“Faith as a gift is a sudden installment…like what happened with the witch doctor. Bam…it just happened.” Robert smacked the water. “Faith as a fruit grows with use and hearing—hearing the Holy Spirit and obeying. Faith sees, and the greater the faith, the clearer your sight.”
Nick splashed his face with water as if trying to wash away his disbelief.
“Nickloss, you can lose a battle, but know the war has been won. I have to believe that the Lord will make a way for that little one.”
* * *
Wright shut down his laptop and the camera feed from Maggie’s room. She was putting the finishing touches on her make-up and they would be leaving the hotel soon for the airport where he would fly her to Hong Kong for dinner.
It was hard enough to listen to Amy’s prattle through the phone without the distraction.
“She was born with a congenital cleft lip and palate,” Amy explained. “As far as I can tell the local surgeon buggered the job, not only failing to close the palate but closing the lip at the bloody expense of the skin on her cheeks, causing her lower eyelids to be pulled down. If something’s not done soon, she’ll go blind.”
When Amy had asked Boxler to join them on the phone, Wright figured there was more to this call than the child. He tried to be patient.
“Unfortunately,” Amy continued, “she needs to see a plastic surgeon or a maxillofacial surgeon if not both, plus an ophthalmologist to determine if any surgery is needed for her eyes.”
“Can she wait until I get back and can fly her to Singapore?”
“Yeah, nah,” she said in her Kiwi indecisiveness. “She’s got a pretty nasty sinus infection from food passing through the palate into her sinus cavity. It’s plenty dank. I could start her on antibiotics, but that brings me to the second issue.”
There was clicking over the sat phone, and Wright looked at it to make sure he hadn’t dropped the call.
“You still there, Doctor?” he asked.
“Yes, I was saying that the family that brought her downriver came to the center because her father is sick. He’s one of our patients.”
“And?” Wright asked, his irritation growing.
“I have worked him up from head to toe and honestly didn’t find much of anything except for dehydration and malnourishment. He hasn’t had anything to eat or drink for days.”
“How many days?” Boxler asked.
“Well, the family tells me four. But the real issue is that the man has had a real psychotic break. I’m afraid we don’t have the facilities to handle him here. We had to restrain him even to examine him.”
“Leah, go ahead and send one of the planes down to pick up the family. The foundation will cover it. Just make sure to strap the man down. I don’t want him going nuts at thirty thousand feet.” He cleared his voice. “Is that all, Amy?” He was anxious to get off the phone and dress for dinner with Maggie.
“Well…”
It was a bad sign; her voice always got nasally when she was upset or afraid to speak.
“What is it?”
“When I was training, we cared for many heroin addicts. They would withdraw after they were in the hospital after a few days.”
“And this has to do with what?”
“When we were looking at the MRI scans of the orangutans, I told you I suspected withdrawal from Welltrex was the culprit.” She paused and Wright imagined she was biting her lower lip. “But now I am convinced.”
She had just dropped a bomb in their laps.
Wright heard Leah huff. “What makes you come to that conclusion?” she asked.
“Nothing absolute, but a gut feeling,” Amy was quick to say, but then added, “there is zilch in this man’s history or current exam that would explain a sudden psychiatric event. Plus, they had two other men at the same longhouse with similar symptoms that thankfully were temporary. And, of course, we had the incident with the orangutans.”
There was a long silence on the phone that Amy tried to fill. “I know what this news could mean. Remember, I have a stake in this as well.” She apologized. “I just thought we should talk about it. Objectivity is what you pay me for.”
Wright took a deep breath and cracked his neck side to side. If it was withdrawal, it was a serious, reportable event to the regulatory bodies, including the most stringent, the FDA. And a reportable event this early in release could place a black mark on the drug or worse, trigger a recall. Either would spell financial disaster.
Fortunately, Leah took the lead.
“Doktar, let’s look at this critically,” she said, her German accent thickening. “You have one man in your clinic sick from an unknown origin. You have two others that might have eaten rotten fruit, and two monkeys that got into a fight.”
“Apes…they are apes,” Amy said defensively.
“Yes, of course, dear,” Leah said and tried a more pacifying tack. “But we have to be absolutely confident before we make those kinds of leaps. Do you have anything else?”
“Well…four years of medical school plus six years of specialized training.”
Wright could tell the discussion could go south quickly. He couldn’t afford that. “Amy, we appreciate everything you are saying. We hear you, but I would have to agree with Leah on this one. Do you think you could get more proof?”
“I could find you more crazed Iban or dead orangutans.”
Wright didn’t have to see her face to know it was crimson. “Leah, let’s say this is withdrawal. What could we do for damage control?”
There was a long pause. “I guess you could make a case that, once started, Welltrex is a lifetime drug…like insulin. After all, would the patients want a life of addiction, depression or chronic pain when they could take a little pill every day and feel better? I suppose there would have to be a caution label on the packaging…the crap that nobody reads.”
“Hmmm,” Wright contemplated.
“Requiring patients to take it forever is not a terrible thing…for sure, not for Zelutex,” Leah snorted. “If, and that’s a big if, this is truly withdrawal, why didn’t we know about it before now, Doktar?” She thrust the accusation deep.
“Oh, piss off, aye. Ms. Boxler, you know exactly why. You were the one that moved up the release date!”
“Yes, but we also ran it by you, Doktar. You were the one that said the trials were going amazingly well.”
Wright was getting a migraine. “Now, ladies, please, let’s not fight amongst ourselves or rush to conclusions. Leah…Amy, we will find the answers. But first things first, Leah. Send the plane over for the family. Maybe we’ll get more answers from the man once he’s in Singapore, and let’s get the girl taken care of.”
Wright didn’t often get stern with the people that worked for him, but he was feeling uncharacteristically angry.
“Amy, the reason we can pay you as well as we do and can afford the kind of expenses that this deformed girl will cost the foundation is because of the resources fueled by our products. Are you asking us to choose between defending our medication and helping the girl?”
He was generally good at talking her off the window ledge, but this time he pulled the wrong strings.
“Don’t you think I understand that, Mr. Paul? I would not even be bringing this up if I didn’t feel strongly about it. I let you bury the reports from the witch doctors on problems with the medication, but I’m not standing by to watch innocent people get hurt. My reputation as a physician is on the line here.”
“What are you threatening, Dr. Amy?” Wright asked.
“If we don’t get clear answers by Monday that this is not withdrawal, I’m calling the regulatory bodies myself. I don’t have to remind you that I know our FDA examiner by name.”
“Well, Amy…you have to do what you see fit,” Wright said, trying to hide the boiling rage in his voice. He stared at the phone and ended the call. He glanced out the hotel window and then at the clock on the wall. He would meet Maggie in thirty minutes.
H
e pushed a series of keys on the sat phone, and Leah answered on the first ring.
Before he could speak, Leah said, “I know what needs to be done.”
CHAPTER 31
FIRE
“What are you thinking, Maggie?” Wright asked.
She looked toward the skyline of Hong Kong. This is how the jetsetters live. Singapore one day, Calcutta the next and now Hong Kong. As they floated in the iconic Victoria Harbour, Maggie watched the city ablaze with lights and colors that reflected off the sea. Water lapped at the side of their Chinese junket, and a breeze rippled the red fan-shaped sails above them. How do I answer that impossible question? What do you say to a man that stirred emotions long ago buried? Or one who flew her to Hong Kong on a whim to have a picnic on a restored junket? Finally she replied, “I’m thinking my mind is jumbled with emotions.”
“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” he asked, waving toward the city.
“Like nothing I could’ve ever imagined,” she said. Never in her life would she have thought that she would be visiting some of the most exotic places on earth with one of the richest and kindest men on the planet—it was a fairy tale come true.
“Maggie, I am so grateful to be here with you.”
Maggie smiled at him and sipped her champagne. He was the sincerest man she’d ever known.
“There is no one else I’d rather be with right now,” he added.
How did this happen? Why does he have this affection for me? Oh, God, help me!
Wright scooted close to her on the blanket and reached for her hand. “This okay?”
She didn’t resist. The last time she was pursued by a man was when John awkwardly asked her to dollar night at the local movie theater. John, I’m so sorry. Her heart pounded in her chest and she wasn’t sure she could catch a complete breath. Nick had courted her, but often it seemed more out of duty and concern. Sure, he’d made comments about them getting married, but always sideways and never actually acting on it. This was a head-on blitz.
“Ever since I saw you on the news, I pictured this moment in my mind,” Wright said.
Maybe a head-on collision. Was she dizzy because it was happening so fast or was that caused by Wright’s intoxicating cologne? What in the world would she say to Nick?
“Maggie, please say something. I hope I’m not embarrassing myself.”
She cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Wright, I’m just a farm girl off the reservation,” she began. “I imagine that you could have any amazingly beautiful and smart woman you desire. This has taken me by surprise…I…uh…think you’re pretty swell.”
His cheeks blushed beet-red, and he diverted his eyes to the picnic basket.
“Oh, my gosh, Wright, I sound like a bumbling idiot. I don’t know where that even came from.” She laughed. “I’ve been out of the game for a long time…I’ve forgotten even how to play.” Laughing at herself seemed to defuse his angst. “Sorry, let me try again.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from the breeze. “You are honestly one of the most amazing men I have ever met. I’m feeling a bit out of my league. Wright, we don’t even live on the same planet. I guess I feel pretty inadequate,” she said, stopping her hand on his cheek.
He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “That’s what makes you so extraordinary. Any of the other women I know think they deserve all this. You don’t take a moment of it for granted, and I love you for that.”
Love? Maggie wondered if she was going to vomit. Now that would make an impression.
He sat up straight, put his hand behind her neck, pulled her close and kissed her deeply.
* * *
Nick woke with a start. What was that? His heart pounded in his ears, and he lifted his head and grasped the sides of his hammock. He wondered what loud sound had awakened him from a deep sleep, but all was quiet in Robert’s apartment. The rhythmic breathing of Robert and Ruth came from the corner where they slept. Nick’s neck dripped with sweat at the stagnant air of the night. How long was I asleep? When he heard no racket from the mongrel dogs and feral pigs, he guessed the thump had been in his dream.
He lay his head back against the pillow in the hammock and tried to remember what he’d dreamed. Nothing. He’d often dreamed of arriving at a class only to have forgotten an impending test. Sometimes a tumultuous surgery had triggered such nightmares. Robert’s wife murmured something in her sleep. Nick turned on his side and closed his eyes to try to get back to sleep.
Maggie! Her name was almost like an echo, or a feeling so deep within his soul that shouted and repeated it through his every cell. His eyes snapped open with overwhelming dread. There was only darkness and silence. He sniffed an unusual, unpleasant smell. Was his memory regurgitating the smell of the rotting pig? Perhaps it was the lack of air flow that caused the garbage and sewer to waft from the back of the longhouse.
Nick glanced over the side of his hammock toward the corner but saw nothing. That smell. It seemed more real than imagined—real enough that he sat up on the side of the hammock and reached for his headlamp.
His stirring roused Robert. “Nickloss?”
Words started to come, but not before chaos struck. The dogs woke a millisecond before the hogs—frantic barking and squealing filled the night until the real danger struck—
Fire.
Robert shot past him out the door before Nick’s feet hit the floor. As soon as Robert pushed open the door, smoke billowed in, followed by screams and shouting. Light from the fire danced around the room. As a surgeon, Nick had always run toward danger, but now, he was frozen. Screams from Robert’s wife snapped him out of his shock.
Headlamp in hand, Nick leaped from his hammock, wheeled around the post and grabbed Ruth by the arm, helping her out of bed and to the front door. The fire engulfed one of the outbuildings. It shot flames into the night sky, filling it with glowing embers. The occupants poured out of their apartments and into the fray. Shirtless men began chopping at the porch, frantically trying to separate the compound from the fire. Others tossed buckets of water from storage barrels along the wall.
Robert’s wife shook off Nick’s grip and jumped to help the bucket brigade. Nick stood immobilized and searched for Robert. He was nowhere in sight. With no machete to chop at the bamboo patio, Nick remained frozen in place.
The village’s firefighting efforts appeared to be making headway. But just as they gained the upper hand on the blaze, a man shouted and pointed to the other end of the compound. Fire climbed up the corner of another outbuilding and lapped at the thatched roof.
How the fire had started made no sense to Nick. He had watched as the community members diligently put out their fires in the kitchens before going to bed. Two fires in different buildings didn’t add up. How did this happen?
The separate fires grew; the community was losing the battle. Flames hit the thatched roof of the second outbuilding, and it ignited like a Roman candle. The heat scalded Nick’s face and forced many of the men to dive for cover.
That side of the compound was ablaze in terror. The overhanging jungle canopy shimmered from the heat. Smoke and sparks choked the air.
Out of the corner of his eye, a fast-moving presence ran up the stairs to Nick’s left. The phantom screamed a battle cry and charged, wielding a weapon overhead. Nick jumped back, but not in time to avoid a searing pain in his upper left arm. His knees buckled, and a flash of steel blade arced over his head, missing him by the length of his cropped hair. His brain accelerated in overdrive. Something or someone was trying to kill him.
Fearing the flash of another blade, Nick dived to his right and somersaulted out of harm’s way. The blade stung his heel, but his awkward escape had succeeded because he seemed out of the reach of the machete.
The phantom screamed wildly, wielding a machete in one hand and a lit torch in the other, forcing Nick to move farther away. He could make out the form of the attacker and centered his balance, holding both arms in front of him
for defense, as they circled one another.
The ghoul’s outline was the shape of a man, but his form was hunched and dirty like a rabid animal’s—its eyes ablaze with fire. Nick didn’t know the local language but had heard enough the last few days to know that whatever venom the creature spewed was not Iban. It lunged at him with the steel, missing Nick’s abdomen. It was relentless and charged again.
Nick tried to regain his balance but was hit with such force that he tumbled backward with the madman on top. Nick grabbed for its wrists, but the maniac’s strength surged. Nick knew he wasn’t going to hold it for long. The creature hissed obscenities—its breath smelling of rotten flesh.
Fight! Nick’s brain screamed. A primordial cry came from deep within as he pushed the creature’s arms back, concentrating his strength to force the point of the blade away from his throat. The maniacal manifestation seemed to enjoy the fight, toying with Nick—smiling through gnarled teeth. For an instant, its arms relaxed, but his rotten fangs opened wide to bite Nick’s cheek.
Nick released one of the creature’s arms and clawed at its face, stopping the attack for a moment. Like a wolf reevaluating his strategy, the creature’s spine straightened to attack again, but as it did, a machete slashed its throat. The blow startled the beast. It dropped its weapon and grabbed its neck. For a second, it stared Nick in the eyes, and then, like an extinguishing fire, its burning gaze disappeared to be replaced by confusion. The creature’s eyes rolled completely back into its skull, and it fell over dead.
The creature’s killer kicked the dead carcass off Nick and stomped out the burning torch.
As if the heavens had decided to punctuate the extinguishing of evil, a torrential downpour fell, causing what was left of the fire to sizzle, sputter and die after a few more buckets of water snuffed it out. The villagers erupted with a cheer that segued into joyous singing. Their lives and their homes had been saved.
Nick pushed himself up to sit and examined his wounds, both superficial. The machete had grazed his upper arm and sliced the heel from his shoe and a layer of skin but nothing more. He breathed a sigh of relief when a scream broke the jubilation. The cries grew below the platform, and a young woman raced up the stairs, shrieking in Iban. Two men pulled Nick to his feet, and they flew down the steps. There at the bottom was Robert, hunched over the threshold, his throat slashed.
The Rusted Scalpel Page 23