Deep Storm (9 page)

Bishop did not reply; instead, she frowned and looked away.

Crane felt himself growing impatient. Feel free to talk to Asher if you dont like it, he said crisply, but he brought me down here to make suggestions. Now please get this patient to the chamber. He paused to let this sink in. Shall we visit patient number three?

He had saved the most interesting case for last: a woman who presented with numbness and weakness in both hands and face. She was awake when they entered her room. Latest-generation monitoring equipment surrounded her, bleating quietly. Immediately, Crane sensed a difference. He noted the distress in her yellowish eyes, the wasting body rigid with worry. Even without performing a diagnostic procedure, he knew this case might be serious.

He opened the clipboard, and the LCD screen sprang to life. The patient history came up automatically. Must be tagged to her RFID chip, Crane thought.

He glanced over the summary data:

Name: Philips, Mary E.

Sex: F

Age: 36

Brief Presentation: Bilateral weakness /

numbness of hands and face

When he looked up from the clipboard he noticed a naval officer had slipped into the room. The man was tall and lean, and his pale eyes were set unusually even oddly close together. The right eye appeared to be exotrophic. Commanders bars were on his sleeves, and his left collar sported the gold insignia of the Intelligence Service. He leaned against the door frame, hands at his sides, acknowledging neither Crane nor Bishop.

Crane looked back toward the patient, tuning out this new arrival. Mary Philips? he asked, falling automatically into the neutral tone hed long ago learned to use with patients.

The woman nodded.

I wont take up much of your time, he said with a smile. Were here to see you back on your feet as quickly as possible.

She returned the smile: a small jerk of the lips that vanished quickly.

Youre still feeling significant numbness in your hands and your face?

She nodded, blinked, dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Crane noticed that when she blinked her eyes did not seem to close completely.

When did you first notice this? he asked.

About ten days ago. No, maybe two weeks. At first it was so subtle I barely noticed.

And were you on or off shift when you first became aware of the sensation?

On shift.

Crane glanced again at the digital clipboard. It doesnt say here what your station is.

It was the man in the doorway who spoke up. Thats because it isnt relevant, Doctor.

Crane turned toward him. Who are you?

Commander Korolis. The man had a low, soft, almost unctuous voice.

Well, Commander, I think her station is very relevant.

Why is that? Korolis asked.

Crane looked back at the patient. She returned his gaze anxiously. The last thing he wanted to do, he decided, was increase that anxiety. He motioned Commander Korolis in the direction of the hall.

Were performing a diagnostic procedure, he said, in the corridor and out of the patients earshot. In a differential diagnosis, every fact is relevant. Its quite possible her work environment is in some way responsible.

Korolis shook his head. Its not.

And how do you know that?

Youll just have to take my word for it.

Im sorry, but thats not good enough. And Crane turned away.

Dr. Crane, Korolis said softly. Mary Philips works in a classified area of the Facility on a classified aspect of the project. You will not be permitted to ask work-specific questions.

Crane wheeled back. You cant he began. Then he stopped, forcing down anger with effort. Whoever this Korolis was, he clearly wielded authority. Or thought he did. Why all this need for secrecy, Crane wondered, at a scientific establishment?

Then he paused, reminding himself he was the newcomer here. He didnt yet know the rules overt or covert. It seemed likely this was a battle he couldnt win. But hed sure as hell bring it up with Asher later. For the moment, hed just have to diagnose this patient as best he could.

He stepped back into the hospital room. Dr. Bishop was still beside the bed, her expression studiously neutral.

Im sorry for the interruption, Ms. Philips, Crane said. Lets proceed.

Over the next fifteen minutes, he performed a detailed physical and neurological examination. Gradually, he forgot the watchful presence of Commander Korolis as he grew absorbed in the womans condition.

It was an intriguing case. The bilateral weakness to both the upper and lower facial muscles was marked. When tested for pinprick sensation, the woman demonstrated significant impairment in the trigeminal distribution. Neck flexion was intact, as was neck extension. But he noticed that the sensation of temperature was greatly reduced across both the neck and upper trunk. There was also surprisingly noticeable, and apparently quite recent, wasting of the hand muscles. As he checked the deep tendon reflexes, then the plantar responses, a suspicion began to take root in his mind.

Every physician dreams of stumbling across a particularly rare or interesting case, the kind one reads about in the medical literature. It rarely happened. And yet, in all observations so far, Mary Philips was presenting with precisely such a condition. And Crane, who often stayed up late catching up on medical journals, thought perhaps just perhaps he had just identified such a case. Maybe there is a special reason Im here, after all.

On a hunch, he examined her tonsils: markedly large, yellowish, and lobulated. Very interesting.

Thanking the woman for her patience, he stepped away, picked up the clipboard, and glanced at the blood work:

White-cell count (per mm) 3,100

Hematocrit (%) 34.6

Platelet count (per mm) 104,000

Glucose (mg/dl) 79

Triglycerides (mg/dl) 119

Erythrocyte sedimentation rate

(mm/hr) 48.21

He withdrew to speak with Dr. Bishop. What do you think? he asked.

I was hoping you could tell me, she replied. Youre the expert.

Im no expert. Just a fellow doctor looking for a little cooperation.

Bishop simply looked back at him. Crane felt the anger returning, stronger now: anger at all the inexplicable secrecy, anger at the meddling Commander Korolis, and particularly anger at the unhelpful, resentful Dr. Bishop. Hed take her down a peg, show her how much he did know.

He closed the clipboard sharply. Did you think to do any antibody tests, Doctor?

She nodded. Viral hepatitis A and C, sulfatide IgM. All negative.

Motor-conduction studies?

Normal bilaterally.

Rheumatoid factor?

Positive. Eighty-eight units per milliliter.

Crane paused. These were, in fact, the tests he would have performed next.

There was no history of arthralgia, anorexia, or Raynauds phenomenon, for that matter, she offered.

Crane looked at her in surprise. It wasnt possible the same exotic conclusion had occurred to her as well. Was it?

He decided to call her bluff. The incipient wasting of the hand muscles would seem to suggest syringomyelia. So would the loss of sensation in the upper trunk.

But theres an absence of leg stiffiness, she replied immediately, and little to no medullary dysfunction. It isnt syringomyelia.

Crane was now even more surprised by the depth of her diagnostic technique. But it couldnt hold.

Time to lay my cards on the table, he thought. What about the sensory defects? The neuropathy? And did you notice the tonsils?

Bishop was still staring at him, her face expressionless. Yes, I did notice the tonsils. Enlarged and yellowish.

There was a silence.

Gradually, a smile crept over her features. Why, Doctor, she said. Surely youre not suggesting Tangier disease?

Crane froze. Then slowly very slowly he relaxed. He found that he couldnt help smiling back. As a matter of fact, I was, he said a little ruefully.

Tangier disease. So, what: now weve got a hundred rare genetic diseases floating about this station? But her voice was mild, and there was no hint of reproof that Crane could detect. Even the smile, he decided, might be genuine.

At that moment a series of alarms sounded, loud and fast, cutting through the wash of classical music. An amber light snapped on in the hallway outside.

The smile left Bishops face. Code orange, she said.

What?

Med-psych emergency. Lets go. She was already running toward the door.

Chapter 10

Bishop stopped at the front desk just long enough to grab a radio. Get Corbett! she called to a nurse behind the desk. Then she ran out of the medical suite and down the corridor, Crane at her heels, heading toward Times Square.

As she ran, she punched a code into the radio, dialed through the bands. This is Dr. Bishop, requesting location of code orange.

There was a brief pause before the return squawk. Code orange location: deck five, rover repair hangar.

Deck five, roger, Bishop replied.

An elevator stood waiting beside the sidewalk cafe; they ducked inside and Bishop pressed the lowest button on the panel, 7.

She turned once again to the radio. Request nature of emergency.

Another squawk. Incident code five-twenty-two.

Whats that stand for? Crane asked.

She glanced at him. Floridly psychotic.

The doors opened again, and Crane followed her out into a brightly lit intersection. Corridors led away in three directions, and Bishop ran down the one directly before them.

What about medical supplies? Crane asked.

Theres a temporary infirmary on deck four. Well get an MICU kit from it if necessary.

Crane noticed this deck felt a lot more confining than the ones hed previously seen. The corridors were narrower, the compartments more cramped. The people they passed wore either lab coats or jumpsuits. He recalled this was the science level and computer center. Despite the audible rush of ventilation, the air was heavy with the smell of lab bleach, ozone, and hot electronics.

They reached another intersection and Bishop jogged right. Glancing ahead, Crane saw something unexpected: the corridor widened dramatically and ended in a black wall. This wall was smooth and broken only by a single airlock set in its center. The airlock hatch was guarded by four MPs with rifles, and a fifth sat in a high-tech pillbox to one side. A large LED above the airlock glowed red.

Whats that? he asked, slowing instinctively.

The Barrier, Bishop replied.

Im sorry?

Portal to the classified levels.

As they approached, two of the MPs took up positions directly before the airlock, rifles across their chests. Clearance, maam? one of them asked.

Bishop trotted over to the pillbox. The fifth MP stepped out and passed a bulky scanner over her forearm. There was a loud beep.

The MP glanced at a small LED screen set into the top of the scanner. Youre not cleared.