alone, another part wouldn't rest until all her questions were answered. She tried to keep her tone casual.

"That was quick. What does it say? " "It's on its way. I'll let you know when I get it."

"Thanks, Gerry. You're becoming indispensable.

" "I hope so."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut back some of my hours . , , nere.

She and Duncan were halfway through a tummy tuck. Gin had a wide retractor hooked around a six-inch layer of abdominal wall and was positioning it where Duncan could resect the redundant layers of yellow fat. She hadn't planned to tell him until the surgery was over, but he'd begun talking about tomorrow's surgery schedule and it had simply popped out.

' Oh? " he said. "And why's that? " "I . . . I got the job on Senator Marsden's staff." There. I said it.

She watched him closely, remembering his explosion last time How was he going to react this time?

His blue eyes glanced up at her for a second or two, then returned to the surgical field.

. "Congratulations. When do you start? " Gin didn't answer immediately. She'd been steeled for anger. This quiet acceptance was almost as intimidating.

"Uh, this weekend."

"So you're leaving us high and dry." '-Cassidy said he'd fill in. ' "I hope you'll still find some time for medicine.

" "I'll have to cut back, but I don't want to quit."

"Good. I don't want to lose you. Your work here has been excellent."

"Thank you, " she said, basking in the rare praise.

"The Hill will be educational for you, " Duncan said. "Give you a chance to see the kakistocracy at work. You'll witness firsthand the rampant sophistry of the congressional solipsists. They'll, " Marie the anesthetist groaned. "Oh, no. Here we go." Joanna glared at Gin in mock anger. "We were breezing along here. Did you have to get him started? " "Sorry, " Gin said.

"All right, all right, " Duncan said, glancing around and smiling behind his mask. The skin around his eyes crinkled with amusement.

"Despite your bumptious insubordination, I'll spare you all a lecture this time

But let me just say this, " Marie groaned again.

"Walt now, " Duncan said. "All I'm going to say, and I want you all to listen and remember that you heard it here first, I predict Gin will not last a year on the Hill before she throws her hands up in disgust.

" "There's always a chance of that, " Gin said, thinking of Joe Blair, "but I know these hearings are going to be interesting. I can't wait till they begin." Duncan glanced up at her." Neither can I, my dear .

Neither can I." Gin stared back at him. Something in those bright blue eyes . . .

something almost feral, reminding her of how he looked on the Capitol portico with Congressman Allard. An icy tendril traced a chill up her spine.

Gin left the Lathram office early and put in another call to the ICU when she got back to the apartment.

"She's having some BP problems, " the charge nurse said. "Real shocky.

Dr. Conway's here. Want to talk to him? " "No. Don't bother him.

Just tell him I was asking about her." Gin hung up. Damn. That didn't sound good.

She called her folks next. Her mother answered and Gin told her the good news.

"Is this what you want, Gin? " Mama said.

Why did everybody ask her that?

"Yes, Mama, " she said patiently. "For the time being."

"Then good.

I'm happy for you. We'll expect you about l six. ' "Expect me where?

" '"Here, of course. We'll celebrate. We'll open some spumante, and I'll make you your favorites, stuffed shells and three-cheese lasagna.

" Gin's mouth began to water. But she was so tired. And this was the stuff that had turned little Regina into big fat Pasta Panzella.

"I'm really beat, Mama. I was up, " "Gin, Gin, ' she said in that voice that always got to her. "You haven't been here in so long. You live a few minutes away and yet you never visit your family. Are you going to forget your Mama and Papa? " Gin repressed a sigh. "What time again?

" "Your father will be home by six. Get some sleep and we'll see you then." Gin collapsed on the bed and let sleep take her.

FAMILY GINA PULLED UP IN FRONT OF THE FAMILY HOME IN Arlington and stared at its aged brick front. During the first dozen years of her life it had been a two-story brick box sitting on a rise along with all the other brick boxes in this little postwar development. She remembered learning to ride a bike on that gently sloped driveway, watching the cars go by from her bedroom window up there on the second floor, helping Papa pull dandelions from the lawn every spring. Papa and his lawn, she thought, looking at the flawlessly green, precisely manicured front yard. Still perfect.

As Papa's butcher shop grew to an Italian specialty food store, and a little money was left over to play with, they added a screened porch to the front, enlarged the kitchen and master bedroom in the rear, and built on a deck. A nice, roomy, comfortable house now. Thirty years her folks had lived here, and probably intended to stay another thirty.

They weren't exactly into change.

Gin shook her head. Change? They were both born in America, her father was barely into his fifties now, her \ mother just fifty last April, yet they were old-world Italian in so many ways. Attitude-wise, they were barely into the twentieth century.

They'd actually arranged a marriage for her when she was two. Thank God that hadn't been mentioned in years. Apparently the fits both she and her intended had pitched during their adolescence had caused both families to reconsider.

She climbed the two steps to the front door and walked in without knocking. The delicious odor of sauteing garlic enveloped her. God, she loved that smell.

Her father sprang from his chair in front of the TV. He was only an inch taller than Gin, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, his full head of black hair was a little grayer every time she saw him, but he still had the vitality of a twenty-year-old.

"Gin! " He wrapped her in his bear arms and twirled her around.

"How's my little scswngzle? " She hugged him around the neck and kissed each cheek. "Fine, Papa." - He released her and held her at arm's length. "So, being a doctor's not enough for you, eh? Now a olitician too? " '"I'm not, "Gin! " It was Mama, wiping her hands on her apron as she trotted in from the kitchen. More hugs and kisses.

It was always this way. Gin came home for dinner and family affairs every two or three weeks, but each time they acted as if she'd been away for a year. She supposed an only child had to expect that.

Soon the three of them were standing around in the kitchen, sipping spumante, sneaking pieces of bread into Mama's sauce, laughing, reminiscing, talking about the future.

So good to be here. Times like this made her wish she visited more often. She loved the warmth, the security. She'd be taken care of here. She didn't have to prove anything here, she wouldn't be so tired all the time, she wouldn't have to be running in four different directions trying to do too many things, trying to learn where she fit, trying to make her life matter.

She fit here. She mattered here.

And she knew it was a velvet trap. As much as she loved her folks, she knew she'd go crazy here. Despite all the hustle and running and stress of her life now, she knew deep down she wouldn't want it any other way.

But the main thing was that her folks still didn't quite get it. As proud as they were of her, Gin knew they wondered when she was going to have time to give them grandchildren, bambinos to bounce on their knees.

She knew in the backs of their minds they felt their daughter would be better off being married to a doctor than being one, a nice Italian doctor, of course.

They knew something about Peter, but had no idea that they'd been living together.

Oh, God. Peter. She should have called him and told him about her new job. She'd have to do that first thing when she got home.

Peter . . . how could she have forgotten?

Stuffed from the food, logy from the spumante and the special Chianti Papa had broken out for the occasion, Gin got back to her apartment around half past ten. She washed up, brushed her teeth, and headed straight for the bedroom. But before hitting the sack, she dialed the ICU at Lynnbrook.

"Hello, this is Dr. Panzella. I just wanted to check on Mrs. Thompson."

"Who? " said the ward clerk.

Gin was suddenly queasy. "Harriet Thompson. Dr. Conway's patient.

She had a hemothorax and was on a respira, " "Oh, yeah. Here it is.

Sorry, Dr. Panzella. I just came on. She was pronounced a couple of hours ago. Nine-thirty-four, to be exact. Dr. Conway was here. " Gin felt her throat constrict. She managed a faint "Thank you" and hung up.

She pounded a fist on the mattress. Damn, damn, damn! Harriet Thompson's death certificate probably would list her cause of death as respiratory failure due to hemothorax due to fractured ribs due to complications of accidental trauma.

But it hadn't been any of those.

What had really killed her were administrators who hadn't examined her and didn't even know her but made decisions about her medical care, who had been more concerned about the bottom line than the patient. Harriet Thompson had died of guidelines.

Gin pulled down the covers and slipped between the sheets Senator Marsden was going to get an earful this weekend.

One last thing to do before sleep, that call to Peter.

He was in, he was awake, after all it was an hour earlier in Louisiana, and he was glad to hear from her. At least he was at first.

His voice changed when she told him about getting the spot on Marsden's staff.

"Is this really what you want? " She was getting fed up with that question. The only one who seemed to be on her side completely was Gerry.

'"You know, I wish people would stop asking me that."

"If you're hearing it that often, maybe there's something to it."

"Look, Peter, I don't want to argue, " "Aren't we good together, Gin?

Are there any people better together than us? Remember those nights wandering around the Quarter, drinking wine and listening to the street musicians, and then afterward going back to the apartment. '"Please, Peter.

" Those had been good times, wonderful times. "I'm lonely enough here as it is."

"We're both lonely. Isn't that dumb? Come back, Gin.

This is where you should be. You know that." So tempting, and if she'd been turned down by Marsden's office this morning she might be pulling out her suitcases and starting to pack. But . . .

"I know that I've got an opportunity here that I can't pass up. I may never forgive myself if I do. Can you understand that, Peter? " There was a prolonged silence on the other end. Peter's voice was thick when he finally spoke.

"I guess this is it, then. I'd been hoping you'd run up against a wall with these senators and finally come to your senses and get back where you belong. Back with me. But I guess that's not going to happen now that you're on somebody's staff." ' Peter . . . " Gin found she couldn't get words past the lump swelling in her throat.

He was right. She hadn't seen that becoming part of Marsden's staff would put a match to her last bridge back to Peter.

It was over. Whatever they'd had had been moribund for months, but tonight, without realizing it, she'd officially pronounced it dead.

'"I'm sorry, Peter."

"Me too. Good-bye, Gin." And then he hung up.

Gin cradled the receiver, turned out the light, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

God, I hope I'm doing the right thing. I hope it's worth it.

Then the sobs and the tears started. It was Peter, but maybe it was Harriet Thompson too. She hadn't cried herself to sleep in a long, long time Not since her Pasta days.

'"Wha. . . ? " Gin opened her eyes. Dark. And noisy. A bell ringing. Loud. Almost in her ear.

The phone.

She picked it up and heard a familiar voice.

"Gin? It's Gerry. Sorry to call you at this hour but I'm in a jam.

" What hour is it?

She glanced at the clock, 2, 33.

"Something wrong? " she said. The urgency in Gerry's voice dispersed the fog of sleep.

'"We've had a break in a kidnapping case and I've got to go out. " "What kidnapping? " '"I can't say. We've kept it out of the papers.

But the thing is, Mrs. Snedecker can't come over and I struck out with my backups. I was wondering, hoping . . . " "I'll be right over. " He gave her directions to his apartment complex in Arlington. She smiled ruefully at the irony. Just four hours ago she had been only a couple of miles from him.

Gin found Gerry standing outside the front door of his duplex, keys in hand. Apparently he'd shaved, put on fresh clothes, and was alert and ready to go. Even at this unholy hour he looked good.

Better than I do, she thought. She knew she looked rumpled, she felt rumpled in her flannel shirt, jeans, and raincoat, but she'd got here as quickly as she could.

"You made great time" He kissed her, a friendly peck on the cheek.

His voice was a machine gun. "I can't tell you how much this means to me.

I'd never have imposed if I'd had any other place to turn."

"Don't be silly. I, " "Martha's upstairs. She's a sound sleeper. You can just sack out yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can get free, but I don't know exactly when that'll be."

"Take your time, " Gin said. "I'll stay as long as you need me. I don't have surgery today." He kissed her again, on the lips this time

"You're the greatest. See you soon.

" And then he was sprinting for the parking lot. When he reached his car he turned and called to her.

"Oh, by the way. I left something for you on the kitchen table." Gin watched him drive off, then went inside and locked the door behind her.

Shucking her raincoat, she wandered through the living room of the duplex and into the adjoining dining room, wall-to-wall carpet in the former, an area rug in the latter. Danish modern furniture. Neat, clean, functional. Not much personality. No lingering telltale odors to identify the cook's favorite food. Hard to tell if anyone really lived here until she got to the kitchen. A miniature art gallery there.

Everywhere she looked, on the walls, on the cork bulletin board, on the refrigerator, the room was festooned with a child's drawings. A riot of colors. Martha, it seemed, believed in using every crayon in her box, and it had to be quite a box. Nor was she exactly traditional in her color designations. In one drawing green people might stand on yellow lawns next to pink trees under orange skies, in the next drawing the color scheme would be completely different.

A munchkin van Gogh. With a father who obviously adored every squiggle she put to paper.

She looked in the fridge. Lots of prepackaged meals in the freezer.

Just what she'd expect with a single father on the go.

Then she remembered what Gerry had said about leaving something for her on the kitchen table. She turned and saw nothing on the table . . .

except a sheet of paper. She recognized it before she picked it up. A death certificate.

Lisa Lathram was typed on the name line. Gin noted that the certifier was Stanley Metelski, MD, Fairfax County coroner at the time of the accident. Which meant Lisa's death had been a coroner's case. Of course it would be. Any eighteen-year-old dying suddenly is an automatic coroner's case.

She scanned down to the cause-of-death section.

Immediate cause of death, Intracerebral hemorrhage.

Due to or as a consequence of, Left parietal skull fracture.

due to or as a consequence of, Intentional drug overdose.

Gin nearly dropped the sheet. A suicide?

Suddenly shaky, she lowered herself into a chair and leaned on the table.

Oh, God. Poor Duncan. No wonder no one wanted to talk about it. He must have pulled some heavy strings and called in a lot of favors to keep that last line from getting out to the public.

Was that why he ended his marriage, closed up his practice, stopped being a Virginia vascular specialist and became a Maryland cosmetic surgeon?

Or was there more?

The drug overdose . . . why? The fall . . . obviously the coroner thought it was a result of the overdose. Was it?

Gin had thought the death certificate would answer some questions, but it only raised more.

Rising, she dropped it back onto the kitchen table and wandered toward the front of the duplex. She pushed Lisa Lathram to the back of her mind and brought Martha Canney front and center. Gin had a sudden urge to look in on her.

She crept upstairs. Two bedrooms and a bath there. She peeked in the first. In The dim light seeping up from the first floor she could see Martha's little head framed by her pillow and the covers. Lots of Disney characters on the walls and shelves. Gin stepped closer and snugged the covers a little more tightly around her shoulders. As she turned away she spotted a framed photo standing on Martha's dresser.

She picked it up and angled it toward the light.

A pretty young blond. Although they'd moved in entirely different circles during their high school years, Gin recognized Karen Shannick.

The late Mrs. Gerald Canney. Martha's mother.

God, she'd been beautiful. Classic, clean, all-American girl looks.

She married an all-American guy. And they'd had a child. A Happy Days life until . . .

She thought of Harriet Thompson, also gone, but who'd had seventy-eight years. Poor Karen had had maybe a third of that. And what a shame she couldn't see the doll she'd brought into the world.

Life telly sucked sometimes.

Gin stared down at Martha for a moment and was struck by the realization that this was Gerry's child. His alone. This little person was totally dependent on him, and he was completely responsible for her.

She wondered how that would feel.

Scary, she thought. Very scary.

She replaced the photo on the dresser but the leg that angled out of the back of the frame collapsed and it fell flat on the dresser top.

Gin winced. Not a loud noise, but it sounded like a gunshot in the little bedroom.

"Daddy? " Oh, no.

Quickly Gin turned and knelt beside the bed. Martha was sitting up, rubbing her eyes, not quite awake yet. She looked at Gin.

"Where's my daddy? " "He had to go out, " Gin whispered. "He asked me to stay with you.

Remember me? Gin? From Taco Bell? " "You're the doctor."

"Right.

What a great memory you have." . "Where's Mrs. Snedecker? " "She's away. That's why I'm here." Am I doing this right? she wondered. If Martha were sick Gin would know exactly what to do, but she'd never had any younger sibs, so she wasn't too sure of herself here. Getting her back to sleep seemed like the best thing. She straightened the covers.

"Here. Why don't you just lie back down and close your eyes. I'll be right downstairs. If you need anything, you just call and I'll be right here. Okay? " Martha didn't say anything as she lay back and pulled the covers up.

Gin adjusted them around her and then, on impulse, leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Good night, Martha." As she rose and turned toward the door, she heard a sob from the bed. She knelt back down again.

"What's wrong, Martha? " "I get scuh-scared when my daddy's not here at nuh-nuhnight." She started to cry.

"He'll be home soon, Martha, " she said, searching for a way to comfort her. "What if I stay here with you? " Martha sniffled and sat up.

"Can you? " "Sure. It'll be fun."

"Will you get under the covers?

" She wriggled over to make room. Her fears seemed to have evaporated.

"This'll be like a sleep-over." Gin hesitated, then shrugged. Not much room in that little bed, but what the heck. She kicked off her sneakers and slid under the covers. Martha immediately nestled into the crook of her arm and snuggled against her. In minutes she was asleep.

Gin lay there and listened to the gentle sound of Martha's breathing.

She stroked her soft hair and felt strangely content, at peace.

Peace . . . what a strange sensation. It seeped through her like warm water through a dry sponge. Throughout her brain and her body she sensed all the various engines that were driving her begin to downshift, finally going into neutral, idling.

And through the peace crept an ancient need, long unnoticed amid the adrenalized buzz of her day-to-day life.

She squeezed Martha closer. Is this what I'm missing? Isn't this what it's all about? Her throat tightened. A child of my own? God, I'll be thirty next year . . . Damn! Where are my priorities? What is better than this?

Gerry pulled into his parking space in front of the house. Night was leaching from the eastern sky. Dawn wasn't far off. Somewhere in the trees a bird called.

He headed for his front door, bounding over the curb and up the steps.

He was pumped. And relieved. A successful operation tonight. At the last minute the Bureau had called out every available agent, the kidnapper had made a mistake, and they got the little Walker boy back safe and sound.

Gerry could have stayed and celebrated with the rest of the guys, but this case had made him anxious to get back to his own child.

And it reinforced his determination to move up to a position with regular hours. And soon.

em"K Gerry stood inside his front door and surveyed the empty living room. Gin's raincoat was there, but where was she?

"Gin? ' A little louder.

Upstairs with Martha? Had to be. But an unreasoning fear made him pad up the stairs, taking them three at a time as silently as he could, hurrying to Martha's bedroom. He stopped at the door, struck dumb by the sight of his child curled up under Gin's protective arm. Both were asleep, both faces so smooth, so relaxed, so innocent in the growing light.

He'd taken a chance asking Gin tonight. He hadn't known how she'd react, how it would work out, but he'd sensed a rapport between Gin and Martha during their first meeting and, well, he'd longed to see her.

And who better than a trained physician?

But this?

He stood staring, captured by the nghtness of the scene. It was as if their little duplex, his and Martha's little world, had changed, their fragmented family briefly made whole again.

He realized that tears were sliding down his cheeks.

You belong with us, Gin, he thought.

He wiped the tears away and had to fight the urge to crawl in with them. Besides, there was no room left in that tiny bed.

So Gerry pulled up the rocker Karen had bought for nursing Martha and sat there watching the two women in his life until the sun came up.

THE WEEK OF OCTOBER THE HEARING RELAX, GINA, SENATOR MARSDEN SAID AS HE GATHered the papers on his desk. "You look as if you're about to jump out of your skin." His desk was piled high with folders, reprints, charts, graphs, and detailed analyses of medical statistics. Joe Blair had been in earlier, reviewing his last-minute strategies on networking with other chiefs of staff. He was cool and professional toward Gin but decidedly distant.

And Alicia was a whirling dervish, darting in and out of the office like an overweight hummingbird. She'd conscripted a couple of the officer's legislative correspondents to field the endlessly ringing phones. This was her big day and she seemed to thrive on the pressure.

The past four days had been a whirlwind of activity. Gin felt as if she'd moved into these offices. She'd met Charlie and Zach, the other two legislative aides assigned to the Guidelines committee, and had been impressed with the amount of research they'd collected. They had copies of guidelines and codes of ethics from every state medical board in the country.

The amount of material to be reviewed and absorbed was daunting. But she'd waded in with the rest of them.

"I'll be fine, " Gin told the senator.

And she would be. It was just that not only was this her first day of actually attending a congressional hearing as a participant, but the chairman of the committee would be depending on her medical knowledge to interpret the testimony being given, all of which would occur before cameras broadcasring the proceedings to the nation.

Nothing to it.

Right. That was why her hands were cold and her palms were sweaty and her stomach had shrunk to a walnut-sized knot.

But she was all set to go, She had a pad, a supply of pens, and she had her brand new photo-iD badge slung on a chain around her neck.

"I know you will. Remember, Your job is to listen and take notes.

Alert me immediately, pass me a note, tap me on the shoulder and whisper, whenever you think someone's blowing medical smoke my way. And I do mean immediately. I don't want to find out days later that someone was running double-talk by me. Your responsibility is to keep the medical testimony honest." She held up her steno pad and pens.

She didn't know shorthand but the steno pad was a convenient size.

" I'm ready." She hoped she sounded confident. She was beginning to feel the weight of the responsibility she'd taken on. And she'd be shouldering it in public.

She'd watched congressional hearings on TV before and seen aides passing notes or whispering in committee members' ears, hard to believe people would be watching her doing. the same today. Her father was staying home from the store this morning to watch C-SPAN.

Senator Marsden winked at her. "And maybe when this is over you can write a more evenhanded op-ed piece for the Tiones-Piaaygne." Gin stiffened. "You know about that? " "Sure. Joe showed it to me shortly after the interview. It's his job to background anyone joining my staff."

"I was afraid it might put you off." He rose and tucked a bulging file folder under his arm.

"I spent forty years in business. I learned the worst thing you can do is surround yourself with yes-men. That's why I like to keep a devil's advocate around." Gin felt a burst of warmth for this man. Alicia had called him "one of the good guys" and now Gin believed her.

"I'll be it."

"Then let's go." The hearing room was gorgeous, paneled floor to ceiling in gleaming mahogany. The carved ceiling would have been at home in Versailles, nearly twenty feet high, white with delicate, hand-painted blue designs. Rich red carpet stretched wall to wall.

Three tall windows ran almost to the ceiling and were trimmed with black crepe in honor of the committee's departed member, Congressman Lane. Set between the windows and all around the room were giant brass sconces, designed like ornate torches that would not have been out of place in the Roman Senate. Each flared a wedge of light against the paneling above it. All the furniture, the curved dais where the committee members sat like knights of the semicircular table, the witness table, the visitor chairs, was fashioned of mahogany perfectly matched to the paneling. The red leather on the seats and backs of the chairs arranged in neat rows for visitors and witnesses and lined against the wall behind the dais for the committee members' aides matched the carpet, as did the leather inlays in the tops of the press tables flanking both sides of the room.

Chaos reigned. Photographers were jockeying for position in the space allotted them, reporters were weaving through the mix of legislators, witnesses, and visitors, looking for comments, sniffng for rumors, while the C-SPAN technicians made final adjustments on their cameras, one near the front and the other midline at the rear.

Gin followed Senator Marsden to the dais, why did it feel so special to stroll past the "Staff Only" sign? , and staked out a chair behind his spot at the apex of the semicircle. Zach would be with her. Charlie had stayed behind at the office. While Marsden began arranging his papers, she looked out over the milling crowd and was shocked.

Duncan.

"Senator, do I have time to talk to someone? " "Of course, ' he said, glancing up at the disorder before him. "We won't come to order for at least another ten or fifteen minutes." As she stepped off the dais, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Another familiar face, one she was very glad to see.

"Gerry! What are you doing here? " "Just stopped by to say hello. " "But how'd you get in? " He flashed his FBI ID. "Never underestimate the power of the Department of Justice. I knew this was your big day and I just wanted to wish you luck. I'dtve brought flowers but, " "Oh, I'm glad you didn't. I wouldn't have known what to do with them." He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Knock em dead, Gin. " She gave him a hug. "Thanks. That means a lot." And it did. No one else had wished her luck, or thought she should even be here. She watched him go, then spotted Duncan on the far side of the room. He was talking to one of the committee members, Senator Vincent. Both looked to be about the same age, wore suits of similar cut, but Duncan's trim figure and aristocratic bearing somehow left the senator looking like a poor relation. And what had the senator done to his hair? A permanent?

She tapped Duncan on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir, " she said in an offcious voice. "Do you have a pass?

" Duncan greeted her with a warm smile and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"I was wondering when you'd show up. Senator Vincent, I'd like you to meet Senator Marsden's newest assistant, Dr. Gin Panzella. Also my surgical assistant. In fact, she assisted me on your procedure. " Senator Vincent glanced around uncomfortably as he shook Gin's hand.

"I wish you wouldn't, " "Don't worry, Senator, " Duncan said. "Gin is the soul of discretion, just like everyone else on my staff. You know that."

"You look great, Senator, " Gin said, and she meant it.

Except for the hair. But as far as the surgery, the improvement was remarkable. Amazing how all that redundant flesh under his chin had aged him. He looked at least fifteen years younger.

But that hair. Ugh.

"So I look okay? No sign that I had, that anything was done? " "Not a bit, ' Duncan said. "I predict you'll be the next bright star in the C-SPAN firmament." Senator Vincent laughed nervously.

"I'm serious, " Duncan said. "After your performance today, you're going to be on all the networks. Mark my words." Just then a beeper sounded. Duncan had his hand in his coat pocket.

Gin watched him pull out his oversized pager, the same one he'd had on the west portico of the Capitol . . .

. . . the day Congressman Allard fell down the Capitol steps.

He grunted and said, "Now, who could this be? " He looked at the display window and pressed a button. At that moment the hearing room's PA system began a feedback howl, and Gin noticed Senator Vincent wince and begin massaging the outside of his right thigh.

"Something wrong? " she asked him.

"I don't know, " he said. "For a second there it was almost like a bee sting. But it's better now." He glanced at the dock high on the rear wall. "We'll be starting soon. Excuse me." Gin turned to Duncan as Senator Vincent wandered off. "Anything important? " Duncan had already pocketed the pager. "One of my golf foursome.

Probably checking on our tee time And may I ask, who was that man with whom you were engaging in a public display of affection? " "Gerry Canney. An old friend from high school. He's now an FBI agent. " "And I suppose you embrace all your old high school friends whenever you see them? " Gin felt herself blush. "He's a little more than a friend."

"I see, " Duncan said, raising his eyebrows. "Well, I'm happy for you." Gin regarded him. Something different about Duncan this morning. He seemed wound up. Like a Thoroughbred owner before a big race.

'"Three guesses who's the last person I expected to see here this morning." -His eyebrows lifted even higher. "Me? I wouldn't miss this show for the world."

"It's the hottest ticket in town. How'd you get in? " '"Consider for a moment the names in my patient files, Gin, and tell me who in this Circus Maximus is better connected than yours truly." He cocked his head toward Senator Vincent. "Actually, it was the good senator himself who saw to it."

"You'd probably be better off watching it on C-SPAN."

"Nothing like. actually being there." He sniffed. "Catch that, Gin?

The effluvium of naked power waiting to be unleashed. Heady stuff."

Gin laughed. "Tell me about it." She glanced at the dais and saw the committee members seating themselves. "Got to run. Enjoy yourself, Duncan." His smile was tight. "I hope to." Her palms were moist by the time she regained the dais. She hoped she didn't look a tenth as nervous as she felt.

Let's stop fooling around and get this thing started, foZks.

She knew she'd be fine once the hearing was rolling, it was the waiting that was killing her.

She checked out the dais. All the attending committee members except Senator Vincent were in place. Where was he?

She searched the floor of the hearing room and spotted him, standing next to Duncan again. She saw Duncan say something to him and turn away.

She couldn't see Duncan's face, but Senator Vincent's wore a baffled look.

Gin had a sudden sense of deja vu . . . Duncan . . . his beeper .

.

.

a parting comment . . .

Gin chewed her lip as the senator gained the dais and approached his seat. She knew it was all coincidence but she wanted to know what Duncan had said to him.

Now wasn't the time, however. But right after the hearing she'd find a way to ask. Duncan sat quite literally on the edge of his seat, his hands clutched tightly between his knees. He struggled for outer calm, to hide the surging adrenaline within.

No glitchff today. This one had to go according to plan. The setting was absolutely perfect.

He'd waited to see where Senator Vincent was sitting before choosing his own place. When he spotted Vincent settling himself three seats to Marsden's right, Duncan found a chair halfway back with a clear view of the senator.

He glanced at his watch.

Won't be long now.

He watched Gin sitting tense and stiff against the back wall as Marsden brought the room to order. The senator made a few brief opening remarks about the missing committee members, offering condolences to the Lane family and hope for Congressman Allard's speedy recovery. Out of respect, he said, their nameplates would remain before their places until their replacements were chosen.

Duncan knew he was tempting fate to do this with Gin here, but he had little choice. Another of those perverse twists that dogged his heels lately. Still, there was no way Gin could connect him to what was about to happen to Senator Vincent.

Ah, Gin, he thought. Look at you, my naive cygnet, thinking you can have some effect on these proceedings. But it's all preordained. The real decisions as to whether or not American medicine will be practiced via government-issue cookbooks, and whether your fellow physicians will be suffocated under mountains of regulations where they'll spend more time dodging fines and penaltiff than attending to the health of their patients, will not be made here but in back rooms and hallways, where a vote for the Guidelinff act will be traded for a bridge or a highway spur.

The first witnffs was called, Samuel Fox, MD.

i Typical, Duncan thought. Congress's favorite pet doctor, the physician-hating physician.

Fox styled himself as a consumer advocate but was little more than a grandstanding autolatrous worm. This hearing was proceeding exactly as expected.

As the notoriously prolix Fox began reading a prepared statement, Duncan kept his eyes fixed on Vincent, watching for the first signs. His thoughts wandered back to the day Congressman Hugo Lane had shown up at his officer. That had been earlier this year, shortly after the president had instigated the anabiosis of the committee. Lane the notorious lush had come to him for removal of the spidery blemishes sprouting all over his face and upper trunk. Supposedly from too much sun. Duncan recognized them immediately as arterial angiomas, known in the trade as boozer blossoms. They meant a fatty, cirrhotic liver.

Too much sun? Too much Johnny Walker.

It had required enormous control not to slam the man back on the examining table. The flagitious toper! Lane had been a member of the original McCready committee, a participant in the savaging of Duncan's career, his life, and he didn't even remember him.

Like the old song, Am That Easy to Forget?

He'd been part of the process that had killed Lisa and he had never even heard her name.

Duncan remembered staring dumbfounded, thinking, We have this history together, the most traumatic time of my entire life, and you have no inkling.

If Duncan had not been in a towering rage over the revival of the committee, if Lane had not been reappointed to it, Duncan might have simply explained who he was, what he and his cronies had done to his life, and thrown the bastard the hell out.

But circumstances being what they were, Duncan had said, Yff, Congressman. No problem. We can take care of all those unsightly areas of sun damage. Cautery of the central vessel of each with an ultrafine laser. Easy as pie. Barbara will arrange a day and time for the procedure.

While I arrange a little something extra for you.

So Congressman Lane had been the first.

Duncan's plan had been to have him make an ass out of himself at the French embassy. Duncan had been there, had watched and waited, but Hugo Lane had behaved as usual, drank too much, ate too much, and talked too loud. Maybe all the alcohol in his system was to blame, maybe his fatty liver wasn't working up to snuff. Whatever the reason, Lane was apparently his usual self until he was driving home. Wimesses said he wove all over the road before crashing through a barrier and rolling down an embankment in Rock Creek Park.

Duncan had been shocked and dismayed. He hadn't intended for Lane to die, just go crazy in front of a roomful of his peers. And maybe stay crazy for a few years.

No worry about being found out. Lane's blood-alcohol level was explanation enough for the accident. But even if the ME had looked for other causes he would have come up empty. Toxicology screens can find only what they're looking for, and no one would be screening for what Duncan had put into Lane. Only a handful of people had ever known it existed.

Schulz had been next. This procurante, too, had no memory of the doctor his committee had flagellated years past, no knowledge of the teenage girl who'd died because of it. Duncan realized then why they didn't remember him, He'd never been important to them. Duncan Lathram was a name on a piece of paper handed to them by one of their aides five years ago. They'd reviled him when the microphones were on, but never gave him a thought between hearings, and forgot about him after a couple of weeks.

Schulz . . . a vain, strutting, womanizing roue whose diligent efforts over the years to keep a year-round tan had left his face a mass of wrinkles. On the recommendation of his good friend Congressman Lane he'd come to Duncan for a solution. He'd already tried Retin-A but to no avail. His myriad wrinkles seemed baked in. Could Duncan help?

Of course, Senator. Duncan had smoothed his rugose hide, and given him something extra.

Duncan hadn't yet decided on the time and place for Schulz when the shocking news reached him that the senator was dead. Duncan had been baffled until he'd learned that a physical therapy session had been the penultimate event in the good senator's life before he took a dive from the balcony of his high-rise town house. That probably explained it.

Or maybe Schulz simply had a guilty conscience.

Not likely.

Again, no loss to the world. But once again he'd been deprived of the catharsis he craved.

Allard had come the closfft to what Duncan had planned for him, but that, too, had fallen short.

Today was going to be different. Duncan could feel it in his bones.

And when he noticed the corner of Senator Vincent's mouth begin to twitch, he was sure of it.

Gin leaned forward in her seat and placed another note in front of Senator Marsden. She'd been culling one question after another from Dr. Fox's parade of dubious statistics but was passing only the more flagrant errors forward. There wasn't time for the senator to consider all of them.

As she slid back she noticed a small fleshy bump atop the auricle of the senator's left ear. Smooth with a pearly surface.

On a sun-exposed area, that was a basal cell carcinoma until proven otherwise. She wasn't his doctor, and it was sometimes touchy to point out a potential health problem to someone who hadn't asked, but she decided to mention it to him later.

She heard a pencil drop. She looked up. No, it was a pen. It had fallen near Senator Vincent. He must have dropped it, but he didn't seem to notice. She was forcing her attention back to Dr. Fox when she noticed Senator Vincent jerk in his seat. She watched and he did it again. A spasmodic movement, as if someone had jabbed him with a pin, or a violent chill had passed through him. The room was cool but he seemed to be sweating. He ran a trembling hand through his frizzy hair.

Is he all right? she wondered.

She watched him a moment longer and he seemed to be calm, no more jerks or twitches. But he was still sweating, and gripping the edge of the table as if it might float away from him, or he from it.

Concentrate on the testimony, Gin, she told herself. That's your job here. Not Senator Vincent's hangover or whatever's bothering him.

She focused on Fox's words and was in the middle of another notation when . . .

"Just a minute, please. P-Please, excuse me." Gin jumped at the sudden interruption. Senator Vincent, kissing his mike and popping his P's, had broken in at peak volume.

"Yes, Senator? " Senator Marsden said softly. "Shall we allow The doctor to finish his statement before questioning him? " "No! " Vincent shouted, slamming his fist on the table. His eyes were wild as he glared along the table at Senator Marsden. "We shall do no such damn thing. Not when this son of a bitch starts slandering my wife!" Gin was rocked by that. Fox had been talking about overutilization of services. She saw heads snap up all around the hearing room. Both C-SPAN cameras had swiveled toward Vincent, and the still photographers were screwing their lenses back and forth as they focused on him, the previously somnolent reporters had come alive and were now scribbling on their pads or jabbing away at their laptops.

And on the dais she watched the other members exchange puzzled glances.

Marsden looked the most concerned of all.

He cleared his throat. "Senator Vincent, I don't believe Dr. Fox mentioned anyone's wife. He was discussing, " "Don't you tell me what he said or didn't say, you greenhorn! " Vincent shouted. "I was taking testimony when you were pissing your pants. And don't you side with him against me, either! ' "Senator, ' Dr. Fox said from the floor.

His expression was wounded and confused. "I assure you I never said or even implied anything, " Vincent leapt to his fee. He was. off mike now, but his harsh voice cut through the hearing room as he pointed a trembling finger at Fox.

"Don't lie to me, you little shit! Of course you did! " He swayed as he swept the room with his hand. "They all heard you. Every word of it." He stared at the wide-eyed, gawking visitors. "Didn't you?

Didn't you? " Silence . . . except for the clicks of camera lenses and the whir of advancing film.

Vincent began to nod his head. "Oh, so that's it. You're all in on it. Well that's just fine. I'll just, " Suddenly he whirled on Senator Marsden. "What did you say? " Gin saw Senator Marsden cringe back.

She didn't blame him. The naked fury in Vincent's eyes was frightening.

"I, I didn't say anything, Harold. Maybe we should call a recess until, " "No! No recess! " Saliva flecked his lips and began to spray as he shouted. "We're going to settle this right here. Here and now!

We're, " Suddenly he stiffened. His arms went rigid, his head snapped back as his spine bowed. Gin saw his eyes roll up and knew he was going to convulse. She was out of her chair and halfway to him when he dropped to the floor and began a tonic-clonic seizure.

Gin crouched beside him, cradling his jerking head. His eyes were open but he was seeing nothing. She listened to the air hissing in and out between his clenched teeth. Good. As long as that kept up, she knew he hadn't swallowed his tongue.

"Somebody call the emergency squad! " she cried.

She loosened his tie, folded it, and worked it between his grinding teeth. The senator was going to need a dose of diazepam soon. She looked up and saw Samuel Fox in the encircling huddle of anxious faces and camera lenses, those damn clicking, whirring cameras.

"Dr. Fox. Flow about a little help? " Fox didn't budge. He shook his head. "I can't! I . . . I've never practiced. ' "Great, " Gin muttered.

Suddenly Senator Marsden was at her side.

"The E.M.Ts are on their way. What do you want me to do? " Gin gave him a quick, grateful smile. "Just grab his arms and steady them.

Don't try to pin them down, just blunt the wild movements, keep him from flailing around too much and breaking a bone." '"Will do." It took another minute or so, it seemed much longer, before the seizure abated and Senator Vincent's limbs relaxed. His body slumped, his eyes closed. He began to snore.

"Does he have a history of seizures? " Gin asked Senator Marsden as they released their hold.

"Not that I know of. But then again, that's not something you broadcast in public life. ' Right. Voters were probably funny about voting for an epileptic. But what about the bizarre paranoid behavior just before the seizure?

The E.M.Ts arrived then. As they started an IV drip and loaded Senator Vincent on the stretcher, Gin told them he'd suffered a grand mal seizure and suggested they call ahead and have a neurologist waiting.

"Have ten milligrams of diazepam ready to go IV push if he starts again, " she told them as they were leaving.

She turned to Senator Marsden. "Thanks for your help." He nodded absently, then surveyed the milling, murmuring crowd around the dais.

"Nothing like starting off with a bang, " he said with a sigh.

"Are you going to call a recess? " He nodded. "An indefinite one. ' "What do you mean? " . - His expression was bleak." I opened the hearings this morning two members short. Now I'm three short. I've got half a committee now. Even if Senator Vincent recovers soon, I don't see him appearing before the cameras again for quite some time

Do you? " "No. Can't say as I do."

"So I'm going to have to wait until at least one of those empty seats is filled."

"How long will that take? " Gin said, her heart sinking. She'd just started this job last week, now it was evaporating before her eyes.

"Could be a while." Gin's expression must have revealed her dismay.

He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry. I want you around doing background during the hiatus. I like the way you handle yourself. And who knows? We may not have a long wait if I can get the president involved. He wants this bill before the end of the year. Maybe he can twist a few arms. ' He returned to his seat on the dais, banged his gavel twice, and announced that hearings were suspended until further notice.

Gin suddenly thought of Duncan. She searched the crowd for him but he was gone.

Twice now, Duncan had been present when some catastrophe had befallen one of his legislator patients.

What had he said to Senator Vincent down on the. floor . . . minutes before the senator went crazy?

Gin had a strange feeling that he'd told him to remember someone named Lisa.

Later, Gin returned to the Hart Building via the underground shuttle and was surprised to find Gerry waiting for her in the atrium.

"Am I glad to see you." She needed someone to talk to, needed to ventilate the morning's events. She gave him a hug and felt the tension in his muscles. Gerry didn't seem to be in a listening mood.

"We need to talk, ' he said. His expression was serious, almost grim.

"Is something wrong? " "Something might be. Can I tell you about it over lunch? " "Nothing about Martha, is it? " He stared at her, then put his arm around her shoulder. "No. Nothing at all to do with Martha." They walked down to Mass. Gerry tried to make small talk but didn't do a very good job.

Summer wasn't letting go just yet. The sun was high and 0 the air warm. Gerry pointed to an array of red-and-white Tecate umbrellas on a patio in front of a converted brownstone about a block and a half down from Union Station.

"How about T-Coast? " Gerry said.

Gin looked at the sign, Tortilla Coast. Mexican food. "It's not a Taco Bell, but I guess we can make do." She was too wound up to eat, but just sitting in the sun would be good.

They took a corner table near the sidewalk.

"So what's the problem? " she said as the hostess left them with their menus.

"I heard about Senator Vincent."

"It was terrible."

"You realize, don't you, that he's the third member of your committee to bite the dust. ' "Yes. Senator Marsden and I were just discussing it. But what, ? " "I did some quick background on him. Checked if he'd had any surgery recently." He paused, staring at her. "You know what's coming next, don't you." It wasn't a question. What was he getting at? Why was the FBI interested?

"Duncan."

"Right. That makes four." "Four what? " "Four dead or disabled legislators, two senators, two congressmen, all Lathram patients. Three of them on the Guidelines committee. Could your Dr. Lathram have it in for that committee or something? " Gin suddenly felt a little queasy.

He was echoing her own crazy thoughts.

The waitress arrived then. Gin agreed to share Gerry's nacho platter and ordered a Pepsi. Considering what the morning had been like, she could have done with a brew, she'd acquired a taste for Dixie while at Tulane, but she didn't want to show up at the senator's staff meeting this afternoon with beer on her breath.

"He was there this morning, you know, " she said when they were alone again.

"Who? " "Duncan. And he was on the Capitol steps when Allard took his fall."

"You were there? You never told me. How close was he? " "You mean, did Duncan push him? Come on. But he . . . " She hesitated, wondering if she should mention it, then plunged ahead.

"Duncan's last words to Allard were something about Lisa."

"His daughter? The one who, ? " '"Committed suicide. I think so. He said something about an eighteen-year-old named Lisa. Had to be her.

" Gerry was silent a moment, then, "On the subject of Lisa, I dug a little deeper after reading her death certificate. Got a copy of the coroner's report." Gin's heart kicked its rhythm up a notch. "You have it with you? " "No. It's back at my office. But I read it through a couple of times.

It summarized her whole medical history. Let me tell you, Lisa Lathram was one troubled kid."

"You mean she tried it before? " He nodded.

"Twice. Once with pills. Once with a razor to the wrists." Gin slumped in her chair. "How awful."

"Apparently neither attempt was that serious."

"But she got it right the third time"

"That was the real tragedy. According to the report, Lisa had been doing extremely well on Prozac, which I understand was pretty new at the time Then suddenly, boom, something happened and she went over the edge.

Gulped all the old antidepressants she'd squirreled away over the years.

But the worst part was she didn't take enough to kill her.

Just enough to make her dopey and clumsy. She toppled over a balcony and landed on a hard the floor. Doctor Lathram came home and found her.

"Oh, God. Poor Duncan." That explained it then, the sudden radical change in Duncan's life.

Everything must have fallen apart for him.

But it didn't explain his mentioning Lisa to Allard two weeks ago.

"Any hint in the report of a connection between Lisa and Congressman Allard? " Gerry shook his head. "Not that I saw. Of course, I wasn't looking for one. I'll make you a copy. But in the meantime . .."

He leaned forward." I understand Lathram's putting some sort of implants into his patients."

"How . . . how'd you know about that?

" He shrugged. "It's no secret. The FDA has him down as approved to do a clinical study. What's in those implants anyway? " "Just some enzymes and such to reduce scarring."

"Well, could there be something wrong with, ? ' She gave in to a sudden urge to defend Duncan. "Gerry, he does a dozen or more cases a week.

Very visible people. If there were something wrong with the implants, there'd be nobody left to go to all those embassy parties."

"What if he puts something different in certain implants . . . so he can get to certain people . . . ? " "Do you hear yourself, Gerry?

Dr. Duncan Lathram is lacing his implants with some mystery substance that causes people to get drunk and wreck their car, commit suicide, fall down steps, or have seizures.

That's one hell of a versatile drug."

"Who says it has to be one drug? " '"All right. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt on that.

But let's take Senator Vincent today. You're saying that Duncan has such control over whatever drug he supposedly used that he can make it go into effect on command, right in the middle of a committee hearing.

Is that what you really think? " Gerry leaned back in his chair. Gin could feel the frustration pouring out of him.

He sighed. "Does sound pretty far Out, doesn't it? " He was silent for a while, then he leaned forward again. "But something doesn't smell right, Gin. I can't tell you how I know, or why, but my gut tells me something's going on here."

"I know what you mean, but it's just a string of coincidences. Duncan has his eccentricities, but he's not . . . he isn't . . . " "Look, just to shut me up, could you bring me a sample of whatever it is he puts in those implants? " "No, Gerry.

I can't. That's Oliver Lathram's concoction and it's not patentable.

What do you want to do, have it analyzed? " "Just to see if there's anything toxic in it."

"I can assure you there's nothing toxic in that solution."

"Ever hear of a binary poison? " Gerry said.

"No. I don't know much about poisons."

"They come in two parts. Neither half is toxic by itself, but when they meet in the bloodstream and bind, wham."

"Very interesting. But I'm still not getting you a sample. I couldn't.

It would be a breach of trust." He nodded slowly. "Okay. I can respect that. But keep your eyes open up there. And be careful. I don't want anything happening to you." Something happen to her?

Absurd.

Gin tried to lighten the mood by smiling and saluting him. "Aye, Captain Queeg. And how would you like your strawberries, sir? " Finally a smile broke through. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? " "No crazier than I. " '"See? We were made for each other. Have dinner with me tonight? " "Sure. How about my place? I'll cook." His eyes lit. "Really? " '"Bring Martha." A little of that light faded in his eyes. "Oh. I thought maybe you, " "Surely you've figured out by now that I only put up with you so I can see Martha." '"I can live with that, " he said. "Whatever it takes." Gin was touched. She reached across and laid her hand on his. He gripped her fingers.

And then the nachos arrived.

But as Gina watched Gerry pile his plate, she heard, Could your Dr. Lathram have it in for that committee or something?

Why had those words come back? Duncan did have it in for the Guidelines committee. He ranted against it at every opportuniry.

But at one time or another, Duncan ranted against just about everything and everyone in the government. That didn't mean he was waging war on it.

Did it?

She shuddered briefly. An absurd thought.

Not Duncan. Even if it were possible. And it wasn't. So why even consider it?

But come to think of it, Duncan had disappeared right after Senator Vincent's seizure. With no offer of help. Just like when Allard had fallen. No imagining there. Those were facts.

And they bothered her.

GINA FRIDAY GINA WAS BACK IN THE Lathram OFFICE. SHE D spent most of the morning assisting Duncan with a particularly difficult composite rhytidectomy, in which all the underlying facial tissues are lifted as one piece. Normally it would take five or six weeks for the facial swelling to resolve from such an extensive procedure. With the help of Oliver's implants, this particular sixty-two-year-old Washington doyenne would be back in the social whirl well before then.

Duncan had been in a particularly chipper mood through the surgery, humming, joking. "No jeremiads about the lamentable state of the nation today, ladies, " he'd said, sounding apologetic. No one had complained.

Later Gin wandered into Oliver's lab with a cup of coffee, looking to kill a little time before starting on her presurgical exams for next week's cases. She noticed he had a tray of large implants sitting on the counter. The empty syringe and the bottle of normal saline solution sitting next to the tray explained why the implants looked full.

Zt. , S She bent over the tray for a closer look. Were these the new model Oliver had mentioned? Looked just like the old model.

'"Hi there, Gin." She looked up. Oliver was coming through the doorway, pushing a wheeled cart ahead of him.

"What've you got there? " "An ultrasound unit." She gave it a closer look. Not the diagnostic or imaging kind used in pregnancy. This type was for deep-heating subcutaneous tissues. A big difference in power, The former measured output in megahertz, the latter in watts.

"Going into physical therapy as a sideline? " He chuckled. "No. Just testing out the latest batch of the new, improved implants. ' He'd lost her. "With ultrasound? " "Sure. Just give me a second to set up and I'll show you." He set the unit on the counter, plugged it in, adjusted a few dials, then picked up the handle.

' Watch." Oliver took the implant from the end of the row and moved it away from the rest, placing it on the counter a couple of feet from the tray. He positioned the ultrasound head over it and pressed the button on the handle. Immediately the implant began to quiver, an instant later it dissolved, leaving a spreading puddle on the counter.

He placed another implant in the puddle and held the ultrasound head farther back. The implant dissolved, the saline puddle enlarged.

He did this repeatedly, each time backing farther away with the handle, each time enlarging the puddle until finally it ran over the edge and dripped onto the floor.

Gin watched in wonder. "That's incredible, " she said.

She stepped to the counter for a closer look. Only minute shreds of the implant membranes remained floating in the puddle.

"How does it work? " '"I altered the crystal-protein matrix, " Oliver said as he unplugged the ultrasound unit. "I made it more stable, more resistant to the body's tissue enzymes, but I rigged it so that at a certain ultrasonic frequency, the crystals vibrate and dissolve the matrix. As a result, the implant membrane collapses and releases its contents."

"Brilliant."

"Duncan's idea, actually." Somewhere in the rear of Gin's mind, a bell chimed a sour note.

"Duncan's? " "Yes. He wants more control over when the implants dissolve. As he says, why leave the iming up to the vagaries of the circulatory system and the tissue enzymes? Let's develop implants that empty when we tell them to." She remembered what she'd said to Gerry after the Guidelines hearing earlier in the week. And not only can this miracle toxin do all these different things, but Duncan has such control over it that he can make it go into eMfert on command.

It had sounded so absurd then, but the means were staring her in the face.

"Is . . . is Duncan using these yet? " "Oh, no. The FDA approved us to do clinical trials with the original implants only." He flashed a smile. "The Original Recipe, you might say.

We'll have to go through the whole approval process again for the new membrane."

"Oh. So these are brand new." That's a relief, Duncan couldn't have used the new implants if they hadn't existed at the times of the surgeries.

But the relief was short-lived.

"Not really, " Oliver said. "I've been working on them for most of the year. And they're still not perfected yet." ie Gin swallowed.

"Looks like they work pretty well to me."

"Not good enough yet for Duncan. He wants a more stable membrane, one that will last almost indefinitely until hit with the right ultrasound frequency." "Do you see any clinical purpose in that? " Oliver shook his head.

"No. But Duncan's the doctor, not me. He knows what he wants." Gin helped Oliver mop up the saline with paper towels, but all the while her thoughts were looping in wild circles. She slowed them down, straightened them out. She had to approach this logically, like a diagnostic puzzle. Lay out the facts first, then draw conclusions.

All right, Duncan did have the means to implant a toxin of some sort inside his patients and release it at will.

No, not at will. He had to zap it with ultra-high-frequency sound.

If Duncan had been responsible for what had happened to Senator Vincent, he'd have had to wheel an ulttasound machine into the hearing room and point it at the senator.

Ridiculous.

Still, the ultrasound demonstration left a residue on her thoughts, a sour mental aftertaste.

She went looking for Duncan. She'd forgotten to check with him about putting in a few extra hours here until the hearings got underway again.

And she needed to talk to him, to reassure herself.

"Oh, he's gone, " Barbara told her as Gin went to knock on Duncan's office door.

"Out with the mysterious Dr. V. , I suppose? " "No. Dr. V.'s not due back for a while. Dr. D. said he was heading for the golf course.

" "Damn. I wanted to catch him before he left."

"He's not gone all that long. I'll try his car phone." Barbara punched in some numbers, waited, then hung up. "No luck there.

I can page him for you."

"No. I don't want him coming off the golf course just to talk to me.

It's not that imporrant. What's the number of his club? Maybe he's still in the clubhouse."

"Want me to call for you? " "No, thanks.

I'll call him myself." Barbara looked it up and wrote it down.

Gin used The records-room phone. First she tried The club dining room, but he wasn't there. Then she tried the pro shop. Maybe she could catch him before he started his round.

"Doc Lathram? " said the chief caddy. "Haven't got a tee time for him."

"Maybe he's playing with someone else."

"Maybe, but I ain't seen the Doc round here for months." '"Are you sure? " '"Missy, I'm here just hour every day. Doc Larhram's been a member here forever, but it must be six months since I put his bags on the back of a cart.

But if he shows up I'll give him a message if you want."

"No, " Gin said. "Never mind." What's that all about? she thought as she hung up. When he hasn't been bitching about the kakistocracy, it's been about his golf, his slice, his bogies, complaining about the condition of the greens.

So what's he been up to?

Not golf, obviously. What else had he been Lying about?

Gin was uncomfortable. She didn't like the idea of Duncan Lying, to her or anyone else.

On impulse she went back upstairs and returned to Duncan's office.

"I left some papers on his desk, " she told Barbara as she breezed by her.

Great, she thought as she swung the door open. Now I'm Lying too.

Tense and uneasy, feeling like a sneak, she went to the big partners desk and tugged on the top drawer. It wouldn't budge. Locked.

Damn.

- She dropped into his chair and slouched there, swinging back and forth, wondering what to do.

What, if anything, was going on here? And what should she, could she, do?

Most likely it was all just nothing, but she had to ask herself, Did Duncan have anything to do with those four dead or damaged legislators?

Probably not. Their deaths, accidents, and illnesses weren't really linked . . . just one of those weird coincidences that sometimes occur.

. . the kind of coincidence that gts conspiracy theories started.

Still, why was he Lying about where he went when he cut out of here early every afternoon? Did that really matter?

But she had seen an injection vial of something in Duncan's top drawer, also some sort of trocar. Why were they -- there? What was in that bottle? Why did he keep the drawer locked?

Damn! She hated doubting Duncan like this. But why wasn't he where he'd said he'd be? Where the hell was he?

Duncan removed the dressing from Kanesha's face and studied his work.

He gripped her chin and gently turned her head back and forth.

Reflexively her hand fluttered up to cover the area of the surgery.

Duncan gently pulled the hand away and pressed it against her hip.

"No need to do that anymore, Kanesha." The thick, stiff wad of scar tissue thu had held the left side of her mouth prisoner was gone. In its place were a pair of healing hairline incisions and a normal-looking angle of the mouth. Duncan was pleased. But now the most important test.

'"Smile for me, Kanesha." Again the hand came up and covered that corner of her mouth. She looked at her mother. Her expression said, Get me out of here.

"C'mon, Neesh, " said her mother. "Smile for Dr. Duncan." Duncan pulled the child's hand down again and stood her on the chair.

He turned her toward the mirror on the wall.

'"Look at that girl in there, " he said. "What do you think of her? " Kanesha stared at herself in silence for a moment, then leaned forward for a closer look. Her left hand came up again, this time not to cover, but to touch, to confirm that what she saw was real.

Duncan watched her, waiting for a smile. And the smile was important.

Kanesha's had been a tougher piece of surgery than he'd anticipated. The scarring had gone deeper than usual, not only had he had to free up all the subcutaneous layers, but he'd had to do a partial reconstruction of the perioral musculature. A smile was the only way he'd know how successful he'd been.

"Well? " he said. "Don't keep me in suspense, little girl. Has Kaneshe Green got something to smile about or not? " He poked a wiggling finger into her flank, tickling her. She giggled, and with that giggle came a smile. An enormous smile, bright, even, symmetrical.

She stopped giggling and stared. The smile faltered for a heartbeat as she leaned forward, her eyes wide, then it returned full force.

She turned to Duncan, grinning, joy and wonder dancing in her dark eyes. Her mother burst into tears and reached for her daughter, but Kanesha did the unexpected. She leaned - forward, threw her arms around Duncan's neck, and hugged him. An instant later her sobbing mother had her arms . around Duncan as well.

< "Oh, thank you, Dr. Duncan! Thank you so much! " This was getting a mite sticky.

- "Now, now, ladies, ' he said, extricating himself from the tangle of limbs. "We've made a big jump, but we're not finished yet." - "Not finished? " the mother said, wiping her eyes. "She's beautiful! " "Of course she is. But she's not fully grown yet. And some scarring might redevelop in the deeper tissues. In a few years I may want to do one more procedure, to make her perfect."

"She looks perfect now! Oh, Dr. Duncan, if there's ever anything I can do to repay you, anything at all, just, " Duncan put his hand on Cindy Green's shoulder. "Just keep her smiling."

"No, I'm serious."

"So am I. Keep her safe, keep her healthy, keep her smiling.

Daughters are . . . " His voice caught. He cleared his throat.

"Daughters are precious. I don't want to find out I did that surgery for nothing."

"I will, " she said, putting her hand over his. "I promise."

"Good! " He straightened and lowered Kanesha to the floor.

"Stop at the desk on your way out. The nurse will have some ointment and instructions for its use. I want to see Kanesha next week. " Cindy Green was puddling up again. "Dr. Duncan . . . " "Come on, come on, " he said, ushering them toward the door. "You're wasting time Get her home and let her show off that smile." That'll teach you to doubt me, he thought as he watched them go.

"Okay, Marge, " he called out. "Who's next. Let's keep moving." He didn't have all day.

It began as a whim, which soon evolved into a compulsion, and by midafternoon Gin found herself in the periodicals section of the Alexandria Public Library.

Lisa Lathram . . . there had to be more on Lisa Lathram. And where better to find it than in the town where she lived and died?

Disappointingly, the Alexandria Banner's obit was identical to the one in the Host. But a short news blurb about her death made an offhanded mention of her father being under investigation by the Virginia State Board of Medical Examiners.

Gin went rigid in her seat. Duncan? Investigated? For what?

She began buzzing backward through the microfilmed issues of the Banner. Fortunately it was a small paper with a low daily page count.

Whenever she found mention of Duncan she photocopied the page and put it aside. When the Lathram references petered out, she assembled the copies and read through them in chronological order.

The first story appeared about three months before Lisa's death. Half the Banner's front page was devoted to Duncan, citing him for billing Medicate over a million dollars in vascular surgery fees the preceding year. An editorial in the same issue categorized him as a prime example of "unchecked greed in a profession run amok." Gin shook her head in wonder. A million . . . a lot of money, even for a vascular surgeon. But billing Medicate for a million didn't mean you received a million. It only paid a fraction of what was billed. And even if it paid dollar for . . .

.

dollar, so what? She'd seen how Duncan worked when he was a vascular surgeon. If he billed a million, it was because he'd earned a million.

, 79 The follow-up article described how a patient's rights ,"t group was circulating petitions calling for an investigation of - Dr. Lathram to determine how much, not if but how much unnecessary surgery he was performing. The petitions were forwarded to the Virginia State Board of Medical Examiners. Soon the Banner was announcing on its front page that Duncan Lathram, MD, was under investigation for suspicion of malfeasance and fraud by the state board. Then came an article revealing that Medicare's fraud unit was conducting an audit of Duncan's office and hospital records.

God, how awful, she thought. How humiliating to have all those investigators pawing through your records, probably while patients sat in the waiting room.

Then Lisa's death.

And after that . . . nothing.

Where was the resolution? What was the outcome? She couldn't find a single mention anywhere. Had Duncan lost his Virginia license? Was that why he was in Chevy Chase 7 now?

One way to find out. She glanced at her watch. Still time to call the Virginia state board.

It took four calls, but Gin finally tracked down the executive secretary, a Mrs. Helen Arnovitz. She asked if Duncan Lathram was still licensed in the state, and if so, had any disciplinary action ever been taken against him?

Helen put her on hold and returned a minute later.

"Yes, he's still licensed and no action was ever taken.

However, I remember the case well. The board did conduct an investigation fir the possibility of fraudulent billing and performing unnecessary surgery."

"And? " "The charges were found to be groundless. The board was obligated to investigate due to some adverse publicity Dr. Lathram had been receiving, but found no malfeasance.

When the results of the Medicate audit came back clear, we completely exonerated him."

"So it was all much ado about nothing. ' "For us, but not for poor Dr. Lathram. ' Gin stiffened. "Really? Why not?

' '"His practice dwindled to the point where he had to close his office.

I understand he's doing quite well now in Maryland, but it was a shame that Virginia had to lose such a fine vascular surgeon."

"I'm sure it was. Thank you." Gin hung up, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

Her heart went out to Duncan.

Public humiliation, the death of his daughter, the closing of his practice, the breakup of his marriage . . . all in the same year. Why had it happened? What had started it all? It was enough to drive anyone . . .

. . . crazy.

No. That wasn't fair. Duncan was anything but crazy. And none of this had any connection to Schulz, Lane, Allard, and Vincent. At least none that she could see.

So why didn't she feel relieved?

There was more to this. Had to be. But where to look?

No time for that now. She was due at Lynnbrook tonight. She'd hoped this mini-research-trip would ease her mind but it hadn't.

Only one thing to do. And she hated herself for doing it.

Gerry slouched in the cubicle that served as his Office staring at Martha's drawing of an orange horse, truly a horse of a different color.

He should have been devising a way to snare Senator Schulz's uncle as an accomplice in laundering hono rana. Instead he was thinking about the loss of three , F members from the same committee. What were the odds of that happening by chance? Especially when they'd all had surgery from the same doctor.

His phone rang. The receptionist down in the visitor area. "There's a Dr. Panzella here to see you." He damn near dropped the phone.

'"What? Dr. Pan, she's there? Now? " "Yes. Standing right in front of me."

"I'll be right down." Gerry grabbed his suit jacket and headed for the elevators. He pressed the down button but none opened immediately so he took the stairs. Only three floors. Nothing to it.

He burst through the doors and found Gin standing in the center of the lobby. Her features were tight.

"Gin? Is something wrong? " She handed him a package, something wadded up in a brown paper lunch bag. "Here. This is what you wanted."

"I wanted? " Baffled, he wormed his hand inside the bag and produced a test tube filled with clear fluid, a sheet of computer printout came with it.

"I don't get it." '"It's what Oliver Lathram puts in his brother's implants."

"Oh, hey, I didn't, " '"Analyze it, Gerry. Satisfy your curiosity, resolve your suspicions, and then let me know what you find.

That's a list of what's supposed to be in the solution. See if the analysis matches it." She was so stiff, her expression so grim.

'"Gin, what's wrong? ' "I don't like what I'm doing, Gerry. I'm not proud of myself for sneaking this out of Oliver's lab."

"But you didn't have to. I was only, " "You started me thinking, you got me worried. So now I want to know too."

"I'm sorry." She started to say something, then seemed to change her mind. It looked as if she'd been about to say, You shogld be, but she said, "It's okay.

You're just doing your job." He offered the tube to her. "You can have this back." She shook her head. "Too late now." The tension was so thick between them Gerry doubted even a Ginsu knife would cut it.

"Dinner was great the other night, " he said. "You're a super chef. " "I'm glad you liked it." No thaw yet. He'd have to pull out the big guns.

"Martha loved it. And she loves you." Gin's features softened.

Finally.

"And I love her, " she said. Then she pointed to the test tube. "But let me know about that stuffs soon as you hear, Gerry. It's important to me."

"Don't worry. As soon as I hear, you'll hear. But in the meantime, what are you doing for dinner tonight? " She shook her head.

"Moonlighting at Lynnbrook." She turned and started walking away.

"You will let me know, . . . .

won't your Gerry raised three fingers, Boy Scout style. "Promise. " Damn right I promise, he thought. Because I can see you're going to be a basket case until I do.

As he headed upstairs to get a lab requisition form, he didn't know whether he should be elated or depressed. He had a sample of Duncan Lathram's solution, but he'd also made Gin terribly upset. Was the prize worth the cost? If analysis turned up a toxin, how would he tell her?

But he would. And pull her out of Lathram's place so fast her head would spin.

Gin ran into Dr. Conway as she checked into the doctors lounge at Lynnbrook. He was on his way out. She nodded absently. Duncan and Oliver's secret sauce was on her mind and Conway was almost gone before she realized she hadn't seen him since Harriet Thompson's death.

"I heard about Harriet Thompson, " Gin said. "Sorry."

"Yeah, " he sighed. He looked depressed. "Me too. But there's some lawyer in town who's real happy about it."

"Oh, no. You're getting sued? " He nodded. "For gross negligence.

The daughter in San Diego who couldn't get free to come look after her mother for a few days managed to find a lawyer as soon as she got to town. Probably called I-8:00-SUE-DOCS or whatever number the ambulance chasers are using today.

Never miss an opportunity to cash in, right? " Gin could understand his bitterness. "Why doesn't she sue the PRO? " "Don't you know?

Physician Review Organizations are immune from malpractice suits. That leaves me." Gin felt awkward and angry. Not knowing what else to do, she put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry. You'll win."

"Sure, " he said. His smile was humorless. "Bet you just can't wait to get into practice. He walked out.

ON THE HILL you're GOING TO HAVE TO LEARN TO PLAY THE GAME, Hugh."

Gin slowed as she passed the closed door to Senator Marsden's office.

Her mind had been far away, wondering what the analysis of Oliver's secret sauce was showing. She'd die if there was anything incriminating in it.

, - The waiting was consuming her. She could barely concentrate on anything else. But the condescension in the voice slipping through the senator's transom pulled her up short.

She knew Senator Kramer had arrived for a meeting. Their voices weren't raised but even out here she could sense the tension.

Senator Marsden's voice sounded tight. "When I start thinking of the Senate as a game, I'll know it's past time to quit." Kramer chuckled.

"I was pretty self-righteous too when I was a freshman. But I learned.

And if you want to get things done in this town, you'll learn too.

You don't, you get left out in the cold." '"I'm not in favor of loosening up on offshore drilling at the moment.

I don't think we need it now."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Hugh.

Because it's important to my people."

"Do I take it that my position on easing offshore drilling restrictions will affect your vote on the Guidelines bill? " '>Oh, I wouldn't put it that way. Let's just say I'm reserving my judgment until your bill gets out of committee." I see."

"It's horse trading, son, " Kramer said, getting folksy all of a sudden.

"It's what makes the wheels turn. I'm obliged to keep the home folks happy and prosperous. Remember, One person's pork-barrel project is another. person's wise investment in the local infrastructure."

"How about simply casting a vote for something because it's the right thing to do? " Gin heard a chair scrape against the floor.

"Because what's right for you isn't necessarily right for me. We'll talk again sometime, Hugh." Not wanting to get caught with her ear to the door, Gin hurried off.

She related the conversation to Alicia on their way to the Senate cafeteria in the basement of the Dirksen Building. The Hart and Dirksen buildings were attached, but the walls down here were brick, the doors a dark oak, in sharp contrast to the antiseptic decor of the newer Hart.

They passed the Senate Post Office, then turned into the of. "I'm not surprised, " Alicia said. She picked out a tuna salad and a diet Pepsi. "A lot of the people on the Hill don't think he's for real.

And the ones that do are leery of him." Gin took a turkey on rye and a Mountain Dew.

"Care to explain that?"

Alicia scanned the tables. "Let's see if we can get off by ourselves and I'll give you the true facts."

"True facts? You mean as opposed to the other kind? " "Exactly."

They found an isolated corner table. Alicia sat with her back to the wall and watched the room as she spoke.

"First off, you should know that Senator Marsden ruffled a lot of feathers right off by coming to town with a selfimposed term limit. He said depending on how much he accomplished, he might serve only one term, and absolutely positively no more than two. That was a no-no. " "What's wrong with that? " "Because term limits is a very touchy subject around here. The members like to think of themselves as elected for life."

" How can they? Congressmen have to run every two years."

"Well, as I heard one member say to another back in the eighties, You have to be a real bozo to lose this job. Incumbents average a ninety-five-percent reelection rate."

"Wow." - "I tell you, Gin, nobody wants to leave this place once they get here. And can you blame them? You're part of the most powerful government in the world. And the most expensive. Salary, perks, and privileges come to more than two million bucks per member per year. No other government even comes close. And the few bozos who somehow fail to get reelected don't go home, they hire out as lobbyists. It's called Potomac fever.

I understand it's incurable."

"Do you think Senator Marsden will catch it? " "Maybe, " she said.

"You never know. I think he's sincere when he says he doesn't intend to stay here more than two terms. But I'm in the minority, Just about everyone else on the Hill thinks it's a pose. A holier-than-thou act that he'll use to squeeze the PACs for big bucks later. They're all watching, waiting to see if it works."

"That's sick, " Gin said. "Why do you put up with it?

Why've you been at it for so long? " Alicia shrugged. Her smile was shy. "Potomac fever. We staffers aren't immune either. Who knows?

Maybe you'll catch it too. Maybe you already have." Not me, Gin thought. I'm immune to that sort of thing. She felt a twinge of uneasiness. At least I hope I am.

Gin was straightening up her work area, preparing to call it a day as a legislative aide and change into her doctor hat. Another frustrating round of writing reports on referral and utilization patterns and wondering if anyone would read them. She was also sneaking in time on a freelance report, using the Harriet Thompson case as a paradigm of how treatment guideiines can backfire. She hoped the story's poignancy might raise a little consciousness as to the human COSt of well-meaning guidelines when they were mechanically implemented.

Maybe in the process she could help Dr. Conway.

Alicia bustled by then.

"Got a maybe from Senator Hirsch, " she said as she passed.

" Gust a maybe? " That surprised Gin. Hirsch always seemed to have something to say about health-care policy. "I thought he'd jump at the chance." Alicia slowed but kept moving. "It's a joint committee, not a permanenr thing. Too ad hoc. It might screw up his ranking position on his other committees, ones that guarantee serious, long-term PAC attention." Gin couldn't hide her annoyance. "Is everything about money, dammit? " "Senator Mark Hanna said something you should keep in mind when you're working on The Hill, There are two things that are important in politics. The first is money . . . and I l can't remember what the other one is. That's from the horse's mouth.

But what this place is really about is influence. And influence brings in campaign donations. And campaign donations help you come back for another term."

"So you can increase your influence, " Gin said without enthusiasm .

Alicia laughed and gave her a thumbs-up. "Now you're getting it! " "I'm afraid I am, " Gin muttered as Alicia disappeared down the hall.

Then her phone with the seal of the Senate rang. It was Gerry.

"The report's back." Gin lowered herself into her chair. "I thought you said not until tomorrow."

"Your list helped. Much easier to identify compounds when you know what you're looking for. And besides, I told them it was for someone very important. So they rushed it." Gin couldn't help smiling as a warm rush washed through her. She liked this man more each day.

"And? " "And the analysis matches the list perfectly. Nothing in there that isn't supposed to be there." Gin sagged in her chair.

She felt weak all over. She was so damn glad she could have cried right then.

"Gin? You still there? " "Yes, " she said softly. "Thank you, Gerry.

You don't know how good that is to hear."

"How about dinner tonight?

That sound good? " "Tonight's a Lynnwood night, I'm afraid." A thought struck her. "But I've got a great idea. Come with me to my folks' house on Thursday night. It's Columbus Day and my father always makes a big deal of it.

It's crazy. You'll love it. And bring Martha. There'll be plenty of pasta with no meat."

"You're on.

A few minutes later Gin was on her way out of Senator Marsden's office, feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Duncan and Oliver were in the clear.

One less thing to worry about.

COLUMBUS DAY GERRY AND MARTHA WERE WARMLY RECEIVED INTO THE folds of the Panzella dan's Columbus Day celebration. Gin knew the welcome might have been a bit more guarded had her folks realized that Gerry was more than just an old high school friend she'd run into again.

Gin had already explained to her folks about Gerry's being a widower.

It probably wasn't necessary, but you never knew. Papa had a tendency to verbalize whatever was on his mind, especially after he'd been celebrating for a while. She could just hear him asking Gerry where Martha's mother was. Papa was looking forward to meeting him. He vaguely remembered his name from the Washington-Lee football team, and was intrigued by the fact that he was an FBI agent. Mama wanted to know all the details of his widowerhood, ducking and tsking and Madroneing as Gina told her.

What she hadn't explained was how she felt about him, the growing need, the building heat between them.

It went swimmingly. Papa and Gerry hit it off immediately, and Uncle Fiore used to be a cop so he wanted to talk shop with the Fibby. And Martha . . . well, Martha charmed the women immediately and before Gin knew it, the little five-year-old was in the kitchen, draped in an apron almost as big as she was, standing on a chair at the counter helping Mama and Aunt Maria roll meatballs and stuff shells.

Gin passed her Aunt Terry and her Aunt Anna in whispered conversation.

'. . . killed in a car accident. A terrible tragedy."

"And I understand he's raising that little girl all by himself." '"And doing a good job, I'd say. Isn't she darling? " Gin moved on, smiling.

She had hoped that as the evening wore on it would become apparent to anyone who saw them together that she and Gerry were more than just friends. She knew she had succeeded when she overheard Mama in serious conversation with Gerry.

"And now your name. I'm not sure how you spell it. Is that with an i' at the end? " '"No. With an e-y. C-a-n-n-e-y. It's Irish."

"Is it now? At's a-nice." Gin almost laughed aloud at Mama's sudden reversion to an Italian accent. She was born in Baltimore.

But Gerry earned a place in Mama's heart by eating everything she put in front of him, from stuffed calamari to stuffed shells, and coming back for more. How could she stay cool toward anyone with a big appetite who loved her cooking? And Martha . . . Martha actually ate a meatball, a little one she'd made herself.

Gin was careful what she ate. Pasta had awakened inside her and was urging her to fill her plate, but Gin turned a deaf ear. She stayed on the move, sampling and nibbling, and made sure to leave something on each plate she used.

After dessert Gin spotted Gerry in a corner doing shots with Papa, Uncle Fiore, and Uncle dorn. Gerry caught her eye, lifted his glass of pale liquid, and winked at her. God, he looked great. And she loved the way he seemed to fit right in, going with the flow of the party, not standing on the side watching, but jumping right into the heart of the festivities. She realized right then how much she wanted him.

She wondered if she should warn him about what he was drinking. If that was what she thought it was, he was going to be sorry. But why be a wet blanket? Let him have his fun.

i The dishes were washed and racked and the festivities were waning when Gin, Gerry, and Martha made their way toward his car. Mama, Papa, and a couple of the aunts and uncles were standing on the front stoop waving goodbye.

"I think you two were a hit, " Gin said. "Did you have fun? " "I think I had too much fun, " Gerry said. He held out the keys. "Do you mind? " He seemed fine, steady on his feet, his voice clear, but Gin took them, glad he could admit when he'd had too much.

"Not at all." '"Mama said I could come back and help her cook anytime, " Martha said.

Gin had to smile. Her mother must have really taken to Martha if she told her to call her Mama.

"And I know she meant it, " Gin told her. "It's been a long time since she had a little girl around to help her cook." She remembered with a pang all the holidays she'd stood on a chair at the very same counter and helped her mother prepare the feasts. She wondered if Mama felt abandoned by the daughter who went off to become a doctor.

Without sons there'd be no daughter-in-law to take under her wing.

I wonder if she knows how much I love her? Gin thought. But when was the last time I told her?

She couldn't remember. That shook her. She took it for granted Mama knew, but everyone needed to hear it once in a while. Gin vowed to start doing just that on a regular basis.

Why not start now?

She ran back to the front steps and threw her arms around her mother.

"I love you, Mama. You're the best." She kissed the stunned woman and then hurried to the car. A glance over her shoulder showed Papa beaming and Mama smiling and wiping her eyes.

After strapping Martha into the backseat, Gerry slumped into the passenger seat.

'"What was that your father was pouring at the end? " "Grappa, " Gin said.

'"I was fine up till then. I mean, I'm Irish. We can drink just about anything that won't kill us. But that stuff. . . ' -- "Grappa won't kill you, " Gin said with a smile. "But if you're not used to it, it can make you wish it had." Martha's bedtime was long past but she was wired, talking at light speed about filling cannolis and grating cheese and how ugly the calamari were before Mama cleaned them. Gin was glad it hadn't been Easter. How would Martha have reacted to aapozella? If she and Gerry were still seeing each other next spring, and she hoped they would be, Gina would have to prepare Martha for the sight of a sheep's head in the kitchen.

Martha talked nonstop right into the parking lot by their apartment, but was sound asleep in her father's arms by the time they reached the front door. Gin went upstairs and helped put her to bed, Downstairs, Gerry put his arms around her. She snuggled against him.

"Thanks, Gin, " he whispered. "This has to be the best Columbus Day of my life." '"It's not over yet, " she said, and kissed him.

He leaned back and looked at her for a second, then they kissed again, long and passionately. Gin didn't want this night to end yet.

They tumbled to the couch and before long were fumbling with each other's buttons, shucking off their clothes like old skins until there was nothing between the new skins. And they didn't need much foreplay because he was ready and God knew she'd been ready all night.

She didn't want to ask, but she forced herself to say it. "I don't have to worry about you, do I? ' "What? Oh, you mean . . . no.

Well, two women, both very straight.

We thought something might be there but nothing came of either.

How, how about you? " "One guy for most of my residency." '"What happened? " "I came here, he stayed there. It's over." . . _ , .

.

v rooa.

And then he was above her and in her and he rode her furiously, bringing her to the peak . . . and then leaving her there.

'"I'm sorry, " he said when he'd caught his breath a moment later.

"It's been so long, and I've wanted you so bad. I just . . . ' She put her arms around his neck and held him close. "It's all right, " she said. "I understand. There'll be other times." Physically, she was frustrated, here she was with Gerry Canney, her high school dream man, her very much now man, and her pelvis felt as if it were ready to explode. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the perfect lover and she should have been drifting on ecstatic clouds of delight. But another part of her was charmed. She'd sensed he was a straight arrow, and this confirmed it in a way. If he'd performed like a stud tonight she might have wondered about him. She did wonder about herself. Did she really feel this deeply about Gerry, or was it a rebound thing, someone to fill the void left by Peter?

No, she decided. This is real. This has been a long time coming.

As they cuddled, he ran a hand over her abdomen and traced the long, puckered scar that ran from the lower tip of her sternum straight to the left of her navel.

"What's this? " "The reason you'll never see me in a bikini." '"No, really." She told him about being hit by the truck, her torn-up insides, and how Duncan had put her back together.

"Ah. Now I see why you're so devoted to him. I guess I owe him. ' '"What for? " "For saving you for me. Let me show you a couple of my scars. Here's my appendectomy . . . " "Mine is bigger than you-ors, " Gin singsonged.

And somewhere along the way as they compared scars, she noticed that he was ready again.

"It regglly has been a long time, hasn't it? " she said.

"Forever." But this time she took charge, straddling him, riding him, controlling the tempo, and when she climaxed it was as if the almost-orgasm of before had been waiting in the wings and had jumped in at the last minute to explode with the new one. She moaned and he reached up to cover her mouth and she bit down on his hand and thought she was going to pass out.

Later, as they sprawled exhausted on the couch, she saw that his hand was bleeding.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. Look what I did. I didn't mean to." "I know. I just didn't want anything to wake Martha." God, she'd forgotten all about Martha.

, - "But you said she's a sound sleeper." '"She is. And she's probably sleeping like the dead after that party tonight, but still .

. . " "Even in the throes of passion, you don't stop being the protective father."

"It's not a hat I can just take off when I want to. I hope that doesn't offend you. ' '"Not in the least, " she said and kissed him to make sure he understood. "It tells me something about you, something good. ' She loved this man. She felt so at home with him. They shared a past, and she sensed they shared a set of values. Here was something that could really last.

With that thought bright and warm in her mind, Gin dozed off.

Gin was almost dressed when Gerry woke up. Dawn was moments away. He winced at the light. She could tell he had a headache.

"What're you doing? " "Got to get home and get showered. Surgery this morning with Duncan."

"At least stay for coffee. I can put on, '' "I think it's better if Martha doesn't find me here when she wakes up."

"Maybe you're right, " he said, "but I won't be getting her up for a while yet."

"Still, I've got to go." They embraced. She didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave. She wanted to spend the morning with Gerry having coffee and bagels and then making love again and showering together and then, maybe only then, think about assisting on cosmetic surgery.

"My place next time We can scream and shout all we want. Nobody in Adams Morgan notices that sort of thing." On her way home, the sun was just peeking over the horizon and silhouetting the spire of the Washington Monument as she crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

Again she worried that she was rushing things with Gerry. But no .

.

.

this felt right.

Does it get any better than this? she wondered. She was assisting Duncan Lathram, she was legislative aide to Senator Marsden on health-care matters, she was making love to Gerry Canney. Finally, all the pieces of her life seemed to be falling into place.

No. It did not, could not, get any better than this.

CONSULTATIONS MRS. JABLONSKY WANTED A BREAST REDUCTION. SHE SAT topless on the examination table, lifting her large, pendulous breasts and letting them drop . . . lifting and dropping . . .

"I'm sixty-eight years old, " she told Duncan. "I've had these since I was fourteen. I used to be proud of them, but now they're quite literally a pain. They're weighing me down, making me stoop-shouldered, giving me backaches. I want them gone." "Surely not gone, " Duncan said.

"No, of course not. Just less of them. If they droop any farther I'll be able to tuck the damn things into my waistband." Duncan laughed.

"That doesn't sound too comfortable. We'll trim them to a more manageable size for you. But what . . . ? " He'd noticed a large number of white and pink lesions all over her trunk. He touched one, then another. They lookect and felt like the aftereffects of cryosurgery.

"Oh, those. That's Dr. Suer's work. You know, the dermatologist?

He's been removing my lesions."

"Your lesions? " "That's what he calls these things." She pointed to a halfinch area of seborrheic keratosis on her upper arm. "He says they're not cancerous but they could change anytime."

"These things? He said they might turn cancerous? " "Yes. And I had loads of them." Duncan felt his jaw muscles tighten. "How many of these lffions' has he removed? " '"Oh, fifty at least. He had me coming back every week to take off a few more. We're just about done.

It's been quite a trial, but it's such a relief to know I won't have to worry about skin cancer anymore."

"Must have cost you a fortune."

"Oh, no. He just billed Medicate.

He accepts insurance. Not like you."

"You're right there, Mrs. Jablonsky. I'm nothing like Dr. Suer."

He lowered his voice and muttered, "Probably graduated from the Ingraham."

'"I beg your pardon? " "Nothing." Duncan ground his teeth. The medical mountebank. Freezing offperfectly benign keratoses and billing for removal of precancerous lesions.

What a world. All a doctor had to do was practice straight, ethical medicine, and he was guaranteed a decent living. But that wasn't enough for the avaricious slugs who left a trail of slime across the profession. It drove him up the wall.

Congress had no exclusive on greed. There were doctors who deserved an implant as well.

Duncan's thoughts began to wander a new path, wondering if there might be a way . . .

He shook it off. No sense in letting matters get complewly out of hand.

He scheduled Mrs. Jablonsky for surgery, then went on to the next patient. The chart sat in a pocket on the outside of the exam-room door.

He glanced at the intake sheet as he reached for the doorknob, and stopped. Hugh K. Marsden. Could it . . . ?

His gaze jumped a couple of lines down to the occupation box, U. S.

senator.

Duncan leaned against the doorjamb. This was too much. The chairman himself?

Could it be . . . was someone on to him? Was he being set up?

But they'd never use a U. S. senator to try and trap him. Still . .

.

hard to believe Marsden's presence was mere chance.

Well, he'd pretend not to recognize Marsden and see how the consultation played out.

"Mr. Marsden, " he said, entering and extending his hand. "Dr. Lathram." Marsden's handshake was firm. And he didn't correct Duncan's failure to address him as Senator.

"Glad to meet you, Doctor. You come highly recommended."

"That's always good to hear." He pretended to glance through the medical history on the intake form he'd already perused outside the door.

"Looks like you've been in pretty good health. What can we do for you here? " Marsden turned his head and touched the top of the auricle of his left ear. "I have it on good authority that this needs attending to." Duncan stepped closer and saw the pink nodule in question He touched it, smooth, firm. He pulled an illuminated magnifying glass from a drawer and bent for a closer look. Fine capillaries crisscrossed the opalescent surface. A positive Tyndall effect with the light. He palpated it again, pressing around the edges. It was bigger than he'd initially thought.

"Your authority is a good one. You've got a basal cell carcinoma there.

No risk of distant spread, but if left to its own devices it will continue to grow and eventually ulcerate and bleed. My advice is to have it out now, while it's small."

"That's why I'm here." Duncan placed the magnifier on the counter.

"Sorry. I don't do therapeutic surgery, only cosmetic work. But I can recommend, " "You were recommended."

"I won't argue with that, but I don't do what you need . , , crone.

"But I do need a cosmetic repair. I don't want a notch out of my ear.

" "I appreciate that, but, " 'I Dr. Panzella told me you're the best.

" "Gin? She sent you to me? " Why? he wondered, irritably. She should know better.

"Not really. It. seems we have something in common, She works for each of us. She spotted this thing on my ear, called it a lesion', and told me to have it looked at. Since many of my colleagues on the Hill speak highly of you, and since Gin seems devoted to you, I figure you're the man." Duncan's mind raced. He felt awkward. But this explained Marsden's presence, the Gin connection.

All right. Maybe it was time to stop playing completely dumb and move to slightly dumb.

"Marsden . . . " he said slowly. "Good Lord, you must be Senator Marsden. Forgive me for not making the connection. Of course. You're chairing the", he snapped his fingers, "the . . .

"The Guidelines committee. ' "Right! The Joint Committee on Medical Ethics and Practice Guidelines." Marsden smiled. "You know the full title. So few people do." '"I read a lot. You're group has had some trouble recently, , & , , s. seems.

"Yes. Poor Harold. He's quite ill, I'm afraid. ' "Any idea as to if or when he'll be back? " "No. No definite word yet." Marsden was playing it close to the vest. Not revealing anything. As he should do. Duncan was trying to sort out his feelings for this man. He had nothing personal against him. If he weren't chairing a committee that had no right to exist, he might even like him.

"A bit of bad luck, wouldn't you say? " "Quite a lot more than a bit.

It's almost as if some sort of curse was hanging over this committee.

" "You don't know if any of your members went poking into a pharaoh's tomb, do you? " Marsden's smile was wan. "You'd almost think so, wouldn't you? " "Does that mean you're now out of the Guidelines business? " "Only for a little while. I'm doing my damnedest to fill those empty seats. We should be rolling again in no time"

"Will you now? " Duncan said, feeling his jaw muscles bunch. "How interesting.

" '"But back to the matter at hand, " Marsden said. "I'd like you to do the surgery. And the reason is, quite frankly, cosmetic. I understand you have a method that heals many times faster than regular surgery. I need that. ' "Do you? " '"Yes. Depending on the president, the hearings could be up and running again in a matter of weeks. I don't want to be there on national TV with a cauliflower ear, or an ear that looks like someone took a bite out of it. You know the press. There'll be speculation about it, and once they find out, there'll be story after story on my skin cancer, then TV specials on the prevalence of skin cancer and how to avoid it."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"No. But I don't want the press to center on me and my minor skin disorder. They should focus on the Guidelines committee and what we're trying to do." Just what are you trying to do? Duncan wanted to ask.

Marsden continued, "With your reputed skill and accelerated healing methods, I believe you're just the man for the job." Oh, I am, Senator, Duncan thought. I am that.

'"Very well, Senator. Because of your connection with Dr. Panzella, who speaks very highly of you, by the way, I'll make an exception. But I will not make an exception about not dealing with any insurance company. You pay my outrageous fee up front. In return you will get the finest cosmetic surgery in the world, with absolute discretion.

Ours is a doctor-patient relationship. It does not involve Medicate, Medicaid, Blue Cross, HMOs, PPOs, IPAs, or any of the rest of the alphabet soup.

I do not fill out forms, talk to utilization committees or quality assurance coordinators or nurse-bureaucrats insisting on a second or third opinion. I speak to you, you speak to me. No other parties involved." Marsden's expression reflected fascination rather than consternation.

'"I take it then that you're not a participant in any of the managed-care systems."

"You're looking at an endangered species, Senator." '"If you want, I can have you put on the Department of the Interior's protected list. ' '"Too late for that, I think."

"Well, the sale of my company left me with a bit of money. I can afford to spend some of it on my ear."

"Good. I'll turn you over to my secretary, who'll arrange all the releases. How does next week sound?

" "Thursday would be the best for me."

"I'll sc-e what we can arrange. But if you want me to use the accelerated healing procedures, you'll have to watch a videotape and sign a stack of release forms.

The implants I employ are still considered investigational at this point."

"Whatever you say."

"Excellent." As Duncan led him out into the hall, he spotted Gin passing by.

She glanced his way, then did a double take.

"Senator Marsdent" Something flickered across her face. Somewhere in the moment between her surprise of recognition and smile of greeting her features twisted with an odd expression. Was it fear, concern, or consternation?

Whatever, it was plain that Gin was anything but happy to see the senator here.

Why?

She'd seen nothing but good results, excellent results, during her time here. Why on earth should she have the slightest concern about her senator's having surgery here?

Unless . . .

No. How could she suspect? How could she even guc-ss? It had to be something else. Maybe he'd misinterpreted her expression.

But he didn't think so. Something there, something very much like fear.

Duncan tried to shrug off the feeling but it wouldn't let go. Why on earth should the sight of him with Senator Marsden strike terror into Gin?

Unsettling thoughts whirled through Gin's mind as she watched Senator Marsden sign the consent forms, thoughts about three members of Marsden's committee, all Lathram patients, all either dead, damaged, or demented . . .

She did her best to keep calm.

"What a surprise to see you here, " she said after Duncan was gone.

He tapped the tip of his ear with his finger. "Well, it seems it's unanimous that this has got to go. And didn't you say he was the best?

" "Yes, but I never meant you should come here. . . I mean, he doesn't take cases like yours."

"He said he'd make an exception in my case." Gin felt a cold lump form in her stomach. Duncan never made exceptions.

"Really. I'm surprised."

"Maybe you should be flattered. He said it was because of you." He clapped her on the upper arm. "See. I knew I'd be glad I hired you."

I hope so, Senator, she thought. She made what she hoped was a graceful exit and hurried away. She had someplace to go.

She sat in the periodicals section of the D. C. Public Library's main branch on G Street. She'd remembered something Oliver had said about the Guidelines committee . . . shortly after Duncan had exploded at the news that she was looking for a post on the committee.

. . . years ago he had a bit of trouble . . .

Trouble with the Guidelines committee? How many years? Oliver wasn't talking. Maybe the microfilm would.

She ran a search of the Washington Post the year of Lisa's death, looking for Duncan.

The earliest was dated May 7th, about a week before the first anti-Duncan article in the Alexandria Banner. Front page, lower right corner.

Gin's stomach lurched as she read the heading, "Committee Decries Gross Overcharging' by Surgeon." She scanned the article until she spotted his name, then backtracked.

From his seat beside the committee chairman, ranking member Senator Harold Vincent said his staff had uncovered a case of "flagrant abuse of the current system, right here in our own backyard." He went on to excoriate Dr. Duncan Lathram, a vascular surgeon in Alexandria, for collecting over a million dollars from Medicate last year. "This sort of gouging is a prime example of a profession running wild, lining their pockets with millions of taxpayers' hard-earned money. If ever there was a doubt that the medical profession needs guidelines imposed on it, that doubt should be banished by the likes of Dr. Lathram. " Gin sat rigid in her seat before the microfilm screen, shocked not only by the words, but by their speaker. Senator Vincent . . . Duncan had operated on him just a few weeks ago, they'd been bantering in the committee hearing room moments before his seizures. And though he'd attacked Duncan in public five years before, neither had ever mentioned it. Had they both forgotten?

No. Not Duncan. Vincent, maybe. In a quarter century on the Hill, this was simply another in an endless series of remarks prepared by one of his aides and tossed away after they were read into the record.

But Duncan . . . those words no doubt were branded on his brain. He'd never forget something like this. Nor would he forgive.

She went back and read the article from the beginning. Vincent had attacked Duncan from his seat on the Committee for Medical Practice Guidelines, the original Guidelines committee under Senator McCready.

The article listed the other members of that first committee. Besides Vincent and McCready, it named Lane, Allard, and Schulz.

Schalz! Schulz had been on the original committee. Gin hadn't known that.

'"Oh . . . my . . . Ciod, " she whispered. That was the connection between the four dead or injured legislators, all had been members of the McCready committee.

She found another mention of Duncan, deeper in the paper, a week later.

This time it was Congressman Allard pillorying this price-gouging surgeon and calling him "the tip of the iceberg." Something must be done on the federal level. He demanded a Medicate audit of Duncan's officer and hospital records.

Gin leaned back. So this was where Duncan's hell had begun, ignited by a spark from the original Guidelines committee. He must hate these men . . . yet he'd done cosmetic surgery on four of them.

And now those four were either dead or hospitalized.

It was all circumstantial, all four cases were different, and she couldn't see how any grand jury could indict on the available evidence . . . yet only a fool could deny the obvious and terrifying pattern.

But where was the connection to Lisa?

And did it matter?

At the moment, no. What did matter was that Senator Marsden was going under Duncan's knife next week.

She remembered him signing the surgical consent forms a few hours ago.

Wasn't there an expression about signing your life away?

GINA GINA DIDN'T T WAKE UP SATURDAY MORNING. SHE DIDN"T have to. She never got to sleep.

A night of endless tossing and turning. She'd tried everything short of a sleeping pill. She didn't have one around and it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Her racing mind was stuck in overdrive and refused to downshift.

Something's going to happen Jo Senator Marsden.

The thought had ricocheted off the walls of her brain like a racquetball. She'd countered it with every explanation she could dredge up. It all came down to the fact that despite a seemingly obvious pattern, all the evidence was circumstantial. Yes, the committee had initiated a series of events that had ruined Duncan's practice, but it would take more than that to set him on a murderous vendetta.

Yet every time she thought she'd laid the fear to rest, some dark, formless dread from her hindbrain, that ancestral home of primal instincts, would rear up and slam it into wild, random motion again.

So now she sat in her bay window and looked down on the Saturday-morning quiet of Kalorama Road. God, what was she going to do?

She'd have to do something.

Stop the surgery? How? What reason could she give? No, she'd have to find a way to ease her mind so she wouldn't go crazy waiting for something to happen.

But anything bad that happens to Marsden after the surgery, even if he gets hit by a meteor while raking leaves in his front yard, I'm going to blame on Duncan.

Gin could handle just about every question except the one about Duncan's desk drawer.

She had seen the vial and the oversized trocar. And she couldn't explain them.

What was in that vial? What was a trocar doing in there?

Only one way to find out. Did she dare?

She headed for the bedroom to throw on some clothes.

Gin let herself into the surgicenter through the private rear entrance and coded off the alarm. She felt more than a little guilty about this.

After all, Duncan had entrusted her with a set of keys and here she was sneaking in to snoop through his desk.

It's not as if I'm going to steal anything, she thought. I'm just going to borrow a little reassurance.

She locked the door behind her, then set up her excuse for being here.

Not much chance that anyone else would be in on a Saturday, and her car was in the rear lot, hidden from the street, but you never knew. So, first thing, she trotted down to the records room and left her Senate ID badge on the floor under the dictation desk. Should anybody ask, that was why she was here, looking for her lost badge.

Back upstairs, she let herself into Duncan's officer. She noticed her hands were sweaty. What if Duncan popped in and caught her here? Not likely. He couldn't wait to get out of here weekday afternoons, so why would he show up on a Saturday? Oliver was a different story. But he'd mentioned a trip to Virginia Beach for the weekend, so it was unlikely he'd show up. Through the picture window she saw that the rock garden was half in shadow. The shrubbery shielded her from anyone outside, but also blocked her view of the rear parking lot, so she left the office door open to hear anyone unlocking the private entrance.

She moved to Duncan's desk, praying she'd find the top right drawer sitting open.

No such luck.

Okay, another prayer that he'd forgotten to lock it. She pulled on the handle. The drawer wiggled but wouldn't slide.

Damn! She slapped her palm against the drawer. She wanted this over with. She couldn't stand it.

She slumped into Duncan's chair and stared at the drawer. The putting-to-bed, or God forbid, confirmation, of all her distress lay on the far side of half an inch of wood. She stared at the brass face of the lock. She'd seen Duncan's key ring hanging from that lock, which meant the drawer key went wherever he went. But maybe there was a spare around.

She went through each of the remaining drawers carefully and did find two keys, but neither fit the lock. She tried prying it open with a letter opener but was getting nowhere, and she was afraid to exert too much leverage for fear of scratching the wood.

If only she knew how to pick a lock . . . or knew someone who did .

.

They made love first.

Gerry arrived a few minutes early and, as much as Gin wanted to learn how to pick a lock, the sight of him standing inside her door swept away thoughts of locked drawers. After about three words they were in each other's arms and leaving a trail of clothing between the front door and the bedroom. Nicer making love on a bed instead of a couch, and this time Gerry took charge, running his lips around her nipples, then between her breasts, down along her scar to her navel, circling that, and continuing downward. She whimpered with delight and thrust herself against his probing tongue.

Afterward, they lay breathless and sweaty in each other's arms. Gin fought the urge to fall into a contented doze. She got up, threw on a robe, and opened a bottle of merlot. They snuggled together on the couch, sipping their wine.

"That was wonderful."

"For both of us, " she said, nuzzling his neck.

"By the way, did I say hello? " Gin laughed. "That was a hectic scene, wasn't it? " "Where's this lock you can't open? " he said finally.

Gin was uncomfortable with the lie she'd told him about a lost key, so she was glad she didn't have to remind him. She pointed to the far corner of the room.

"That little oak filing cabinet over there. I don't even know why I locked it. And now the key is gone." She hated Lying, but she couldn't tell Gerry the real reason. He was too much of a straight arrow to let her go through with her plan.

She'd chosen the little oak filing cabinet because its lock looked to be about the same size as the one on Duncan's drawer.

"No spare key? " She looked sheepish. "I think it's inside." That, at least, was true.

Gerry laughed as he picked v oblong box from the pocket.

"A lock-picking kit?" Even better." He opened up his jacket and pulled an _ the box and showed her . , something that looked like a miniature cordless screwdriver. "A battery-operated lock pick. " "Really? I didn't even know there was such a thing."

"They've been around for a while. This one's the E.P.GElectropick.

It'll open just about any pin-and-disk tumbler qlinder lock in under a minute." -"What about picking locks the old-fashioned way? " "Let's hope that won't be necessary, " Gerry said. "I never learned how.

Lock picking isn't a skill required by the Bureau.

"Then why this electro-thing? " "For when we're in a big hurry and we can't get a locksmith right away." He tried a number of little black metal instruments in the keyhole until he found one that fit, then he fixed that into the end of the Electropick and began adjusting a thumbscrew atop the device.

"Once we find the right-sized raking tool, we adjust the up-and-down motion, a narrow range for a small lock like this, put it into the lock, and turn her on. ' Gin watched the metal tool begin moving rapidly up and down inside the lock. Gerry moved the Electropick in and out a few times, then removed it.

"Okay. All the pins are in position. Now I just insert this tension bar", he slipped a fine, L-shaped metal rod into the keyhole, "and twist.

" She heard a click. He removed the tension bar and gestured toward the drawer.

"Okay. Give her a tug." The cabinet drawer easily pulled open. She kissed him.

"My hero! A man of many talents." He held up the Electropick. "Just me and my handy E.P.G- I .

'"Wait a minute. ' She rummaged in the bottom of the cabinet drawer.

"Here's the spare."

"Great place for it>" Gerry said with a wry smile. "How about sticking it xnder the cabinet for safekeeping? " "Good idea. But first . .

.

" She stuck the key in the slot and relocked the drawer. Then she held out her hand for the Electropick.

's Let me try." Gerry was hesitant, but then showed her how to use it.

Under his guidance she unlocked and relocked the cabinet three times.

Gin knew then that she had to have an Electropick.

"Where can I get one of these things? " '"Not at Wal-Mart, that's for sure. They cost a couple of hundred bucks, but if you really want one I can give you the address of a mail-order place."

"That's okay, " she said, disappointed. No time for mail order. "I mean, how many times would I need something like that? " And then it was time for dinner. They went out to a Thai place in the neighborhood where she couldn't talk Gerry into trying fish stomachs in peanut sauce. Then they caught the new Kevin Costner flick. She could tell Gerry wasn't crazy about it, and she might not have liked it either if Kevin Costner hadn't been the star. Just watching him move and listening to his voice made up for a multitude of shortcomings in the rest of the film.

And finally it was back to the apartment for more lovemaking. Slow and deliberately languorous this time

"Strange, isn't it? " Gin said as they lay together at the end. She was thinking how she might want to be with Gerry forever. "So much has happened to each of us since we went to high school. We hardly knew each other when we spent most of the day in the same building. And now after all those years and miles we run into each other in a city of millions and wind up like this. I don't believe in fate, but you've got to admit . . . " "Fate, " he said sofddy. "That has a nice ring to it." Gerry left about I , 00 A. M. Without the Electropick.

Desperate, Gin had removed it before llanding him his jacket. She felt like a creep, but consoled herself with the thought that she was only borrowing it.

Gin was warm and contented as she dozed off, vowing to spend most of Sunday morning becoming an expert with the Electropick, then tackling Duncan's drawer in the afternoon.

Only a nagging apprehension about what she'd find there disturbed her repose.

THE WEEK OF OCTOBER GINA r IT WAS TUESDAY AFTERNOON BEPORE GINA GOT A chance to use the Electropick on Duncan's drawer.

I should have been done with this days ago, she thought as she stood inside the door to the basement stairs. She was waiting for Barbara to leave her desk on one of her frequent trips to the copier or the printer, both of which were downstairs, or to the patient education room across the hall from her desk.

Sunday would have been perfect. Gin had practiced all morning with the Electropick and had become fairly adept. She'd used it on every cylinder lock in her apartment, even on her car.

Gerry had called Sunday afternoon, and they'd talked about how wonderful the night before had been. Finally he asked about the Electropick. He couldn't find it. Had he left it there? Gin told him he had and joked about it, telling him he didn't need to pull that old stunt of leaving something behind just so he could have an excuse to come back. When he mentioned stopping by later to pick it up, she begged offsaying she had a million errands to run before pulling a shift at the hospital. Which was sort of true. Luckily, Gerry didn't seem to be in a big rush to get it back. They had a number of the things at the Bureau.

More practice, and by midafternoon Gin felt ready. But when she arrived at the office she found a dark blue Buick Park Avenue parked in the lot. Oliver's car. What was he doing back? And on a Sunday when he should have been home watching football? Except Oliver wouldn't know a Redskin from a Mighty Duck. All he cared about were his lab and his implants.

So Gin drove off and returned in two hours. The Buick was still there.

Two hours after that it was gone but night was falling and the cleaning service had arrived. She had to call it quits. She was due at the hospital.

Monday offered no chance. Duncan stayed uncharacteristically late and Gin couldn't hang around because she had a meeting with the other legislative aides in Senator Marsden's office.

But today Duncan had stayed true to form, finishing his surgery and making a beeline for his club, so he said.

That was another thing that bothered her. Where did he really go? And who was the mysterious Dr. V. he'd been meeting with? Secrets and more secrets. How could she help but be suspicious?

She heard footsteps approaching. High heels. Only one person here wore heels. Casually, Gin stepped out into the hall.

"Hi, Barbara, " she said.

The blonde started, then smiled. "Jesus God, you scared me. I thought you were gone." I will be in about two minutes. ' Gin hurried down the hall and ducked into Duncan's office. Plenty of light from the afternoon sky filtering through the rock garden. Perfect lock-picking conditions.

"I've got to be crazy, " she muttered. Tension was a cold hand tightening on the nape of her neck. She tried to shake it off.

Do it. Now.

She knew if she hesitated, if she gave herself time to think, - she might allow a spasm of sanity to change her mind. She if pulled the Electropick from her lab-coat pocket and knelt before the drawer. On the remote chance that it might be unlocked, she tugged on the pull.

No such luck.

Okay. Electropick, do your thing.

She probed the keyhole with one of the raking tools but it wwldn't fit.

She needed a smaller one. No problem. She'd spent much of Sunday switching rakes. A lot like switching drill bits, only easier. She inserted the next smaller size, adjusted the thumbscrew, then tried again. This time it slipped in easily. Half a minute later she had the tension bat in the keyhole and was slowly twisting it. She heard a click as the little bok slipped back inside the lock.

"Yes! " she whispered.

She exttacted the tension bar and pulled open the drawer.

And there they were, the oversized trocar and the mystery bottle.

She hesitated, then picked up the trocar and sighted down its bore, little more than a hollow stainless steel tube with a sharp, beveled point at one end and a hilt at the other.

Something like a giant hypodermic needle. Just about big enough to hold one of those giant economy-size implants she'd seen Oliver dissolving with ultrasound. She slipped the obturator into the trocar, filling the bore with more stainless steel.

She remembered the puncture wound on Senator Vincent's thigh in recovery. It could have been made by something like this. She imagined Duncan positioning the trocat's sharp beveled point against the skin along the outer aspect of Vincent's thigh, then punching it through on an angle. He'd advance the trocar about three inches into the subcutaneous fat, then withdraw the solid obturator, leaving the hollow outer tube in the thigh. He'd slip the implant into the bore of the trocar. With the blunt end of the obturator he'd ease the implant to the far end of the bore, retract the trocar along the shaft of the obturator, then remove both instruments as one.

Leaving the implant behind, nestled in the subcutaneous fat of the thigh.

She shuddered. The whole idea gave her the willies.

She separated the trocar and obturator and laid them aside, then picked up the mystery bottle. An injection vial. She examined its top and spotted multiple punctures in the center of the red rubber stopper.

It's been used, she thought. But what's in it?

A thin, dear, amber fluid sloshed on the other side of the glass. She twisted the bottle until she could read the label. The GEM Pharma colophon huddled in the upper left corner. Two words were typed across the center, TRIPTOLINIC DlETHSfLAMIDE "Well, ' she muttered, "that dears up everything." What the hell was triptolinic diethylamide?

She'd never heard of it.

She studied the name, committing its spelling to memory, then she placed the bottle on the desktop and began rummaging through the drawer.

Not much there. The most prominent object was the little handheld recorder that Duncan used for his consults and operative reports.

Gin's heart revved a little when she spotted a tape in it. She pressed the rewind, then hit PLAY. A tinny version of his voice buzzed forth, droning an incisionby-incision, suture-by-suture recap of the tip graft they'd done on an eighteen-year-old girl's nose Monday. She spotchecked through the tape and found only more of the same.

In the back of the drawer she found a slightly faded photo of a teenage girl. Blond hair, a forced smiie, and bright blue eyes. Duncan's eyes.

Gin's fingers trembled. Lisa Lathram. Had to be. She stared at the innocent, seemingly untroubled face that offered no hint of the troubled soul harbored within. Who'd ever guess she'd attempt suicide three times?

Gin sighed and put the photo aside.

What else in the drawer? No other tapes. A few business cards, a two-year-old schedule for the Orioles, a brochure from a coffee importer, some blank index cards, and a nail dipper.

That was it.

Gin leaned against the desk, relieved, but still unsettled. Lisa's photo was here, but no legislator death list with names crossed off, no morbid collection of newspaper clippings. But still there was the trocar and the triptolinic diethylamide, whatever that was. Probably harmless . . . but why was it in his locked drawer? Maybe for the same reason an old Orioles schedule and a nail clipper were locked up along with them, This simply was where certain items ended up.

No. That didn't wash. Duncan had been a little too quick to close this drawer when he'd found her staring into it that time And he seemed religious about keeping it locked. Obviously he wanted to keep this stuff private.

She replaced the photo and the incidental items, then the trocar and obturator, then, after one last look at its label, the bottle of triptolinic diethylamide, arranging them all as closely as possible in their original positions. Then she slid the drawer closed and was reaching for the Electropick to lock up again when she heard a voice outside.

Duncan!

She snatched up the pick, ducked under the desk, and crouched in the kneehole.

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod! Her heart pounded, her mind raced. Where'd he come from?

Thankfully the desk had a so-called modesty panel that shielded the front of the kneehole, but she knew her feet were visible in the gap between the panel and the floor. She held her breath as Duncan approached, apparently calling back to Barbara as he entered.

". . . only for a minute. I'm not staying." Gin huddled in a ball, trembling, rationalizing with herself, What was the worst that could happen? If he discovered her, she'd be terminally embarrassed, she'd blurt something unintelligible, bolt from the room, and never show her face around here again. And that would be it. Not as if she was in any real danger. But then, considering the humiliation she'd feel, she wondered if she just might prefer death to being caught here.

She watched the carpet along the edges of the kneehole and saw Duncan's shoes appear under the modesty panel. She held her breath. Maybe she'd get through this. Hadn't he said he was only going to be a minute? As long as he didn't sit down . . .

An awful thought struck, My God, what if he checks his drawer and finds out it's unlocked?

She huddled breathless and statue-still as he shuffled through the papers on his desk. She heard him grunt, heard a piece of paper being folded, then listened to him turn and walk out.

Gin slumped back and almost sobbed with relief as she gasped for breath. She'd made it. She didn't move just yet. She stared at her watch and forced herself to wait a full two minutes.

Stiffly, she rolled from under the desk and began guiding the business end of the Electropick toward the keyhole in the drawer. Her hands trembled from the adrenaline still burning through her bloodstream.

She fumbled The tool into the opening and thumbed the switch. The tool did its thing. When she felt the pins slide into line, she removed the Electropick, inserted the tiny tosion bar, and twisted. She heard the bok snap into the lock position.

But when she tried to remove the bar, it wouldn't budge.

She moaned softly. "Oh, no! " What else could go wrong?

Her fingertips grew slick as she tried to wiggle it out. She thought she heard someone outside the office door. With one - last desperate, frantic tug she wrested the torsion bar from the lock and almost landed on her back.

Sweating, shaking, she jammed the Electropick and its - accessories into her pocket and hurried to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened. Quiet. She opened it a crack and sneaked a look at Barbara's desk. Empty. Gin took a breath, stepped through, and walked out.

She passed Barbara in the hall, carrying a printout.

"You're still here? " Barbara said.

"Practically on my way out. Say, did I hear Dr. Lathram's voice before? " "Yeah. But you missed him. He's already come and gone. I think he forgot something. Probably back on the golf course already.

" Yeah. Right.

"Barbara, I just have to look something up, then I'm gone. See you Thursday. ".

She hurried to the records room. Carol the file clerk had left for the day, so Gin had the room to herself. Manila foldes lined every inch of wall except for the dictation area in the corner. A computer terminal on the desk there, and a short shelf of medical reference texts. Gin grabbed the PDR and thumbed through the generic and chemical name index.

No listing for triptolinic diethylamide.

Not surprising. It wasn't in a commercial container.

Next was the Mersk Index, a weighty, small-print tome that lisad the name and formula of just about every available chemical compound. But again she struck out.

Gin sat at the dictation desk and stared at the blank face of the computer screen before her, wondering where to look next.

Okay. If the Index didn't list the stuff, it was either brand new or had never been reported to it.

She snapped her fingers. An investigational compound. Something in development. Had to be.

But how to track it down? The properties of new compounds were kept close to the vest during the development stages. But their formulas were registered immediately for patent protection.

Gin picked up the phone.

"Hi, Barbara. Don't we have a linkup to the FDA database? " "Sure.

And NIH, and the American College of, " '"How do I access the FDA? " '"It's kinda complicated. I've got an instruction manual somewhere around here that tells, '' "I'll be right up." Gin trotted upstairs where Barbara made a relay team handoff of the manual as Gin passed her desk. A minute later she was seated before the records-room computer, logging heself into the FDA computet, and picking her way through the various menus until she got to investigational compDunds in development.

But again no listing for triptolinic diethylamide.

Double damn. This was like chasing a phantom. But she wasn't giving up yet. There had to be some other way. The label on the bottle .

.

. the GEM Pharma colophon. What if she used the company as a starting point and worked back from there?

It took a good forty minutes of running into dead ends and backtracking, but she finally located triptolinic diethyl amide in the vast cybernetic waste bin of discarded registered compounds on which further research had been canceled.

She downloaded the file and tagged it with her initials, RFP for Regina Francesca Panzella, then logged off the database. Back in the Lathram system again, she entered "TYPE RFPMORE" and began reading from the hard drive.

A small file. Triptolinic diethylamide, referred to as TPD in the file, started off its existence at GEM Pharma as an investigational compound with antidepressant properties. Early animal- trials in mice and rats were encouraging, but when testing moved up to primates, TPD was found to be toxic, inducing psychotic states. All further investigation was canceled and GEM Pharma moved on to more promising compounds.

- A sudden queasy feeling rippled through Gin's stomach.

Toxic . . . psychotic states . . . Senator Vincent's behavior before his seizure was certainly disturbed, might even fit the criteria for psychotic. And from what she'd heard, even though he hadn't had any further seizures, mentally he remained far out in left field.

And Duncan . . . Duncan had been there, right there in the hearing room when it had happened.

A few feet to her left, she heard the laser printer begin to - hum.

- And Congressman Allard . . . he'd had that nasty fall and cerebral concussion that had left him disoriented, not quite sure of who or where he was. But what if it wasn't the concussion that had scrambled his thoughts? What if his thoughts had been scrambled before the fall . . . as he was going down the steps? What if the scrambled thoughts had cagsed the fall?

Gin's own thoughts began to feel scrambled. She blinked and rubbed her eyes with an unsteady hand as the queasy feeling rippled toward nausea.

Footsteps behind her. Quickly Gin blanked the screen, then looked up to see Barbara retrieving her printout.

"You okay? " Barbara said, staring at her.

"Hmmm? Why do you ask? " "Because you don't look so hot. I mean, you looked fine when you picked up that manual, now you look like you're gonna be sick." Maybe I am.

Gin rubbed her upper abdomen. "My stomach's bothering me." That was no lie.

"You're working too hard. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer. " "Maybe I already have. ' "I've got some Mylanta, " "That's okay. ' Barbara pointed to the FDA database manual. "You finished with that?

" "Yes. Thanks."

"I'm getting ready to leave, " Barbara said as she picked up the manual.

"You want me to lock you in? " "No. I've done all I can do here. I'm on my way." As Barbara went back upstairs, Gin shut off the terminal and got to her feet. She felt weak, confused as she trudged upstairs, ninety years old at least.

She was barely aware of her surroundings. Somewhere along the way she said good-bye to Barbara, but when she reached her car, she didn't start the engine. She sat behind the wheel and stared at the back of Duncan's officer building.

Vincent . . . Allard . . . but what about Schulz? He jumped off his balcony. Was that psychotic? Maybe, maybe not. But it certainly wasn't rational. And Congressman Lane. He died in a car accident with a high blood-alcohol level. She couldn't link that to Duncan. But she couldn't rule it out, either. What if the TPD reacted with alcohol?

Or what if it kicked in while he was driving? The same disorientation that could make you fall could make you drive off the road.

I hate this, she thought. She pounded her fist against the steering wheel. Hate it!

Duncan couldn't be involved in this. Couldn't, Listen to me. Involved in wha? No evidence that there was anything for Duncan to be involved in.

Then why the TPD? What legitimate reason could Duncan have for keeping a psychosis-inducing compound locked in his desk drawer?

Okay . . . Oliver used to work for GEM Pharma, the company name on the label. That would explain how the bottle found its way to Duncan. But why have it at all? Why keep something of no therapeutic value, something that was a proven toxin?

And what about the trocar, perfect for inserting one of Oliver's large-size implants, loaded with TPD, maybe? , under someone's skin, where it could nestle in the fat until Duncan zapped it with an ultrasound beam?

Wait a minute. Ultrasound. That was where this whole insane scenario broke down. Sure, Duncan had been at the Guidelines committee hearing when Senator Vincent went off the deep end, but Gin hadn't noticed him wheeling an ultrasound machine through the room.

And yet . . with microchips and printed circuits, it was certainly possible to have an ultrasound transducer small enough to fit in one's pocket and . . .

Gin rubbed her throbbing temples. She hated what she was thinking.

She began remembering Louisiana and wishing she'd stayed there.

If only she could know!

She shook herself and started the car. One thing she did know Come Thursday morning she was going to be on duty and she was not going to let Senator Marsden out of her sight for one second.

PRESURGICAL DUNCAN POURED A SECOND CUP OF COFFEE FROM. THE carafe and settled behind his desk. He liked Wednesday mornings in the cool stony quiet of the officer, especially when, like today, he could get in early and have the place to himself. With no surgery scheduled, he could dawdle with his coffee, savoring the silence and the aroma as he watched his koi meander around their pool in the rock garden, and catch up on his dictation, tidy up any loose ends from Monday's and Tuesday's procedures, then have the rest of the day to himself. Maybe he'd call Brad and convince him to take the afternoon off from classes, he figured Brad would need about ten sc-conds of convincing. Maybe they could get in a round of golf. He hadn't played in ages.

He picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV across the room. He switched from CNN to Today to Good Morning America to This Morning and then back to CNN. Apparently nothing newsworthy had happened yesterday, and the morning shows seemed interested only in movie stars.

C-SPAN was rerunning footage of presbyopic senators droning over long speeches to an empty chamber in support of or in opposition to some inconsequential bill.

Time to catch up on dictating his surgical reports. He pulled out his key and inserted it into the lock. It wouldn't turn. He tried it again, wiggling it back and forth, sliding it in and out. He checked to make sure it was the right key, then tried again and noticed that the key wasn't going in all the way. Something was wrong with the lock. Jammed somehow.

Now how the hell had that happened? It hadn't been sticking or showing any warning signs that something was amiss. Goddamn. What a world.

Didn't anybody make anything that worked?

He wandered out to Barbara's desk and now wished she were here. He needed to get a locksmith to get that damn thing open. He supposed he could call himself but it was probably too early. He grabbed a pen and left a note on Barbara's desk to call one as soon as she got in.

As he straightened and started to turn away, he noticed the manual for the FDA database Lying on Barbara's desk. Probably Oliver had needed it.

At least somebody was getting some use out of it.

He went in search of another minirecorder.

Gin levered up to a sitting position in bed.

"Oh my God! " She'd been Lying here, wishing she could rest easy and luxuriate. No surgery today, no moonlighting last night, and no meetings at the senator's until the afternoon. Should have been a great morning.

But yesterday's revelations wheeled over the bed like hungry vultures.

The trocar . . . the TPD . . . the information from the FDA . . .

she kept trying to put a fresh spin on them, one , wouldn't make Duncan look bad. Racking her brain, Ig over everything, she remembered the FDA download.

> "RFP" file she'd created on the hard drive.

eye hadn't erased it.

le jumped out of bed and began pulling on her clothes.

could brush her hair in the car, but no time for a shower.

had to get up to the office and erase that file. If Duncan found it, or Oliver ran across it and asked Duncan about he'd know she'd been in the drawer.

he grabbed her car keys and tan out.

" right, Doc, " the locksmith said. He was thin, looked ut forty, reeked of tobacco, and had Bill stitched on his " shirt.

"You're all set."

"Excellent, " Duncan said but didn't mean it. The man spent an hour on what should have been a fifteen-minute job. It hadn't been easy, but after twenty minutes of grunts and muttered curses, Bill finally got the drawer unlocked. Duncan hovered over him the whole time, and as soon as the drawer slipped open, he removed the TPD and trocar and put len in one of the cabinets on the other side of the room.

neither would mean a thing to the locksmith, but Duncan Lnted them safe and out of sight. As for the rest of the drawer's contents, he dumped them on the desktop.

Bill took the empty drawer out to his truck, saying he would work on it better there. Duncan figured he could also have a cigarette.

So now, after an interminable period, Bill was back.

"Had to pUt in a new lock."

"What was the matter with the old one? " "I wanted to know the same thing. Had to take it apart to find out. A little strange." Why did he seem hesitant?

"How so? " He fished in his pocket and brought OUt a piece of Scotch tape. He dropped it on the desktop in front of Duncan.

"This was in it." Duncan picked up the tape, a single piece folded on itself. Caught between the two sticky surfaces was a small shard of metal.

"How did this get in my lock? ' '"Somebody left it there."

"Now why on earth, ? " "Not on purpose. It looks like it broke off the tip of a tension bar."

"A tension bar? " "You know, something you use to pick locks with. ' No, Duncan did not know. He stared at Bill as a spasm rippled through his intestines. He dropped the tape, then snatched it off the desk.

Had this man actually said . . . ?

"What? " Duncan's expression must have been fierce, because Bill began verbally back pedaling.

"I can't be sure, of course, but that's the first thing I thought of when I saw it drop out of the cylinder."

"But that's ridiculous! ' He realized he'd raised his voice. He hadn't meant to do that.

"Hey, okay, " Bill said, making conciliatory motions with his hands.

"Don't get excited. Makes no difference to me. If you ain't missin' nothin', then I guess maybe I could be wrong. But it sure looks like the tip of a tension bar." Duncan's mind raced back over the contents of the drawer. The TPD, the trocar, Lisa's photo, the recorder, and some miscellaneous junk. All there when they'd opened. the drawer.

He modulated his tone. "Well, I'm not missing anything.

And I don't keep anything in there worth stealing in the first place.

So I guess that means the lock wasn't picked." Bill shrugged, averting his gaze. "You could say that. Could also say that the piece might've chipped off and jammed in there before whoever it was got the drawer open." Duncan winced as the spasm tightened its grip on his gut. He's right.

But who in the world . . . ?

"Yes, well, since nothing is missing, I think I'll just forget about it. But I'm certainly glad you brought it to my . . .

attention. "Hey, no problem." When Bill left, leaving a set of keys for the new ock, Duncan went to the appliance cabinet and checked the TPD bottle.

He hadn't memorized the previous fluid level but it appeared unchanged.

The autoclave envelope was still sealed around the trocar. He replaced both in the drawer and locked it. Then he leaned back in his desk chair and felt his gut slowly uncoil as he willed himself toward calm.

All right. Let's be rational. Very strange. And very unsettling.

But where was the logical reason for anyone to try to get into that drawer, and by picking the lock, of all things?

And what was there, really, to worry about? Even if someone had found the TPD, what could they do? They wouldn't know what it was. TPD was an orphaned, abandoned compound. The only record of its existence was in the dead files of GEM Pharma, and in the cavernous data banks of the .

. .

FDA.

Good Lord!

Duncan bolted from the chair and hurried out to the reception area.

'"Barbara! Did you use the FDA database yesterday? " "No, I, " "I saw the manual on your desk this morning." She leaned back from him, a startled expression on hex face. He hadn't intended to speak so harshly.

"I, I gave it to Dr. Panzella yesterday. She asked for it, so I dug it out for her." He was stunned. Gin?

"That was all right, wasn't it? " Gin?

"What? Oh, yes. Fine." Time for a little damage control. "I was just looking for it. I have to use it . . . need some data from the FDA myself." Barbara handed it to him and he returned to his office, shaking his head at the image of Gin attempting to pick a lock.

Absurd. Laughable.

And yet . . .

She certainly had access and opportunity. But why would she? No. No way.

And yet . . .

The jammed lock, Gin asking for the FDA manual . . . the juxtaposition was just a little too close.

Duncan returned to his desk and turned on his computer terminal. Maybe there was some way to find out just what she was after from the FDA.

Gin stiffened behind the wheel when she saw Duncan's car in the lot.

Not that unusual for him to be here on a Wednesday morning, but she'd been hoping and praying he'd have done whatever it was he did and be gone by now.

Well, she couldn't let that stop her. She jumped out of her car and hurried for the rear entrance.

She'd use the old, as yet untried Forgot-my-Senate-lDbadge excuse if anyone asked why she was here. The whole -ocedure would take ten seconds, log into the hard drive Del the file with the triptolinic diethylamide data, log out, , en get the hell out of Dodge.

Simple.

God, it better be.

. uncan had logged in to the FDA database but that was no elp. No way to tell what Gin had done. He'd even called the FDA, but three different clerks hadn't the vaguest idea ow to help him.

Seething with frustration, he exited the program and back, staring at the C-prompt. There had to be a way . . but what if there wasn't anything to find? And even if eye had been searching for TPD, she may never have found it. ars back, Duncan himself had had a devil of a time ccessing it and he'd known where to look. But if she had and it and simply read the information on the screen, There'd be no trail, no way for him to know. Only if she'd downloaded the file, Duncan straightened in his chair.

Download. She'd have to create a download file, have to a the incoming data before it could be written to the hard drive. He punched in DIR/OD and entered it. The entire contents of the hard drive, every directory and free file scrolled up before him at an unreadable pace.

No matter. If , in had downloaded directly to the hard drive, he'd find it >e, somewhere near the end of the list. If she'd routed the into one of the directories, he'd have to search it OUt srectory by directory. And if she'd erased it . . . well, then e'd just be wasting his time

And how would he recognize it, anyway? Would she have Lbeled it TPD?

Hardly.

And suddenly there it was, at the bottom of the screen.

eye last file. "RFP" followed by yesterday's date.

Regina F. Panzella. He'd forgotten what the F. stood for, as if that mattered. What was in that file?

He punched in TYPE RFP and watched the lines zip up the screen. When the scrolling stopped at the end of the file, he read the final line.

CURRENT STATUS, Further investigation of triptolinic diethylamide disrontinved.

No! He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see that.

He pushed away from the chair and wandered the room, turning this way and that with sharp, agitated movements. He couldn't be still. He felt as if some unseen force were at his back, propelling him around his office. This hurt like a sucker punch. Gin had been in his locked drawer, she'd picked the damn lock! How could she? Why would she?

That was the most unnerving question. Why? She couldn't suspect anything. He'd been too careful. He'd used a cuttingedge system only a few people were aware of to deliver a drug hardly anyone knew existed.

There had to be something else.

How much does she know?

Obviously she knows about the TPD. But what else?

And how to find out? He couldn't simply sit her down and ask her.

His peregrination took him near the door then and he heard Barbara call good-bye to someone. Suddenly he had to know who. His privacy had been violated, his little fortress had been broached. He wanted the name, rank, and serial number of everyone who walked through those doors.

He stuck his head through the door. "Who was that? " Barbara turned.

"Dr. Panzella."

"Really." He kept a calm facade as alarms clanged anew in his head.

"I hadn't realized she was here."

"Oh, she just popped in to pick up something she left yesterday." Her lock-picking kit? he wondered as he nodded and closed the door.

What was Gin up to now? What was she doing sneaking around here on her day off? Prying into more of his private affairs?

He made a fist.

Betrayed. By Gin.

He wanted to punch something.

I saved your life, f, hild!

How could she? And what had she done just now?

A thought struck him. He stepped back to his terminal and reran a DIR on the hard drive. The scroll of directories blurred past as before, but ended in a different place.

No "RFP" file.

She must have realized she'd left the file on the disk and came bacLa to cover her tracks. The perfidious little ingrate. What was she up to?

And dammit, how much did she Xenovv?

He had to have answers, and soon. Before next Friday.

GINA GINA YAWNED AND SHOOK HERSELF AS SHE WOVE through the traffic on Connecticut Avenue.

Tired.

Not just tired. Exhausted.

She'd done a shift as house doc last night. Tried to get out of it, tried to trade, but no one was buying.

At least she'd been able to get Jim Grady to agree to take the last two hours of her shift. But much as she'd love to, she wouldn't be using the time for sleep. She wanted to get the jump on Duncan before today's surgery. She was going to be there first, be there when Duncan arrived, and keep an eye on him until Senator Marsden arrived. After that she was going to stick to the senator like Krazy Glue, Assist with his surgery and not let him out of her sight until he walked out to his waiting car.

She turned into the office parking lot and skidded to a halt. Duncan's black Mercedes was already in his space.

She pounded her fist against the steering wheel. Damn it!

All right. She'd have to adjust. If Duncan asked she'd simply say she got off her shift early but not early enough to go home first.

She pulled into one of the staff spaces and hurried to the door. Once inside she stopped. Muzak filtered through the air, a lush, inappropriate string arrangement of a Beatles tune, accompanied by the rich aroma of Duncan's fresh coffee. Gin wasn't tempted. She'd been drinking coffee all night.

Her shoes were soft-soled and made no sound and she walked slowly down the hall toward his office. She slipped past Barbara's desk and listened a moment at the open door. No sound from within. Not even the television. Duncan almost always had CNN or C-SPAN running. She tapped lightly as she peeked inside.

' Duncan? " Empty. Except for the heavy aroma of coffee, the office was pretty much as she'd left it on Tuesday. But where was he?

As she turned to leave, a glint of light from the desktop caught her eye. She stepped closer. A bottle.

Her mouth went dry as she recognized the TPD. It sat on a metal tray.

So did the trocar and obturator, now sealed inside an autoclave pouch.

The assembly had been sterilized. Why? Being readied for use? Beside it lay an uncapped syringe. And a large implant. A full implant.

She felt sick. The room swayed and nausea rippled through her stomach.

Oh, Duncan! It's true!

Tears welled in her eyes, a sob bubbled in her throat. How could he?

Then Gin heard a door slam somewhere out in the hall. Panic bolted through her. She couldn't let him catch her in here.

She spun and ran to the door. No one in sight but she could hear footsteps approaching from around the corner. Her heart pounding madly, she scampered two doors down and ducked into the employee restroom. She stood-there gasping, sweating as the nausea surged back.

Then she bent over the toilet and retched.

Nothing came up. As she turned and sagged against the sink, tasting the acid in her throat, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, pale, sick, trembling.

Dunaan . . . Duncan . . . Duncan . . . this can't be happening.

This Can't be you!

But it was Duncan. The pieces all fit. Her wildest speculations had been right on target. Duncan was poisoning these men, implanting a neurotoxin in their tissues, sending them over the edge into psychosis . . .

Where he himself already was.

Gin gripped the edge of the sink and steadied herself. She splashed water on her face and tried to focus her thoughts.

Duncan had had a breakdown.

Not a breakdown, she told herself. Let's get clinical. Use your training.

Not easy to do when it was someone so close, but she had to take a couple of steps back and look at him.

Duncan . . . some form of paranoid schizophrenia . . . taking revenge on the Guidelines committee for ruining his practice years ago . . .

and now, in his mind, threatening to destroy all medical practice.

Paranoid delusions were often anchored, however tenuously, in reality, but the psychosis magnified the threat. Every one was a potential enemy. He could rely on no one, so his only recourse was to take drastic action on his own.

Left alone, Duncan most likely was a danger to no one but the Guidelines committee. But if challenged, if threatened, if cornered, he could be unpredictable, could become a danger to anyone within reach.

So what do I do? she asked her reflection as she dried her face. Her color was better now. Her sick expression had faded. She felt a little more in control, but only a little. Her stomach had settled and she wasn't looking to run.

One thing she knew not to do, Confront Duncan. He might go wild, do something crazy. Except he's already done that. Four times. Possibly more.

With Senator Marsden next.

A violent tremor rattled through her, starting in her spine and rolling outward. An after shock.

Get a grip, Panzella. You can handle this.

She straightened, smoothed her blouse, shook her hair back, and tried to think of a plan.

She wouldn't say or do anything this morning. Act naturally. Give Duncan no hint that she suspected a thing. She'd do what was expected and maybe a little more, assist on the surgery, sit with the senator through recovery, see him off, then leave. But as soon as she got home she'd call Gerry, tell him about the TPD, the ultrasound and trocar, fax him the newspaper clippings, and let the FBI or the Secret Service or whoever take over.

Act naturally. Right.

She stepped out into the hall and walked back toward Duncan's office, trying to look casual. Barbara's desk was empty. Still too early for her. As before, Gin stepped around and approached the door. This time there was sound from within. The TV was on.

She tapped and called Duncan's name but no one replied. She stepped inside. A quick glance around, still empty, and then her eyes went to the desk.

The desktop was clear except for the computer terminal and the usual papers and journals.

The tray with the TPD, the syringe, the trocar, and the implant was gone.

Another tremor, another wave of dizziness, but short-lived this time

She was in control again.

What did you expect? He's not going to leave that stuff on display all morning. Locked away in the drawer now, ready for use.

She set her jaw. Not today, Duncan. Not on my senator.

"Well! You're early today. ' Gin almost yelped with surprise as Duncan breezed by her and crossed the office to his coffeemaker.

"I got out early, " she managed to say.

"Good. We've got a lot to do today." He filled a cup from the carafe and held it up. "Coffee? " "No, thanks."

"Nonsense. It's genuine pure Kona, shipped directly from a plantation south of Kailua. You must have some. I insist." Maybe she'd better, just to be sociable '"Okay. Just a taste."

"You'll love this, ' he said, pouring and handing her a steaming cup.

He hovered as she sipped, and beamed when she nodded.

"Hmmm. This is great." She watched him fuss with his funnel and filter. He was dressed in gray slacks, a blue oxford button-down shirt, and a maroon crew-neck sweater.

He looked so relaxed, so damn normal. But she knew that was often the way with the paranoid schiz. Perfectly sane and normal in every aspect of their lives except the one delusional facet. She remembered a case study about a successful businessman, ran three companies, an exemplary husband and father, loved by all, one day going berserk when one of his vice presidents tapped a cigarette ash into the urn that housed the little blue man who advised him.

Duncan stopped what he was doing to stare a moment at the TV. C-SPAN was replaying an interview with the Speaker of the House. He grimaced.

"They shouldn't allow this stuff on during the day."

"Why not? " "Children might see it, " he said with a mischievous wink.

"C-SPAN should be limited to late-night broadcasts. Children in their formative years should not be exposed to politicians. People whine about violence on TV, but this is far more corrupting." Gin forced a smile. She could not find him funny now.

He continued to stare at the screen. "Where do they find these people?

" "They were elected, ' Gin said coldly. "It's the American way.

They ran for office and they got the most votes." '"Yes. Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. No one you'd really like to see in public office has the bad taste to run. And if he does, he's not going to win " "I can think of at least one exception, " she said, thinking of Senator Marsden.

"A rara avis, I assure you. Think about it, Gin. On one side you've got a man of intelligence and integrity. Against his better judgment he agrees to run, thinking he might be able to do something meaningful.

But he won't suck up to ward bosses, won't kiss babies or judge hog contests or put on an apron and a white cap for a bake shop photo op.

He insists on being judged by his positions on the issues. On the other side, however, you've got a political hanger-on who'll promise anything to anyone, make deals left and right, and pose any time someone ligts a camera, do anything it takes, anything at all, to get a vote." Duncan turned to her. Suddenly he was fiercely intent. "Tell me, Gin. Who's going to win that election? " Gin couldn't answer.

He had a point, damn him.

"I repeat, " he said, not waiting for an answer. "People who deserve to be elected rarely run. And when they do, they do not win. That's the American way " "I don't know of a better system. Do you? " '"No, " Duncan said with a sigh. "But that doesn't mean it can't be improved. We limit the president to two terms. Why not limit the legislature? " '"Senator Marsden has imposed his own term limits, " she said, getting in a plug. "Two terms and he's out." - "We'll see about that." Gin heard an ominous ring in that remark.

"Speaking of the good senator, " Duncan said, "he's last on the list this morning. And you're assisting, I believe? " "That's right. " '"By your own request, am I right? ' '"Right again."

"Why is that?

You've never before requested to assist on a specific patient." '"I work for the man. ' - He turned and eyed her. "Do you think that's wise? You're not afraid of being emotionally involved? I could call Cassidy, " "This isn't exactly life-and-death surgery And I'm only assisting.

" Why all these questions? He'd never quizzed her like this before.

Then again, aren't paranoids suspicious of everyone?

"Very well. We'll scrub at nine forty-five. Marie will have him under by ten o'clock. We should be done in plenty of time for lunch. " "Under? You're using general? " "Of course."

"Won't local do? " He eyed her. "You've been working here for how long? This is the first instance I can recall you questioning the level of anesthesia. Are you sure you're not too involved with this patient? " General meant Marsden would be groggy after surgery.

Duncan could pop that implant under his skin without the senator ever knowing.

"Quite sure, " she said. "It's just that it seems like such a small lesion, I was just wondering, " "I've got to make a wide enough incision to excise all of that tumor and leave no chance of recurrence. Then I've got to graft and rebuild the top of the auricle so it doesn't look like someone took a shot at his head and barely missed. I don't want him twitching or getting a crick in his neck and jerking his head while I'm in the middle of it.

Don't you think that's justification enough for general anesthesia? " "Of course, " she snapped, the tension getting to her. "I was just asking." A slow smile played around his lips. "A bit edgy this morning, aren't we? " She placed her half-empty cup on his desk and started for the door.

"Too much coffee, I guess. ' Out in the hall she felt her tough facade crumble. Duncan was calling all the shots. She prayed she'd be able to carry this off The surgery went smoothly. Duncan did a beautiful job of excising, grafting, and rebuilding the upper auricle of Senator Marsden's ear. And Gin did what she hoped was an equally skillful job of protecting the rest of the senator.

First, she personally helped Oliver fill a batch of his tiniest implants, one of which would be used in the senator's ear. As soon as the senator arrived, she saw to it that he was never alone with Duncan.

She accomplished that by being constantly at either the senator's or Duncan's side until the surgery.

Strangely enough, Duncan had shown no sign of frustration or agitation.

Gin had been worried that he might fly into a rage or do something rash when he found it impossible to get the senator alone. But considering the fact that she was thwarting his scheme at every turn, he appeared to be in the best of spirits.

That worried Gin even more. So now she sat watch beside the snoring Senator Marsden as he slept off the anesthetic in the V.I.P room. He stirred for the second time in the past five minutes. He was coming out of it. The ordeal was almost over.

Thank God. She was dead tired. Sitting here with the early afternoon sun pouring in the window, she might have dozed off if it weren't for her bladder. The pressure in her pelvis was becoming unbearable. She couldn't remember ever having to go this bad, but she wasn't leaving this room for a second.

"How's he doing? ' She started and twisted in her chair at the sound of Duncan's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame with one hand.

"I've never seen you so jumpy, Gin. Maybe you're tight about too much coffee."

"I'm okay, " she said, trying to keep the tension out of her voice.

Was this it? Was this when he'd try something?

Duncan smiled. "Good. But how's the senator? He's the patient, remember? " "Coming up. He should be awake in a few minutes." Not true, but she didn't want Duncan to think he had time to make his move.

"Excellent." He glanced at his watch. "Look. I've got to run. The links are calling. And since you've decided to be his recovery-room nurse as well as his surgical assistant and legislative aide, you can handle him from here on. Just make sure Barbara gives him the usual instructions on graft care and schedules a follow-up appointment for next week." Gin stared at him. Baffled. Speechless.

"Gin?

"You're leaving? " she said.

"Is there a reason I should stay? " "Well, no. I just . . . have a good "Thanks. I will." game." He waved and was gone, leaving Gin sitting and staring at the empty doorway.

Am I going off the deep end? she wondered.

Hadn't she seen the tray with the TPD, trocar, and implant sitting on Duncan's desk? Why, if he had no intention of using it today? Unless .

. . Unless she had this whole thing wrong.

What if she'd misinterpreted, misunderstood? What if, ?

No. The pieces fit too neatly. Duncan was up to some thing.

But what? He hadn't had an opportunity to dose the senator with that implant, Gina was sure of that. She'd stymied his plan. So what did he do? He ducked out to play golf. Except he never went to his golf club when he said he did.

Gin's head whirled. She was beginning to have a surreal feeling.

What was going on here?

But at least with Duncan gone, she could run to the bathroom. Her bladder was going to burst if she didn't. She stepped out into the hall and went to the back door. Duncan's parking spot was empty. She ducked into the restroom.