Donor

SEVENTEEN

Dunbar knew his only chance of survival was to get out of the building before the other man returned or the security men came across from the gate-house. What about the staff? He decided they couldn’t be here. Research must have been suspended while Ross and the Arabs were using the farm as a prison. He was totally disorientated. He didn’t know what day it was or even whether it was day or night. He dragged himself to the front door and then stopped when he realized that he couldn’t go out this way. The door faced the gate-house. He would be seen. It might even be broad daylight out there. There was only one alternative and it wasn’t an attractive one. He would have to go out through the slurry pipe he and Jimmy Douglas had used.

He balked at the idea. He wasn’t at all sure he had either the stamina or the courage for it in his current condition but there seemed to be no alternative. But then what? There’d be no car waiting three hundred yards up the road this time and he didn’t have the strength for a prolonged cross-country run. Despair was on the horizon when he remembered Jimmy Douglas’s Land-Rover and the keys the hotel laundry had returned to him. Please God he had them with him and please God they were the only set of keys for the vehicle. Jimmy had said something about having it picked up. He felt in his pocket and found the keys.

If the police hadn’t taken the Land-Rover away, and there was a good chance that they hadn’t, he could use it… but only if he could reach it. His stomach turned over at the thought of the slurry pipe. Going out through it posed a whole new set of problems. It was going to be even worse than coming in. At least last time he’d been able to open the drain covers from the outside and step down into the pit. This time he’d have to open the covers from below. For that he would have to submerge himself completely in the sump.

Dunbar started to prepare mentally for the nightmare ahead. He imagined himself outside in the fresh air, heading for freedom across the open fields; but reality kept intruding. If he made it to the outside he’d emerge from the pipe like the creature from the black lagoon and there’d be no water or clean clothes available. He had a sudden thought. There must be some kind of clothing kept in the building for research workers. If he could find a change of clothing and some plastic to wrap it up in…

He found what he was looking for in a linen cupboard in the hallway leading to the staff locker room. He helped himself to a surgical tunic and trousers and added a towel to his bundle. A further search uncovered a roll of plastic bin sacks. He tore one off and put the clothes and towel inside, making the package as flat as possible. He tucked it inside his shirt against his chest and smoothed it as best he could.

He was getting stronger by the minute as the effects of the drug in his bloodstream wore off, but the thought of the slurry pipe still filled him with dread. If he failed to raise the drain covers from below, the ultimate in claustrophobic nightmares would become his, followed quickly by his death.

Dunbar removed the inside grille with slow deliberation and eased himself feet first into the pipe. It was only fear of the consequences of being recaptured that drove him on. The pigs round about grunted their approval. The horizontal section of the pipe was easy; then came the turn into the vertical drop. Dunbar could feel the blood pounding inside his head as he resolved not to stop and think. He closed his eyes and held his breath as he wriggled slowly backwards until gravity took over; his rate of slide accelerated and he fell straight down into the slurry, landing with a jolt that travelled up his spine and rattled his teeth. He was now standing in the slurry pit. Next he had to wriggle down and out of the mouth of the pipe and raise the drain covers, and then he would be free.

He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He raised his face as far as possible from the slurry and took in a breath of air from above. He gagged and knew that he couldn’t do that again. He writhed and wriggled down into the pit and immersed himself in its contents before slamming his back and shoulders up against the drain covers. They didn’t budge. Nightmare thoughts of their being padlocked filled his head as he strained up at them again. This time they gave with a loud sucking sound. Recent rain had sealed the edges with mud and water, creating a vacuum seal. He took in a huge breath of night air and tried to clear the filth from his face and eyes. The sky was black as pitch and it was raining.

Fighting the urge to retch, he replaced the drain covers… and remembered the electric fence. The realization made him sink to his knees and brought him close to tears. There was no question of trying to go over it or dig a way under it and he certainly didn’t have anything to cut and bridge it with on this occasion. He’d have to leave by the front entrance.

He wriggled up to the corner of the building on his belly and decided on his route. It wasn’t going to be as difficult as he’d first imagined. The gate-house was designed mainly to monitor people coming in rather than leaving. If he could cross the twenty metres of open ground between the main building and the gate-house without being seen, he could get round the back and into the neighbouring field at the corner where the electric fence ended. He got up on to his haunches and prepared for the short sprint. He was still a little unsteady so he took his time in composing himself. A stumble could be fatal.

The men inside the gate-house seemed to be moving around a good deal. Dunbar waited until none of them was near the window facing the main building, then sprinted across the tarmac and into the welcoming shadows. He paused, motionless, for a few moments before continuing round the blind side of the gate-house and squeezing through into the neighbouring field where the electric fence ended.

Dunbar started out on his journey towards the abandoned rail station where his hopes were pinned on the Land-Rover still being parked. The night was so dark that he kept stumbling and losing his footing as he made his way diagonally across the first field to follow the line of the road. The icy rain was doing something to clear the mess from his head and face but he desperately wanted to find water flowing in one of the many ditches he had to cross. It wasn’t until he was on the far side of the second field that he found a small stream running down the side of a pine wood. The water was freezing cold, but sluicing himself down with it was preferable to carrying on in his current condition.

It seemed as if every muscle in his body went into shivering spasm as he stripped off his contaminated clothing and knelt down in the water to clean himself. When he’d finished, he scrambled out on to the bank in ungainly fashion and brushed off excess water with the palms of his hands as best he could before extracting the towel from the binsack and rubbing himself down vigorously to maintain circulation. He put on the surgical tunic and trousers, cursing the fact that it was difficult because he wasn’t properly dry and his movements were jerky because he was shivering. He emptied the pockets of his old clothes and then stuffed them as a rolled-up bundle under a stone below the bank. He started running as fast as he dared in an effort to work up some warmth. He was still shivering all over when he finally reached the car park and saw that Jimmy’s Land-Rover was still there.

The engine rattled into life. Dunbar willed it to heat up quickly so that he might have the warmth of the heater to fight against threatening hypothermia. He crunched the vehicle into gear because the shivering of his leg made holding down the clutch pedal difficult. He bumped a little too fast over the broken surface, bouncing himself off the seat as the vehicle lurched out on to the road. He had to get to a phone box.

Although he was trying to travel as fast as he could he had the feeling of being trapped in a slow-motion world. Every gear change seemed to take for ever as the revs fell, the gears crunched and the build-up suggested he was towing a juggernaut. He resorted to staying in low gear and screaming the engine as he fought his way along the twisting country road back to town.

There was a woman dialling in the first phone box he came to. Dunbar screeched the Land-Rover to a halt beside her and got out. The mere sight of him, staggering from exhaustion, hair soaking wet and wearing medical attendant’s clothing, made the woman change her mind about the urgency of her call. She stumbled out of the box and took to her heels, looking anxiously behind her at what she obviously saw as an escapee from a lunatic asylum.

There was an awful moment when Dunbar couldn’t remember the number of the Sick Children’s Hospital but it came back to him. He then failed to dial it properly because the trembling in his hand made him hit two buttons together no fewer than three times. He took a deep breath, calmed himself and succeeded at the fourth attempt. He asked for Clive Turner, praying that he’d be there. He had no idea of time or date for that matter.

‘Dr Turner.’

‘Thank Christ,’ stammered Dunbar.

‘Who is this?’ asked Turner.

‘Clive, it’s Steven Dunbar. Has Amanda Chapman had her operation yet?’

‘Steven? Where the hell are you? What’s happened? You sound strange.’

‘Just tell me. Has Amanda had her operation yet?’

‘It was scheduled for eight this evening. Her father phoned me this morning. What’s happening? Where are you?’

Dunbar’s heart sank. ‘What time is it now?’ he asked.

‘Ten past nine. What is it? Where are you? What’s wrong?’

‘Listen! They’re deliberately giving Amanda the wrong kidney. They want her to die so they can steal her heart and give it to another patient.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ exclaimed Turner.

‘Believe me, it’s true. We’ve got to do something to save Amanda if there’s still time.’

‘What can we do? If you say they’re giving her the wrong kidney…’

‘They’ve had the matched kidney sent from Geneva. It must have arrived by now if they’re doing the operation, but they only plan to give it to Amanda after she’s dead. If we can get there in time we can see that she gets it instead of the bloody animal organ they’re giving her!’

‘I just can’t believe this is happening,’ stammered Turner.

‘Clive, just trust me. It’s true. Can you get a surgical team together and meet me in the car park at Medic Ecosse as soon as you can? I’m going to call in the cavalry.’

‘There’s only a surgical houseman and one theatre technician on duty at the moment.’

‘Do what you can. I think I can get you a theatre nurse.’

Dunbar called Lisa next.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s been two days!’

‘I’m sorry. There’s no time for explanations,’ said Dunbar. He gave her the briefest of summaries of what was happening and said, ‘They may need all the help they can get tonight. You’re an experienced theatre nurse. Will you help?’

‘Of course. What do you want me to do?’

‘Get over there as quick as you can. Meet us in the car park.’

Next Dunbar called Sci-Med in London. He had to reverse the charges. His money had run out. Luckily his call was accepted automatically.

‘This is Steven Dunbar in Glasgow. I need help urgently. Everything will have to be done from your end. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ said the duty officer. ‘But I may have to call for authorization.’

‘Do what I ask first!’ insisted Dunbar. ‘Then call anyone you like. I’ll take full responsibility. I need police back-up at the Medic Ecosse Hospital as fast as you can get them there, and some of them should be armed. They’ve not to do anything until I get there but I won’t be long. Tell them to wait outside the car park and out of sight. Okay?’

‘You’re sure about the arms?’

‘I suspect at least two of the opposition are carrying.’ Dunbar was thinking of the Arab guards on the Omega Wing. Hopefully they wouldn’t be involved but it was better to be safe than sorry.

‘Anything else?’

‘I need a couple of WPCs in the squad.’ Again, he was thinking of the Omega wing.

‘Anything else?’

‘I need a forensic pathologist to examine a kidney biopsy.’

‘We’ll ask the police. Is that it?’

‘Those are the priorities but the police might like to take a trip out to a place called Vane Farm; it’s north of Glasgow on Lomond Road. I’ve been held there for the last two days by some Arab gentlemen, one of whom might have been admitted to hospital by now with severe hand and arm injuries.’

‘I’ll pass that on. Sounds like you’re having a busy time.’

‘Just get on to it right away.’

‘Will do.’

Dunbar got back in the Land-Rover and headed for Medic Ecosse as fast as he could. He couldn’t help but imagine Amanda lying on the operating table, being ever so precisely and carefully murdered.

As he got to within a mile of the hospital he was passed by a speeding police car on a long downhill section of the road. He snatched the opportunity and put his foot to the floor to take advantage of the swathe it was cutting through traffic. This was fine going downhill and even on the following straight section once his speed had built up, but the Land-Rover wasn’t built for cornering like the police car. Every sharp turn was a white-knuckle ride on two wheels before clattering back down on to four again.

As the two vehicles screeched to a halt in the street outside the hospital car park, Dunbar allowed himself to slump forward momentarily on to the steering wheel in deference to mental exhaustion. He needed a moment to calm himself and regain composure. Both policemen from the car in front were at his doors before he knew it.

‘What the hell d’you think you were doing back there?’ demanded one. ‘Bloody idiot! Get out the vehicle.’

‘I’m Steven Dunbar,’ replied Dunbar. ‘You’re here to assist me.’

The two men exchanged uncertain glances and looked at Dunbar’s appearance and clothing with some suspicion.

‘Get me whoever’s in charge,’ snapped Dunbar, putting an end to their uncertainty. ‘Now!’

He saw Clive Turner and Lisa coming to meet him. They were joined, before they reached him, by a police superintendent.

‘Look at the state of you,’ said Lisa putting her arms round him.

‘You look all in,’ said Turner.

‘Dr Dunbar? I’m Superintendent Renton. What is it you want us to do?’

‘There’s a transplant operation going on in there. We’re going to interrupt it. They’re murdering the patient, not curing her. I’d like you to escort us wherever we go and generally smooth the way.’

‘What opposition can we expect?’ asked Remton.

Dunbar told him about the Arab guards on the Omega wing and that he suspected they might be armed.

‘We’ll deal with them first. Just tell us where to find them.’

Lisa told the policeman where the Omega wing was, while Dunbar asked Clive Turner how many people he’d managed to recruit at short notice.

‘Two medical, one theatre technician.’

‘Lisa’s a qualified theatre nurse,’ said Dunbar.

Turner and Lisa acknowledged each other.

Dunbar walked over to join Renton, who was standing with his radio held up at face level. ‘Every second is important,’ he impressed on him.

‘I’m waiting to hear from the armed response team. They’ve just gone in.’

The seconds seemed like hours. A car drew up and a man in civilian clothes got out.

‘Farrow, police pathologist,’ said Renton. His radio crackled into life and the disarming of the Arab guards was confirmed. ‘All right,’ said Renton. ‘Lead on.’

Dunbar led the run along the corridors and up the stairs to the transplant unit. Questions from bemused staff were brushed aside as he led the way to the scrub room and asked the policemen to wait outside for the time being. He didn’t want them intruding in a surgically clean area. He warned the others that he didn’t know what to expect from those in theatre. ‘Be prepared for anything,’ he advised. ‘Now let’s scrub up.’

Medic Ecosse staff in the scrub facility were ushered out of the room into police custody while Dunbar and the others took over. Dunbar was the last to be ready, having had to shower before going through normal scrub procedure. When they were all gowned and masked, he turned to Turner and asked, ‘All right?’

Turner nodded nervously and adjusted his mask.

Dunbar entered the theatre first and met the eyes of the lead surgeon across the table. It wasn’t Ross. It was Hatfull.

‘What the… Who the hell are you?’ asked Hatfull.

‘Steven Dunbar, Dr Hatfull. I’m here with the authority of the Sci-Med Inspectorate and the backing of Strathclyde Police. What stage are you at?’

‘What the… What the hell is this all about?’ stammered Hatfull.

‘What stage are you at?’ demanded Dunbar.

‘About ten minutes from the exchange. What do you think you’re doing? Don’t you realize what we’re involved in here?’

‘You’re about to give this child the wrong kidney,’ said Dunbar, watching Hatfull’s eyes.

Hatfull was almost apoplectic. ‘The wrong kidney!’ he stormed. ‘The damned thing has come all the way from Geneva. It’s as near a perfect a match as you can possibly get.’

‘It’s been switched.’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Not by you,’ conceded Dunbar, accepting that Hatfull seemed to know nothing of the affair. ‘Don’t remove her own kidney just yet. We’re going to take a biopsy of the donor organ. We’ll have to wait for the result.’

Hatfull ran the back of his forearm along his brow in frustration. ‘Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?’ he asked. He’d given up blustering; he said it quietly.

‘Our one chance of saving Amanda Chapman’s life is to find the kidney that came from Geneva. Any ideas?’

Hatfull looked at the ice-filled container beside him. Turner was taking a sliver of tissue from the kidney in it.

‘That’s not it, I promise,’ said Dunbar.

‘Then… I’ve no idea,’ said Hatfull.

‘Do your best to keep her stable,’ said Dunbar. ‘Any idea where Ross is this evening?’

‘He left for Geneva earlier today.’

Dunbar’s eyes widened over his mask. ‘Geneva?’ he repeated. This was a show-stopper.

The tissue sample from the donor kidney was bottled and handed over to Farrow.

‘Quick as you can,’ said Turner.

Dunbar went out of the theatre and out into the corridor where he pulled down his mask.

‘How’s it going in there?’ asked Renton.

‘Badly,’ confessed Dunbar. ‘Our main suspect ran off to Geneva this afternoon. The surgical team in there know nothing about the scam, so Ross is the only one who knows where the real donor organ is. Shit! What a mess.’

Dunbar was berating himself for not having considered that Ross wouldn’t be doing Amanda’s operation himself. He hadn’t done Kenneth Lineham’s or Amy Teasdale’s either. He probably thought it wise to distance himself from these operations once he’d switched the human organ for an animal one. But Geneva? The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. If Amanda reacted like the others, she’d be dead within twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Ross would have to be on hand to do the heart transplant with his own surgical team, the Americans he’d seen arriving two days ago. If the Omega surgical team were already here, it didn’t make any sense for Ross to be in Geneva. He wasn’t, Dunbar concluded. It was a lie. He was locked away in the Omega wing with the others.

Dunbar told Renton what he thought.

‘If that’s so, I don’t think anyone’s been alerted up there. The armed response team took the two men on the door without any trouble. They’re holding them downstairs.’

‘Then we go in,’ said Dunbar.

‘Armed?’

‘Maybe one armed officer. We don’t know who’s inside,’ replied Dunbar.

Renton, Dunbar, three constables, including a WPC, and an armed response unit officer wearing full protective gear and carrying an automatic weapon moved quickly up the stairs to the Omega wing and entered through its now unguarded doors. Everything was quiet inside. They moved along the main corridor in silence, listening outside doors as they went. They stopped when they heard women’s voices coming from one of the rooms. They were speaking Arabic.

‘The patient’s room,’ whispered Dunbar.

They had just started to move off again when a door ahead opened and an Arab woman stepped out into the corridor. She saw them and let out a scream. A door on the other side of the corridor opened and Leo Giordano looked out. He saw Dunbar and quickly backed in again.

‘In there!’ said Dunbar leading the charge.

Giordano failed to get the door closed in time. Dunbar put his shoulder to it and kept the stalemate until two of the constables added their weight and it crashed open.

‘This is an outrage!’ said Giordano.

‘Save your breath,’ said Dunbar looking round the room. Ross was there, along with Kinscherf, Ingrid, two Arab men and the American medics.

‘I’ve stopped Amanda Chapman’s transplant,’ said Dunbar, looking directly at Ross. ‘I know what’s been going on. Where’s the real donor kidney?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Ross calmly, meeting Dunbar’s stare. ‘This is an outrage. Explain yourself!’

‘It’s all over, Ross. You must see that. Where is it?’ demanded Dunbar.

There was a moment of silence before Ingrid suddenly shook her head and said, ‘He’s right. For God’s sake tell him!’

‘Shut up!’ snapped Ross but the westerners started showing signs of unease too. One of them got to his feet and said to Dunbar, ‘I don’t know what’s going on here but it’s nothing to do with me. I’ve just been contracted to be part of a surgical team for one transplant.’

‘Me too,’ said another getting up to join his colleague. ‘I don’t know anything about anything.’

‘Sure,’ said Dunbar sourly.

Both men looked down at the floor.

‘Sit down,’ said Dunbar. He turned back to Ross.

‘They exhumed Amy Teasdale and examined her heart,’ he lied.

A flicker of doubt appeared in Ross’s eyes.

‘For God’s sake tell him!’ pleaded Ingrid.

Ross turned to the younger of the two Arab men and said, ‘Will you please tell the sheikh that these men have come to stop the operation to save his son.’

The man did as he was bid in Arabic. The sheikh listened, then looked up very slowly at Dunbar and his colleagues. His eyes, which had been calm, were now hard and full of anger. He rasped something at the younger man, who pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Dunbar. The armed policeman swung the butt of his weapon and caught him on the jaw. The Arab collapsed in a heap and the policeman recovered his weapon. Dunbar had to step over the Arab to get to Ross.

‘It’s all over, Ross. Where is it?’ demanded Dunbar.

‘For God’s sake tell him!’ said Ingrid again; she was now almost hysterical.

Dunbar nodded to the policemen to take her away.

‘Where is the kidney, Ross?’ Dunbar repeated, his voice betraying his urgency and frustration.

‘I’ve nothing to say. I demand to see my solicitor.’

‘Does anyone else know where the real kidney is?’ asked Dunbar looking around. ‘The child is going to die, for God’s sake!’

The others in the room, looking pale, shook their heads.

‘Jesus,’ said Dunbar. ‘Nobody.’

‘We could search the building,’ suggested Renton.

Dunbar looked at his watch. ‘We’re already out of time,’ he said. Then, looking with loathing at those in front of him, he said, ‘Get them out of here.’

He rapped his knuckles against his forehead as he tried to think what Ross might have done with the missing organ. ‘Come on… think, man… think,’ he muttered.

Suddenly it was obvious. It would be near where Ross would need it next. The post-mortem suite! He raced out the door past the melee of policemen and prisoners and down the stairs to the basement corridor. He sprinted along to the PM suite and crashed the door open. The lights seemed to take for ever to stutter into life. ‘A fridge… a fridge,’ he repeated as he pulled open cupboard doors all round the room. Then suddenly he found it. The fridge interior light clicked on to illuminate a metal container sitting there. It was similar to the one sitting beside Amanda on the operating table upstairs. Dunbar removed it carefully and undid the lid to look in. There was a kidney sitting there in crushed ice, scarlet on white.

Praying all the way that it wasn’t too late, Dunbar rushed back up the stairs and along to the transplant theatre. He held the container in two hands in front of him.

‘You got it!’ exclaimed Lisa as he burst into the scrub room.

Dunbar was out of breath. He handed over the container to Turner who, like Lisa, was waiting there in surgical dress in case they were needed.

‘What’s happening?’ Dunbar gasped.

‘You were right. The path report on the kidney they were going to give to Amanda says it’s an animal organ.’

‘How is she?’

‘We’re just about to find out,’ replied Turner.

As Turner entered the theatre, one of the theatre nurses came out, obviously distressed. ‘I just can’t believe what’s been happening,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m sorry… I can’t… I just can’t.’

Dunbar looked at Lisa and nodded. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

Not having been through the scrub procedure, Dunbar couldn’t enter the theatre himself. He went upstairs to watch from the teaching gallery. He turned on the sound relay so he could hear what was said.

‘Dr Turner, would you assist?’ he heard Hatfull ask. Then Hatfull turned to Lisa and said, ‘Staff Nurse Fairfax, I’m obliged to you… If everyone’s ready?’ There were nods all round. ‘Good, let’s get on with it.’

Dunbar sat down and felt exhaustion sweep over him like a fast-running tide. It was over. It was finally over. If there was any justice in this world, Amanda Chapman’s new kidney would give her back her childhood. Her family would be restored… Her family? Dunbar suddenly realized that Sandy and Kate would be waiting downstairs for news of their daughter’s operation. He wondered what, if anything, they’d been told. He took it upon himself to go down and sit with them.

Sandy and Kate stood up as soon as he entered the family waiting area. ‘Any news?’ they asked in unison, before realizing who it was.

‘The operation is progressing,’ said Dunbar. ‘The surgeons encountered a little difficulty at the outset, but everything’s going well now.’

‘We’ve been worried sick,’ said Sandy. ‘There seems to have been an awful lot of to-ing and fro-ing in the hospital tonight.’

‘There were police cars outside,’ added Kate.

‘You didn’t forget to tax Esmeralda, did you?’ asked Dunbar in an attempt to change the subject.

‘Probably,’ answered Sandy with a smile.

Dunbar woke with wintry sunshine streaming in the window and playing on his eyelids. It took him a moment to realize that he was in Lisa’s flat.

‘You’re awake are you?’ said Lisa. She was standing in the doorway, smiling down at him.

‘God, I slept like a log.’

‘You deserved to.’

‘What’s the time?’

‘Eleven thirty.’

‘Good Lord. Amanda! What about Amanda?’

‘She’s doing fine,’ said Lisa. ‘I phoned earlier this morning. Her new kidney’s working well and she’s making a more than satisfactory recovery.’

‘Thank God,’ sighed Dunbar.

‘No. Thank you,’ corrected Lisa.

‘Thank a lot of people, including you.’

‘Is the whole Medic organization crooked?’

Dunbar shook his head. ‘No, just the four of them. Ross, Kinscherf, Giordano and Ingrid, and, of course, the fifth element.’

‘Fifth element?’

‘Mindless, pitiless greed.’

‘Frightening,’ said Lisa quietly. ‘What people will do for money.’

‘And the medical profession is no exception.’

‘Well, Dunbar, you’re to be congratulated,’ said Macmillan. ‘A job well done.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘We’ve come out of this rather well, I fancy. The Home Secretary was pleased when I told him. I think he’s finally decided that Sci-Med was a good idea after all.’

Dunbar smiled.

‘And now you’ll be ready for some leave, no doubt?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good to be back in London eh?’

‘Actually I’m going back to Scotland, sir. I’ve taken a cottage on the west coast for a few weeks.’

‘Alone or with friends?’

Dunbar smiled again. ‘With a friend.’