Noble Vision (54 page)

By Monday afternoon, David knew the cause of death: a poison in the brain. But how did it get there? Could something at the surgical site have introduced benzyl alcohol to the cat’s brain? He had to find the answer because he would be using the same procedure on Nicole.

David considered the chemicals that he had administered in the fatal operation on the third blinded feline, wondering what reaction could have produced benzyl alcohol. For the second nerve-repair surgery, which he had performed on three cats, David had employed a different general anesthetic on the third cat than on the prior two. The general anesthetic used on the successful two animals was made by Phil Morgan’s company, but it was a drug discontinued by CareFree following Morgan’s defense of David’s experimental surgery. With the supply of Phil Morgan’s anesthetic almost depleted after the surgery on the first two cats, David had switched to a replacement anesthetic for his operation on the third feline. Could the new anesthetic have reacted with the scar inhibitor to produce the benzyl alcohol? After all, it was at the moment that he injected the scar inhibitor into the third cat’s brain that the animal’s heart arrested. Yes!

David phoned John Kendall at Danzer Hall. “I can’t tell you what this is about, only that someone’s life is at stake. And I can’t wait for an analysis from a commercial lab. They’re all closing now.”

Minutes later he gathered a canister of the anesthetic that he had used to replace Phil Morgan’s discontinued drug, along with a vial of his scar inhibitor. He took them across the campus at dusk to Kendall, who had canceled a dinner engagement to run an analysis for him.

Again David wore no coat. Again people stared. Again he felt no sensation of cold through the thin cloth of his scrubs. He felt nothing but the exhilaration of solving a problem that had to be rectified immediately. He would find that the replacement anesthetic used on the third cat reacted with his scar inhibitor to produce benzyl alcohol, which killed the cat. Then he would select a safe anesthetic for Nicole’s surgery. And he would have the luxury of sleeping that night, of feeling refreshed for surgery on his precious human patient.

That evening David sat with John Kendall before an instrument. A tiny pen plotted on a chart the chemical result of mixing the scar inhibitor with the only drug used on the third cat that was not used on the first two, the drug that had to be the cause of the third cat’s death—the replacement anesthetic.

The chemist’s shocking interpretation of the chart reeled David back into a maze with no exit:

“There’s no benzyl alcohol produced by mixing those two drugs, David. Your scar inhibitor and replacement anesthetic don’t react at all with each other.”

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On that cheerless Monday night an unfed, unwashed, unshaven David Lang stood before a bright stream of light flooding a laboratory counter. Dozens of shiny metal instruments lay before him. Nicole had already lost her perception of color and motion. She was rapidly losing her ability to detect light. Maybe the third cat’s death was a fluke, he concluded, an inexplicable occurrence whose cause eluded him. Two blinded cats remained to have the second surgery. He lifted cat 4 from its cage. He dripped into its veins the replacement anesthetic, because it was one of the shrinking number of anesthetics still available and because John Kendall’s analysis proved that it did not react with the scar inhibitor. Following all the usual procedures, David began the surgery. He opened the cat’s scalp. He looked into its brain. The optic nerves had grown back! He removed the scar tissue to free the nerves. He injected the scar inhibitor.

The monitor on the cat screeched its alarm, its graphs went awry, its readings plunged into the danger zone. For a few desperate moments, David tried to restart the animal’s heart, but to no avail. The fourth cat was dead.

Chapter 28

Approval Pending

He was standing on the tracks of a railroad when he heard the clanging of a locomotive. The wheels ground against the track, heading straight toward him. The ground vibrated fiercely. Then he saw the distorted image of his face reflecting off the shiny steel engine. He must get out of the way! But his legs would not move. The train’s piercing whistle blasted in his ears—

A startled David Lang awoke to his cell phone’s ringing on the lab bench. His neck ached from the awkward position in which he had fallen asleep.

“Hello,” he mumbled, still shaken from the nightmare.

“Dr. Lang?” His secretary did not recognize his voice.

“It’s me.”

“Nicole Hudson is here for her appointment.”

“Oh!” The windowless lab hid daylight from him. He glanced at the clock. Ten-fifteen. His new enemy, sleep, had robbed two hours from his life—two precious hours!—when he could spare not a minute. “I’ll be right there.”

Notebooks, records, and chemicals covered the lab counter. He had rechecked everything, searching for a clue. He had investigated every drug used on Nicole and on the cats: its composition, preparation date, batch number, purity, potency. Earlier that Tuesday morning chemist John Kendall had confirmed that David’s latest blood and cerebrospinal samples contained benzyl alcohol. Those samples came from cat 4, showing it died from the same poison in the brain as cat 3. David did not know how the toxin got there.

As he splashed water on his face and walked to his nearby office, his thoughts kept returning to the replacement anesthetic that he had given to cats 3 and 4. But he had witnessed John Kendall’s test himself. The replacement anesthetic used on the dead cats did not react with his scar-inhibiting drug. He had to find another cause, and soon—otherwise the train would . . .

“Come in, Nicole,” he said to the lovely vision in brown slacks and soft suede jacket.

She rose to approach him, leaving Mrs. Trimbell to wait in the reception area. David had brought a rush of cold air in with him, Nicole thought, when he entered the office. Or was it his voice that was oddly cool and toneless? He seemed preoccupied as he silently escorted her into the examining room. He closed the door, his manner bearing no hint of their intimacy of two days ago. She sat on the end of the examining table while he lowered the blinds.

When the room was darkened, David held a light before her from a distance of ten feet. He turned the knob of the light slowly, increasing the intensity.

“Tell me when you see the light,” he instructed.

Nicole said nothing.

He continued to turn the switch, until the light was at full force. “Do you see anything now?”

“No.”

She had seen the light from that distance a mere two weeks ago. He moved closer. “Tell me when you see the light,” he said from a distance of eight feet, turning the knob and watching the beam grow to its strongest intensity on her face.

“I don’t see anything yet.”

At five feet he did the same. Nicole had no response.

He moved directly in front of her with the light at its highest intensity.

“I see light,” she said finally.

David stared at her, alarmed. He knew that he must operate by tomorrow at the latest. He had never been successful in his nerve-repair experiments when he had waited until all regained function had vanished.

“I want you to check into the hospital now and wait for my further instructions.”

“What’s wrong, David?” she asked the stoical presence before her.

“I can’t talk to you now. I have to go.”

She reached up to his face. He tried to move away, but her hand caught the stubble of his beard, revealing that he had not shaved since their last meeting.

“David, what’s wrong?”

“Please don’t ask. I’m very busy.”

She cupped his face with her hands. “Something terrible is wrong. I know it. And it involves my case. All the . . . bad . . . things that happen to you involve my case.”

“Nicole, please! I can’t take this right now.”

He moved away. She felt his body lean against the side of the examining table. She jumped down and reached out to find his hands covering his face.

“David, I must know!” Her voice trembled.

He tried moving away, but she moved with him, tears forming in her eyes, her hands clutching his arms.

“You have to tell me!”

“Don’t ask, please.”

“Something’s terribly wrong and I’m concerned.”

“You must let me handle this.”

“If you don’t tell me, I could get very upset,” she cried, knowing she was using the ultimate weapon against him. “I could run away—”

“All right! All right!” She heard anger mixed with caring in the desperate voice. “But if I tell you, then you must promise you won’t run away, because I couldn’t handle that now. I have other things on my mind.”

“I promise I won’t run away.” The gravity of her tone matched his.

He led her to a chair, and he sat on his doctor’s stool next to her. He took her face gently in his hands, the tenderness of their last evening returning to him.

“You must swear you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to reveal.”

“Of course. I swear.”

“After your accident, I duplicated your injury on five laboratory cats. I cut their optic nerves. Then I performed the first nerve-repair surgery on them, just as I had on you.” His hands fell to her arms, grasping them tightly. “These experiments are illegal, so no one must know!”

“I see.”

“On Saturday night I began doing the second surgeries on the cats.”

“And?”

“And the first two cats regained their vision.”

“David!” Her face blazed with excitement. “That’s fabulous!”

He did not respond.

“What could possibly be wrong?”

“The next two cats died on the table.”

Her face flashed with a horror that he wished he could have spared her.

“A poison got into their brains, and I don’t know how. I have one animal and twenty-four hours left to find out. That’s why I
must
go, so I have to leave you frightened like this! All I can say is don’t underestimate me. Don’t give up hope.”

Nicole’s face struggled against an inner turmoil. He watched helplessly, for he had no reassurances to offer.

“David,” she whispered finally, “I knew when we began that this was experimental. When I told you that I wanted the surgery, even if my chances of . . . dying . . . were ninety-five percent, I meant it. I know you’ll do your best. You don’t have to worry about me. I . . . accept the risk.”

 
I don’t,” he said gently, fighting his own battle. He wanted to wrap his arms around her shoulders and pull her close. “I’ll never risk your life. Never! If I don’t solve this problem, I won’t operate.”

“You
must
operate! I want the surgery more than anything. I accept the consequences. After all, two of the cats made it—”

He placed his fingers over her lips. “Don’t waste your time, Nicole. There’s nothing you could say to persuade me. Some things are more precious than sight.”

“Not to me!”

“To me. Your life is precious to me.”

The words hung in the air between them.

“I need to count on you to be all right now, Nicole.”

“I’m okay.” Her voice was almost steady. “I won’t make this harder on you.”

The dignity in the soft voice seemed to reassure him. He called in Mrs. Trimbell to take Nicole to Admissions.

On their departure, he reached for the wall phone and dialed a number that he had memorized from frequent use. Dr. Harold Wabash, the director of the Warren Lang Institute for Medical Research, answered.

“It took me seven years to develop my new procedure. Is it going to take you that long to approve it?”

Wabash laughed. “Dr. Lang. I was about to call you. The feds have just approved your new procedure.”

“Good!” David exclaimed. “My patient is being admitted to the hospital now, and I have to operate as soon as possible.”

“There’s just one more thing—”

“How can there be another goddamn thing?”

“One more agency has to check one more thing. But you’ll have your
final
permission by five o’clock this afternoon, I assure you.”

“If you think I’m gonna let your little fiefdom make my patient’s life go up in smoke—” He suddenly looked astonished. “
Vapor!
” he whispered to himself. “That’s it!”

“What did you say? . . . Dr. Lang? . . . Are you still there?”

The phone he dropped clanged against the wall as David flew out of the examining room. He returned to West Side University, his white doctor’s coat billowing in the wind.

David found John Kendall in an organic chemistry lab in Danzer Hall.

“Hey, John.”

Kendall saw wild green eyes peering at him from the other side of his lab bench. A face full of tumultuous emotions shone between jars of chemicals on a shelf above the counter.

“What’s up, David?”

“When we mixed the replacement anesthetic with the scar inhibitor, the anesthetic was in a pure liquid state, wasn’t it?”