He head-butted the pimp to the floor. His boot was on the man’s chest when a female’s voice filled the room. “What are you doing to him?” The girl was still talking as she came out of the shadows. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“How old are you?”
She kept walking toward him. “Old enough to work here.”
“For this low life?”
She pulled up her skirt. “Don’t be jealous.”
“Of this guy?”
“Make me an offer.”
“For what?”
“I could be all yours.”
“What would I do with you?”
“Anything and everything.”
“That’s quite a proposition.”
“I’ll make you happy.”
“It’s too late for that.”
Norgay bent over and tried to revive the pimp. He straightened up after the girl kicked him in the leg. “He’s an old man. Leave him alone.”
“Not until he answers my questions.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Seriously, how old are you?”
She stroked his thigh. “Fourteen going on forty.”
He removed her hand. “What’s your name?”
“Admit it. You want to have sex with me.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Do you have a business card?”
“I left it at my chateau.”
“Tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine.”
“That’s way more information than you need.”
“I’m Tani.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Are you sure about the sex? First time I’d give you a freebie.” He acted disinterested. That didn’t slow her down. “Tell me why you’re here. Make it quick. I have a customer upstairs.”
He showed her the picture of Losang’s cousin. “Do you know this girl?” Tani took a quick look at the photo as she walked toward her employer. “Well?” Norgay asked.
“Help me move this degenerate.”
After they dumped the pimp on a threadbare couch, Tani took Norgay by the hand and led him to the front desk. She exchanged his palm for a pen and a tea-stained envelope. He was still reading her directions when she said, “I can’t talk now. Meet me there tomorrow morning.”
“What time?”
“Sunrise.”
He can get there in time. But it’ll be tight. He and a compatriot will be in West Lhasa burglarizing Chinese shops between midnight and 5:00 a.m.
“Why so early?”
“I’m a working girl. Time is money.”
“All right. See you at sunrise. Don’t be late.”
He watched Tani climb the stairs to meet her next john. She wasn’t much taller than the railing. When he returned her smile, she blew him a kiss.
CHAPTER 15
RYAN DOESN’T SUGARCOAT the news.
“Kylie is still in a coma.”
“Can they reverse it?”
“They don’t know.”
“If she wakes up—”
“She could be severely impaired.” The long-term prognosis has Brannigan reeling. He doesn’t know how to respond. “Any other questions?” Brannigan shakes his head. The blood seems to be draining out of his face. “Are you all right, Michael?”
“Fine. Just a little dizzy.”
“Should I call a doctor?”
“That’s the last person I want to see.”
“Let me know—”
“I’m already feeling better.”
“Good.”
Ryan opens the door to Kylie’s room. Brannigan steps back and Ryan enters first. He kisses his daughter’s forehead, strokes her hair, and tells her not to give up. A nurse and an anesthesiologist are already at bedside. Brannigan smiles at them and says hello.
The room is more richly appointed than his suite at the Mandarin Oriental. Original art covers the walls and there are generous windows on two sides. The Ryans’ relatives, friends, and business associates have turned the room into a tropical garden. There are so many flowers he has trouble spotting his bouquet.
Brannigan stopped once he entered the room. He hasn’t moved since, and still hasn’t looked at Kylie. He reminds himself to maintain his composure. If he doesn’t, Ryan will know he’s more than a Good Samaritan. Brannigan isn’t willing to risk the fallout from that revelation. Ryan motions for him to come closer to the bed. “You don’t have to stand over there.”
“I don’t want to expose her—”
“The hospital already has every germ imaginable.”
Now he’s concerned that avoiding Kylie could produce the same result. He tentatively approaches the bed from the side opposite Ryan and the medical staff. Kylie’s inanimate body is directly in front of him. She has deep shadows under her eyes. Her cheeks and jaw are so swollen he barely recognizes her face. He hasn’t been deluding himself. But he never thought he would see her like this.
He’s debating what to do next when a Miss Manners question pops into his head. What is the correct distance for a casual acquaintance to view a comatose patient? The issue wouldn’t arise if they were alone. He would lie next to Kylie, hold her hand, and tell her how much he loves her. Today he has to resist doing what comes naturally.
He has done that before, but isn’t good at it. He recalls the Irish wakes where he paid his final respects to distant second cousins and aunts thrice removed. His relatives expected him to kneel in front of the embalmed corpse, touch cold hands locked around rosary beads, and kiss the dearly departed. Then he had to lie about how great the deceased looked in the wildly overpriced casket the undertaker shamed the family into buying.
Getting through today will be even more difficult. He studies the high-tech equipment. Mazes of tubes and wires connect Kylie to mind-boggling gizmos that generate flashing numbers, ominous-sounding beeps, and squiggly lines. He’s encouraged by the doctors’ heroic efforts. At the same time, the fact that they’re necessary convinces him a happy ending is unlikely.
He feels even worse when he thinks about Urumqi.
There was a delay in organizing the rescue team.
Timing wasn’t the only problem. The doctors had limited trauma training and could only administer basic care. That was true even after Kylie reached Urumqi. Beijing radiologists over-read her films, and her clinicians called coastal colleagues for advice.
She didn’t receive proactive care until Ryan and the Stanford team arrived. Bryce scrambled a private jet at San Jose Airport. Three pilots took turns rushing the neurosurgeon, neurologist, nurses, and one anesthesiologist to Urumqi’s First Affiliated Hospital. The other anesthesiologist flew to Hong Kong. He converted Matilda Hospital’s best room into an ICU and prepared a surgical suite for brain surgery.
Brannigan agreed with Bryce’s decisions—even the one that put him in a deep funk. Ryan taped a “NO VISITORS” sign on Kylie’s door and hired a security firm to enforce it. Her room was off-limits to everyone other than doctors and nurses. Brannigan had no contact with Kylie after they arrived at the hospital. He didn’t know she was gone until he saw a new patient entering her room.
What little he knew about her status he learned covertly. He saw her father and the Stanford neurologist talking to the pulmonologist who was caring for Brannigan and Kylie. He ginned up a conversation with the lung doctor and managed to overhear what the neurologist was telling Ryan.
“We need to keep Kylie’s brain inactive.”
“But why comatose?” Ryan asked.
“She might die if we don’t shut it down.”
Ryan was emphatic. “Transfer her to MIH as soon as possible.” The pulmonologist—she also served as the hospital’s chief of staff—blanched when Bryce explained his reasoning, “This place is third world—”
The neurologist cut him off. “That’s unfair, Bryce. Our local colleagues have provided excellent care. I know it’s hard to accept, but there’s no magic cure. Wherever we treat Kylie, all we can do is hope for
the best—and be ready for the worst.”
“Define worst.” Bryce sounded like he was closing a business deal.
“Your daughter may never wake up.”
“If she regains consciousness, then what?”
“She might be profoundly brain damaged.”
“What are the odds?”
“Of recovering fully? Less than fifty-fifty.”
Ryan is more open at MIH than he was in Urumqi. He joins Brannigan near the flowers and fills in some of the blanks. “How much do you know about her head injury?”
“Only what I can see.”
“Whatever she hit rattled her brain against her skull. There were probably several different impacts. That sequence—not her skull fracture—is what caused her most serious injuries.”
“Who told you that?”
“The Stanford neurologist.”
“What was the surgeon’s input?”
“He recommended surgery after we arrived in Hong Kong.”
“To do what?”
“Give her brain more room to expand.”
“I assume you put the kibosh on that.”
“He wanted to cut off part of her skull.”
“Permanently?”
“We didn’t get that far. I won’t let them mutilate my daughter.”
“What was the neurologist’s input?”
“He agreed with me. Shutting down Kylie’s brain has flattened its swelling trajectory. He recommended a conservative approach.”
Brannigan is standing next to Kylie’s bed.
Ryan explains how her respiratory apparatus works. “The anesthesiologist inserted an endotracheal tube into her mouth after they arrived in Urumqi. He advanced it down her throat and attached it to the ventilator that’s breathing for her. They give her IV Diprivan to maintain her coma.”
Bryce said that Brannigan would get used to the rhythmic sound. He hasn’t. The infernal noise reminds him of an iron lung. It frightens him to think this ominous equipment is all that’s keeping Kylie alive.
The anesthesiologist is reading the flow sheet. Brannigan is close enough to hear him say, “Everything is status quo.”
“Good,” Ryan answers. “Can we bring her back?”
“Not yet. That might cause her brain swelling to increase.”
The neurologist has just entered the room. He huddles with Ryan and the anesthesiologist. The nurse is next to them charting and organizing supplies. None of them are facing the bed. Brannigan knows he shouldn’t. But he reaches for Kylie hand. Their fingers are inches apart when her arms swing upward.
An alarm goes off. Brannigan thinks he triggered her convulsions—until the nurse announces the obvious. “She’s having a seizure. All hands on deck.”
The anesthesiologist looks over at the nurse.
“Flush Tegretol into her backup line.”
“Coming right up.”
The neurologist takes charge of clearing the room. “Mr. Brannigan, please go to the lounge. You too, Bryce.”
“Not until you stabilize her,” Ryan says.
The anesthesiologist repeats his colleague’s order. “You’re both leaving—”
“What if I—”
“—Pronto.”
The neurologist leads Ryan into the hallway. Trailing behind, Brannigan swivels his head so he can watch what’s happening at bedside. Kylie’s entire body is shaking. Her arms and legs are splaying at unnatural angles, and she’s moaning incoherently. Her voice doesn’t sound human.
The last thing Brannigan sees is Kylie trying to pull the breathing tube out of her throat. The anesthesiologist has one hand on the device. He’s loosening her grip with the other as he yells, “Code Blue! Annie, get the crash cart. Stat!”
CHAPTER 16
TANI IS EATING a man-size breakfast.
Norgay hasn’t touched his flatbread. He’s too preoccupied to eat. A bag lady is the latest customer to catch his jaundiced eye.
This East Lhasa dive—Old Town is full of them—is three squalid blocks from Tani’s brothel. Norgay got here early and cased the neighborhood. He employed his usual security measures and picked a table with an unobstructed view of the entrances, restrooms, and kitchen. Their table isn’t visible from the street and is only five paces from a window. It opens to a narrow, unimproved passageway. He can knock out the glass in an emergency, sprint to the back alley, and disappear down a side street.
He ordered a pot of tea as a table saver when he first arrived. Exiting through the back door, he ran an indirect route to the brothel and hid behind a parked car. He followed Tani to the restaurant. She was by herself and didn’t talk to anyone along the way. No one tailed her. He took advantage of a shortcut and reentered the restaurant through an open window. He was seated when she came inside.
“Will that be enough?” he asks.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“You still eat like a country girl.”
“Turning tricks burns a lot of energy.”
“What time does your first john arrive?”
She checks her Minnie Mouse watch. “Forty-five minutes.”
He yawns, “The guy must be a yak herder. Only they wake up this early.”
Norgay didn’t get to bed last night. His haul was solid but below average. A security system thwarted one of his burglaries.
She puts on a hurt face. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“I’m thrilled. You’re a magnificent dining companion.”
An elderly Tibetan enters the restaurant. The man is minding his own business and Norgay’s attention returns to Tani. She’s cutting her blood sausage into small pieces and blending it with her porridge.
“What should we talk about, Mr. No-Name?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
“How about the girl in your picture?”
Her smile is contagious. “That works for me.”
“Is she in trouble?”
“I won’t do her any harm.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I can’t tell you why I’m here.”
The second time she samples his flatbread he pushes his breakfast across the table. Tani combines their meals and stacks her plate on top of his.
“Are you a policeman?”
“Do I look like one?”
“How would I know?”
“I’m not a cop, a soldier, or a snitch.”
“Can I trust you?”
“Has anyone ever answered no?”
“I don’t care about other people.”
Norgay feels guilty not disclosing that the other girl is dead. But he has no reservation answering, “I won’t lie to you.”
She wraps the flatbread in a napkin and stuffs it in her handbag.
“I know the girl in your picture.”
“How well?”
“We’re friends.”
He decides it’s time for the acid test. “What’s her name?”
“Nima.”
Norgay moves his index finger off the trigger guard and transfers his 9mm from his lap to his pants pocket. “Tell me about her.”
“We arrived in Lhasa the same week.”
“How did you meet?”
“We lived at the same brothel.”
“As fourteen-year-olds?”
“Thirteen.”
“How long did you live together?”
“Two and a half months.”
“Didn’t you get along?”
“We were best friends. But that brothel specializes in virgins. There was constant turnover—including us.”
“Do you know the financial details?”
“The clients pay a flat fee. It’s based on a two-month minimum. No refunds for early returns. Johns pay an additional amount every time they have sex.”
“Do you remember any of Nima’s customers?”
She’s polishing off his fruit. “We shared a client.”
“What do you remember about him?”
“He
was a Chinese officer.”
“How do you know he was in the army?”
“He wore a uniform.”
“Did he have a standard routine?”
“He always ordered three virgins.”
“For the same night?”
“It’s not unusual.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“The Friendship Inn.”
“Anywhere else?”
“Never. That place treated him like a king.”
“What else can you tell me about him?”
“He brought another soldier.”
“Did that one ever participate?”
“He just stood outside the room.”
“Did the officer have sex with you and Nima at the same time?”
“All three of us—” She stops talking and lowers her head.
“I don’t have to know the details.”
She’s staring at the floor. “That wasn’t the worst of it.”
“What was?”
“The beatings and . . .”
“If it’s too painful—”
“He made us have sex with each other.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“He tired of the third girl after two months—and me two weeks later. Nima suffered the most. He kept her for six months.”
“Do you still see each other?”
“It’s difficult getting together.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Not well. She’s very depressed.”
“What happened when the officer moved on?”
“Her situation got worse. The lookout took his place. He and another drunken soldier share her. They’re even rougher than the colonel.”
“How does she cope?”
“She drinks a lot of wine and takes antidepressants. When she has enough money she smokes heroin.”
“Do you know the officer’s name?”
“He never told us. We called him Colonel.”
“Did you meet him on a specific day?”
“Every Wednesday and Saturday night.”
“Did he have any other routines?”
“We always met in the same room.”
“What time?”
“Seven o’clock.”
“Do you remember what he looks like?”
Tani becomes tearful. She hesitates before answering, “I wish I could forget. When I see him in Old Town, I run the other way.”
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