Harvest

by Tess Gerritsen

  “At ten P.M. on the night of your transplant,” said Abby, “Bayside Hospital got a call that a donor had been found in Burlington, Vermont. Three hours later, the heart was delivered to our OR. The harvest was supposedly done at Wilcox Memorial Hospital, by a surgeon named Timothy Nicholls. Your transplant was performed, and there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. In so many ways, it was like every other transplant done at Bayside.” She paused. “With one major difference. No one knows where your donor heart came from.”

  “You said it came from Burlington.”

  “I said it supposedly did. But Dr. Nicholls has vanished. He may be hiding. Or he may be dead. And Wilcox Memorial denies any knowledge of a harvest on that night.”

  Nina had retreated into silence. She seemed to be shrinking away into the woolen coat.

  “You weren’t the first one,” said Abby.

  The white face stared back with a numb expression. “There were others?”

  “At least four. I’ve seen the records from the past two years. It always happened the same way. Bayside would get a call from Burlington that there’s a donor. The heart is delivered to our OR sometime after midnight. The transplant’s done, and it’s all routine. But something’s wrong with this picture. We’re talking about four hearts, four dead people. A friend and I have searched the Burlington obituaries for those dates. None of the donors appear.”

  “Then where are the hearts coming from?”

  Abby paused. Meeting Nina’s disbelieving gaze, she said, “I don’t know.”

  The limousine had looped north and was once again skirting the Charles River. They were heading back toward Beacon Hill.

  “I have no proof,” said Abby. “I can’t get through to New England Organ Bank, or anyone else. They all know I’m under investigation. They think of me as the crazy lady. That’s why I came to you. That night we met in the ICU, I thought: There’s a woman I’d want as a friend.” She paused. “I need your help, Mrs. Voss.”

  For a long time, Nina said nothing. She was not looking at Abby, but was staring straight ahead, her face white as bleached bone. At last she seemed to come to a decision. She released a deep breath and said, “I’m going to drop you off now. Would this corner be all right?”

  “Mrs. Voss, your husband bought that heart. If he did it, so can other people. We don’t know who the donors are! We don’t know how they’re getting them—”

  “Here,” Nina said to the driver.

  The limousine pulled over to the curb.

  “Please get out,” said Nina.

  Abby didn’t move. She sat for a moment, not speaking. The rain tapped monotonously on the roof.

  “Please,” whispered Nina.

  “I thought I could trust you. I thought . . .” Slowly Abby shook her head. “Good-bye, Mrs. Voss.”

  A hand touched her arm. Abby glanced back, into the other woman’s haunted eyes.

  “I love my husband,” said Nina. “And he loves me.”

  “Does that make it right?”

  Nina didn’t answer.

  Abby climbed out and shut the door. The limousine drove away. As she watched the car glide into the dusk, she thought: I’ll never see her again.

  Then, shoulders slumped, she turned and walked away through the rain.

  “Home now, Mrs. Voss?” The chauffeur’s voice, flat and tinny through the speaker phone, startled Nina from her trance. “Yes,” she said. “Take me home.”

  She wrapped herself tighter in her cocoon of black wool and stared at the rain streaking across her window. She thought of what she would say to Victor. And what she would not, could not, say. This is what has become of our love, she thought. Secrets upon secrets. And he is keeping the most terrible secret of all.

  She lowered her head and began to cry, for Victor, and for what had happened to their marriage. She wept for herself as well, because she knew what had to be done, and she was afraid.

  The rain streamed like tears down the window. And the limousine carried her home, to Victor.

  19

  Shu-Shu needed a bath. The older boys had been saying this for days, had even threatened to toss Shu-Shu into the sea if Aleksei did not give her a good cleaning. She stinks, they said, and no wonder, with all your snot on her. Aleksei did not think Shu-Shu stank. He liked the way she smelled. She had not been washed, ever, and each scent she wore was like a different memory. The smell of gravy, which he’d spilled on the tail, reminded him of last night’s supper, when Nadiya had served him double portions of everything. (And smiled at him, too!) The odor of cigarettes was Uncle Misha’s smell, gruff but warm. The sour beet smell was from last Easter morning, when they had laughed and eaten boiled eggs and he had spilled soup on Shu-Shu’s head. And if he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, he could sometimes detect another scent, fainter, but still there after all the years. It was not something he could classify as sour or sweet. Rather, he recognized it by the feelings it stirred in him. By the smell it brought to his heart. It was the smell of his babyhood. The smell of being caressed and sung to and loved.

  Hugging Shu-Shu, Aleksei burrowed deeper under his blanket. I’ll never let them give you a bath, he thought.

  Anyway, there weren’t so many of them left to torment him. Five days ago, another boat had appeared through the fog, and had drifted alongside them. While all the boys had scrambled to the rail to watch, Nadiya and Gregor had walked back and forth, calling out name after name. Nikolai Alekseyenko! Pavel Prebrazhensky! There were whoops of triumph, fists punched in the air as each name was called. Yes! I have been chosen!

  Later, the ones not chosen, the ones left behind, remained huddled at the rail, watching in silence as the motor launch carried the chosen boys to the other ship.

  “Where do they go?” Aleksei asked.

  “To families in the West,” Nadiya answered. “Now come away from the rail. It’s getting cold up here.”

  The boys didn’t move. After a while Nadiya didn’t seem to care if they stayed up on deck or not, and she left to go below.

  “Families in the West must be stupid,” said Yakov.

  Aleksei turned to look at him. Yakov was staring fiercely out to sea, his chin jutted out like someone hungry for a fight. “You think everyone’s stupid,” said Aleksei.

  “They are. Everyone on this boat is.”

  “That means you too.”

  Yakov didn’t answer. He simply clutched the rail with his one hand, his gaze directed at the other ship as it glided back into the fog. Then he walked away.

  Over the next few days, Aleksei scarcely saw him.

  Tonight, as usual, Yakov had disappeared right after supper. He was probably in his stupid Wonderland, Aleksei thought. Hiding out in that crate with all the mouse turds.

  Aleksei pulled the blanket over his head. And that was how he fell asleep, curled up in his bunk with dirty Shu-Shu cradled against his face.

  A hand shook him. A voice called softly in the night: “Aleksei. Aleksei.”

  “Mommy,” he said.

  “Aleksei, it’s time to wake up. I have a surprise for you.”

  Slowly he drifted up through layers of sleep, surfacing into darkness. The hand was still shaking him. He recognized Nadiya’s scent.

  “It’s time to go,” she whispered.

  “Where am I going?”

  “You must get ready to meet your new mother.”

  “Is she here?”

  “I’ll take you to her, Aleksei. Out of all the boys, you’ve been chosen. You’re very lucky. Now come. But be quiet.”

  Aleksei sat up. He was not quite awake yet, not quite certain if he was dreaming. Nadiya reached up and helped him off the bunk.

  “Shu-Shu,” he said.

  Nadiya put the dog in his arms. “Of course you can bring your Shu-Shu.” She took his hand. She had never held his hand before. The sudden rush of happiness shook him fully awake. He was holding her hand and they were walking together, to meet his mother. It was dark and he was scared
of the dark, but Nadiya would see to it that nothing happened to him. He remembered, somehow he remembered: This is how it feels to hold your mother’s hand.

  They left the cabin and walked down a dimly lit corridor. He was stumbling through a joyous daze, not paying attention to where they were going, because Nadiya was taking care of everything. They turned down another corridor. This one he did not recognize. They pushed through a door.

  Into Wonderland.

  The steel walkway stretched before them. Beyond it stood the blue door.

  Aleksei stopped.

  “What is it?” asked Nadiya.

  “I don’t want to go in there.”

  “But you have to.”

  “There are people living there.”

  “Aleksei, don’t be difficult.” Nadiya gripped his hand more firmly. “This is where you must go.”

  “Why?”

  Suddenly she seemed to understand that a different tactic was called for. She crouched down so that they were eye to eye, and took him firmly by the shoulders. “Do you want to ruin everything? Do you want to make her angry? She expects an obedient little boy, and now you are being very disagreeable.”

  His lips trembled. He tried so hard not to cry, because he knew how much adults hated children’s tears. But the tears were starting to fall anyway, and now he’d probably ruined everything. Just as Nadiya had said he would. He was always ruining everything.

  “Nothing is settled yet,” said Nadiya. “She can still choose another boy. Is that what you want?”

  Aleksei sobbed. “No.”

  “Then why aren’t you behaving?”

  “I’m afraid of the quail people.”

  “What? You are ridiculous. I wouldn’t be surprised if no one ever wanted you.” She straightened and snatched his hand again. “Come.”

  Aleksei looked at the blue door. He whispered: “Carry me.”

  “You’re too big. You’ll hurt my back.”

  “Please carry me.”

  “You have to walk, Aleksei. Now hurry, or we’ll be late.” She put her arm around him.

  He began to walk, only because she was there beside him, hugging him close. The way he was hugging Shu-Shu close. As long as they held each other, the three of them, nothing bad would happen.

  Nadiya knocked at the blue door.

  It swung open.

  Yakov heard them on the walkway above. Aleksei’s whining. Nadiya’s impatient coaxing. He crawled to the edge of the crate and cautiously peered up at them. They were crossing to the blue door now. A moment later, they vanished through it.

  Why does Aleksei get to go in there, and not me?

  Yakov slipped out of the crate and up the stairs to the blue door. He tried to open it, but as always, it was locked.

  Defeated, he went back to his crate. It was quite a comfortable hiding place now. Over the last week, he had scavenged a blanket, a flashlight, and a number of magazines with naked ladies in them. He had also lifted a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from Koubichev. Sometimes Yakov would smoke one, but there were so few cigarettes, he was careful to save them. Once he’d accidentally set the shavings on fire. That had been exciting. Most of the time, though, he just liked having the cigarettes around, liked holding the pack, reading and rereading the label under the beam of the flashlight.

  That’s what he’d been doing when he’d heard Aleksei and Nadiya on the walkway.

  Now he waited for them to come back out of the blue door. It was taking a long time. What were they doing in there?

  Yakov threw the cigarettes down. It wasn’t fair.

  He looked at a few pictures in the magazines. Practiced flicking the lighter on and off. Then he decided he was sleepy. He curled up in the blanket and dozed off.

  Sometime later, he was awakened by a rumbling sound. At first he thought something was wrong with the ship’s engines, then he realized the sound was growing louder, and that it was not coming from Hell, but from the deck above.

  It was a helicopter.

  Gregor tied the twist top and set the plastic bag in the cooler. He handed it to Nadiya. “Well, take it.”

  At first she didn’t seem to hear. Then she looked at him, her face drained white, and he thought: The bitch can’t handle it. “It needs ice. Go on, do it.” He shoved the cooler toward her.

  She seemed to recoil in horror. Then, breathing deeply, she took it, carried it across the room, and set it on the countertop. She began scooping ice into the cooler. He noticed that her legs were not quite steady. The first time around was always a shock to the system. Even Gregor had had his queasy moments the first time. Nadiya would get over it.

  He turned to the operating table. The anesthetist had already zipped up the shroud and was now gathering up the bloodied drapes. The surgeon had made no move to help. Instead, he was slumped back against the counter, as though trying to catch his breath. Gregor regarded him with distaste. There was something especially disgusting about a doctor who let himself get so grotesquely fat. The surgeon did not look well tonight. He had wheezed his way through the entire procedure, and his hands had seemed more tremulous than usual.

  “My head hurts,” the surgeon groaned.

  “You’ve been drinking too much. Probably got yourself a fucking hangover.” Gregor moved to the table and grasped one end of the shroud. Together, he and the anesthetist lifted their burden and slid it onto the gurney. Next, Gregor picked up the pile of dirty clothes and set those on the gurney as well. He almost overlooked the stuffed dog. It was lying on the floor, the ratty fur soaked with blood. He tossed it on top of the dirty clothes, then he and the anesthetist wheeled the gurney to the disposal chute. They opened the hatch and deposited the shroud, the clothes, and the dog into the chute.

  The surgeon moaned. “This is the worst fucking headache . . .”

  Gregor ignored him. He stripped off his gloves and went to the sink to wash his hands. One never knew what one might pick up handling those filthy clothes. Lice, perhaps. He scrubbed as thoroughly as a doctor preparing to operate.

  There was a loud crash, the clatter of falling metal instruments. Gregor turned.

  The surgeon was lying on the floor, his face bright red, his limbs jerking like a puppet gone out of control.

  Nadiya and the anesthetist stood frozen in horror.

  “What’s wrong with him?” demanded Gregor.

  “I don’t know!” said the anesthetist.

  “Well do something about it!”

  The anesthetist knelt beside the convulsing man and made a few helpless attempts to revive him. He loosened the man’s surgical gown, clapped an oxygen mask on his face. The convulsions were worse now, the arms flapping like goose wings.

  “Hold the mask on for me!” said the anesthetist. “I’m going to give him an injection!”

  Gregor knelt at the man’s head and took hold of the mask. The surgeon’s face felt repulsive, doughy and oily. Spittle had dribbled out of his mouth, turning the oxygen mask slippery. His skin was beginning to turn blue. Gregor knew then, looking at the darkening cyanosis, that their efforts were futile.

  Moments later, the man was dead.

  For a long time, the three of them stood around staring at the corpse. It seemed to have ballooned even larger and more grotesque. The stomach was distended and the fleshy folds of the face had spread out like a boneless jellyfish.

  “What the fuck do we do now?” said the anesthetist.

  “We need another surgeon,” Gregor said.

  “You can’t exactly pull one out of the sea. We’ll have to head into port sooner than planned.”

  “Or transfer the live cargo . . .” Gregor suddenly glanced upward. So did Nadiya and the anesthetist. They all heard it now: the whup-whup of the helicopter. He looked at the cooler on the countertop. “Is it ready?”

  “I packed it with ice,” said Nadiya.

  “Go, then. Bring it up to them.” Gregor looked back down at the carcass of the dead surgeon. He gave it a kick of disgust. “We’ll t
ake care of the whale.”

  The blue eye was shining on deck.

  From his hiding place under the bridge stairway, Yakov had watched the blue light flare on first, followed by the surrounding circle of white lights. They were all blazing now, so brightly he could not look directly at them. Instead he looked up at the sky, at the helicopter hovering overhead. It descended from the darkness, and Yakov closed his eyes as the wash of the rotors whipped his face. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the helicopter had landed.

  The door swung open, but no one emerged. It was waiting for someone to board.

  Yakov crept forward so that he was gazing through the gap between two steps, straight at the helicopter. Lucky Aleksei, he thought. Aleksei must be leaving tonight.

  He heard the clang of a door shutting and a figure appeared at the edge of the lit circle. It was Nadiya. She crossed the deck, her body bent forward at the waist, her ass sticking in the air. She was scared those rotors would chop off her stupid head. She leaned inside the helicopter door, her ass still poking out as she spoke to the pilot. Then she backed out and retreated to the edge of the lights.

  A moment later, the helicopter lifted off.

  The lights shut off, plunging the deck into darkness.

  Yakov eased around the stairway to watch as the helicopter rose. He saw the tail swing away like a giant pendulum on a string. Then the craft thundered away, swooping low over the water, and vanished into the night.

  A hand grabbed Yakov’s arm. He gave a cry as he was yanked backward and spun around.

  “What the fuck are you doing up here?” said Gregor.

  “Nothing!”

  “What did you see?”

  “Just a helicopter—”

  “What did you see?”

  Yakov only stared at him, too terrified to answer.

  Nadiya had heard their voices. Now she crossed the deck toward them. “What is it?”

  “The boy’s been watching again. I thought you locked the cabin.”

  “I did. He must have slipped out earlier.” She looked at Yakov. “It’s always him. I can’t watch him every second.”