Natural Causes (31 page)

“Oh, God, Matt. Over there. I think there’s more of them.”

There were, in fact, three more, sealing off the street from the far end.

“That alley over there is our only way now. We’ve got to go for it. Just keep low until we reach the corner of that building, then run like hell. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Sarah, I—I really do care a lot for you. Come on. Let’s do it.”

Crouched low, they inched backward, keeping their hands on the pavement for balance.

“Now!” Matt said.

They whirled and fled down the alley. Behind them, one of their pursuers cried out. An instant later they heard the snap of two gunshots.

“Stay low!” Matt warned. “Keep running.”

The alley was narrow and filled with debris and loose garbage. Matt pulled over one overflowing trash can as he passed, then another.

“Cut to the right!” Sarah cried, pointing ahead of them.

At the far end of the alley, two more men had appeared. Suddenly Chinatown, which was no more than a dozen or so square blocks, seemed endless. Reacting to Sarah’s command, Matt spun into the narrow gap between
two buildings, slipped and fell, scrambled up, and kept running.

“They’re multiplying like rabbits,” he said, panting. “Sarah, I’m not sure we can make it out of here. I think we’ve got to find someplace to hide.”

Sarah was now clearly the quicker of the two of them. She was about ten feet ahead as they approached a cross street. She slowed and glanced to her right. The doorway of an old theater was just a few yards away. The theater, boarded up and not in any apparent use, still displayed torn posters advertising Chinese movies, and even one showing Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn navigating the
African Queen
.

“Matt!” she gasped, pointing at the door. “Can you get us in there?”

He hit it once with his shoulder, then stepped back and, with one vicious kick, slammed it open. They slipped inside and closed the door quickly behind them. The lobby glowed dimly with the outside light from two small windows set high in one of the walls. Except for a worn carpet of some sort, the place was stripped. Still, even after what was probably years of disuse, Sarah could smell the popcorn that had once been made and sold there. Hand in hand, they entered the theater itself. Like the lobby, the space had several narrow windows near the ceiling, which had probably been curtained off during shows. The light from them was enough to make out a stage in front of where the screen once had been. The seats, with a few battered exceptions, had been removed.

“Probably dates back to vaudeville,” Matt said. “We’ve got to find a place to hide, or else a side door out of here, and quickly.”

Sarah leapt onto the stage and then called out in a loud whisper, “Matt, up here. Look.”

Just offstage was a steel ladder, free-hanging, its base just inches above the floor. It led straight up to a narrow catwalk, which was suspended from the ceiling. The catwalk,
perhaps twenty-five feet overhead, was barely visible in the gloom. Without waiting for discussion or agreement, Sarah grabbed a quilted moving blanket from a pile of them near the stage and began to climb.

“It’s solid, Matt,” she called down. “Come on.”

Moments later they heard the lobby door crash open. Then there were voices. Matt peered overhead but could not see Sarah at all. He threw two more of the packing blankets over his shoulder and scrambled quickly up the ladder. The metal catwalk, three feet across and suspended from the ceiling by steel struts, was actually quite sturdy. Matt spread one of the packing quilts out next to hers and folded the other as a makeshift pillow. The blankets were damp and smelled of mold. But terrified and soaked to the skin, the two of them were quite beyond feeling discomfort. Matt lowered himself down next to her and pulled his knees up, just as some men entered the theater.

“Can you see anything?” she whispered, her lips against his ear.

Matt shook his head and then lay back, praying they were both completely screened from the men below. The men—it seemed as if there were two of them—chattered on in Chinese, without any particular urgency in their voices. Then, after only a minute or two, they made one pass around the theater and left. The lobby door opened and closed. Had they both gone?

Sarah started to speak, but Matt silenced her with a finger to his lips and pulled her closer to him. Five minutes passed before the man in the darkness below them cleared his throat and softly coughed.

“I knew it,” he murmured.

At that instant the lobby door slammed open once again. Several different voices conversed with the man who had been standing guard. And suddenly the dark, musty air was pierced by spears of bright light.

“Shit.”

Matt mouthed more than spoke the word.

Sarah pressed her body even tighter to his. She tried desperately to understand the Chinese being spoken below them, but could only come up with scattered words and, occasionally, a phrase. It was clear that Tommy Sze-to was both frightened and furious. It sounded as if someone—there was never a name spoken that she recognized—wasn’t going to like it at all if Sarah and Matt got away and started talking. Whoever found them would be rewarded.

Trying not to move even as they breathed, they watched the beams of light play across the ceiling, the catwalk, and possibly even the underside of the packing quilts on which they were lying. Grabbing them had been sheer genius on Sarah’s part, Matt was realizing. He tried to imagine what their nest looked like from below.
Probably like nothing at all
. If they made it out, he would have to find some special way to thank her. If.

Below them, the lights and voices moved closer to the stage. A beam flashed through the catwalk … then another. The lights panned back and forth. Sarah felt herself beginning to shake. Perhaps sensing her movement, Matt turned his head slightly and pressed his lips against her forehead. The catwalk shook as one of the men below took hold of the ladder. Then it tilted as he stepped onto the first rung. Matt’s lips pressed even more tightly against Sarah’s skin. Another step. And another. They could see the man’s flash playing over the spot where they lay. Another step … then suddenly the catwalk heaved and shuddered as he pushed off and jumped back to the floor.

“Nothing,” they heard him say.

The flashlight beams—what they could see of them—began moving to other parts of the theater. Huddled on the overhead walk, sodden and exhausted, Matt and Sarah fought the need to move. Their limbs tingled and cramped. Electric pain knifed into their hands and feet. They clung tightly to one another, unable to move or speak; together, yet very much apart.

The search within the theater continued for at least another half hour. Tommy Sze-to left well before that, but the others kept on looking. Twice Sarah and Matt heard the outside door open and close. The theater was quiet.

Sarah started to shift her position, but Matt stopped her.

“They’re still down there,” he whispered almost soundlessly. “Don’t move.”

He turned his head slightly, and suddenly his lips were resting on hers. From somewhere in the darkness below them, there was a scuffing bit of movement and the clearing of a throat. Not wanting—or daring—to move her lips away from his, Sarah slid her free arm upward until her fingers touched his neck. For the next two hours they lay that way, their eyes closed, their breathing synchronous. Every fifteen minutes or so, the man stationed beneath the catwalk made some sort of movement or sound. Finally, after a painful eternity, he switched on his radio telephone and spoke in Chinese.

“He wants to leave,” Sarah whispered excitedly.

They heard him stretch and groan. He shuffled toward the back of the theater. Again the lobby door opened and shut. Then there was only silence.

“What do you think?” Matt risked asking.

“I think they haven’t found us.”

“I believe he’s gone.”

“Matt, I can’t stop thinking about Andrew. Please don’t move yet.”

Matt turned his head so that once again their lips were touching.

“If you insist,” he whispered.

•  •  •

At five-thirty, the hazy light of the new day began to brighten the theater. Huddled on the rusting metal catwalk above the empty stage, Sarah and Matt had moved enough to keep their limbs from paralysis. But they had
not broken their embrace, nor had they spoken. One or possibly both of them had slept for a time, though neither of them was sure. Matt worked his hands up to the sides of her face and kissed her gently on the eyes.

“You’ve been incredibly brave,” he said. “I did a very stupid thing trying to play Green Beret with that bastard.”

“Are they really gone?”

Matt sat up slowly and carefully, and peered between the rails of the catwalk.

“I can’t vouch for the lobby, but the theater is empty. I think we should wait until nine or ten before we leave, though. The more people out there, the better chance we have of making it home. Although frankly, if I were Tommy Sze-to, I’d already be on my way to someplace far, far away from here.”

“Poor Andrew. He really was trying to help me.”

“Maybe he did it in time to reclaim his place in heaven,” Matt said. “Considering how he ended up, I guess you’d have to say it was a pretty damn noble act. I only wish he had been able to learn who bankrolled Sze-to in the first place. Any ideas?”

“None,” Sarah said. “No idea who, and no idea why. Except now we know one important thing.”

“Namely, that someone is willing to go to any length to ensure that you look guilty of causing those DIC cases.”

“That’s not absolute proof that Tian-Wen and I are innocent. But it seems like someone thinks so. When we get out of here, we can begin to focus on who that might be. But the first thing I’m going to do is go and speak with Claire Truscott.”

“I thought you said Andrew had left her.”

“He’s still the father of their child. I intend to help Claire out in any way I can—now and in the future.”

Matt glanced at his watch.

“Two hours,” he said. “Maybe two and a half. I think we ought to stay up here and keep pretty quiet.”

“I agree.”

She smiled and kissed him lightly. He slipped his hand up beneath the back of her blouse and rubbed her back.

“You know,” he said, “this isn’t exactly the under-the-sheet situation with you I had been fantasizing about.”

“And here I thought this whole night was an elaborate setup just because you knew that my tastes run to the unusual and the exotic.”

“Promise you won’t turn me over to the bar association?”

“If you promise not to drop me as a client.”

She kissed him again, this time more searchingly. Her tongue explored his mouth. Then she reached down, loosened his trousers, and gently caressed him.

“You were pretty macho last night, Cat,” she whispered. “Did that coward hurt you?”

“I don’t remember,” he said, looking at her wide-eyed. “A little maybe. God, what you’re doing right now is really helping. I mean
really helping.”

Again she smiled at him. The horror of the night just passed had largely given way to thoughts of the future and of the man whose gentle eyes were fixed on hers.

“That’s just the beginning,” she whispered. “I’m a doctor, remember. When I think it’s clinically appropriate, I’m going to kiss it and make it all better.”

S
CALPEL
.… S
PONGE, PLEASE
.… S
COPE READY
, please.… How’re you doing, Kristen? Are you feeling any of this?… Excellent, that’s excellent.… Do you still want to watch this procedure on the monitor?… All right then. Here we go.…”

The young woman on the operating table, a mother of three, had begged for local rather than general anesthesia. Although general was the norm, Sarah had agreed. She had done her first tubal ligation by laparoscopy late in her first year of residency. That procedure had gone without a hitch, as had the twenty or twenty-five she had done since then, three of them utilizing a local anesthetic with heavy sedation. She was a damn good surgeon. Technically and clinically one of the best, if not
the
best, her training program had ever had. Why then had her life in the hospital become such hell?

“Okay, Kristen. What you’re looking at are your in-sides. There’s a small but very powerful light at the tip of this laparoscope. Right next to the light source is a fiber optic pickup that can take light and actually make it bend around corners. The fiber optics carry the images
back to this eyepiece and also to the television monitor. As of this moment, your left ovary—that little pink thing in the middle of the screen—is a star! Amazing, huh?”

Fiber optics
. Sarah found herself momentarily wondering about the scientist responsible for the remarkable, revolutionary discovery. Worldwide communications forever changed. The frontiers of surgery pushed farther back perhaps than with any other single discovery since anesthesia.
Had life rewarded the inventor? Was he rich? Was he at peace? Or had controversy, illness, or the machinations of others made things hard for him?

Sarah had inserted a bipolar cautery instrument through a small incision just over Kristen’s pubis. Now, watching through the laparoscope, she guided the tips of the cautery unit around the narrow fallopian tube. Next she traced along the tube from where it entered the uterus to its fimbriated tip—the fringed end next to the ovary.

“Okay, Kristen, your tube’s completely freed up. I’m going to grasp it with the little pincher on the cautery unit and burn it closed. If you still want to watch, you might actually see the fat cells in the tissue sizzle and pop. Then, just to be sure there are no little surprise tax deductions in your future, I’m going to repeat the procedure in a second spot as well, a bit closer to your uterus. The burns we’re going to make will deaden the sensory nerves along with the tubal tissue, so there won’t be much pain from that area after we’re all done—if there’s any pain at all.…”

We’re
going to make … after
we’re
all done …
The phrases, used reflexively, now sounded as awkward as Sarah was feeling. She glanced over at the nurses. They used to love working with her; they’d talk and joke with her during cases. Now, whether they intended it or not, there was distance.