Brainwaves, page 26
part #8 of Joanna Blalock Series
Joanna could end up a vegetable.
Bondurant was asking, “So, are you going to anti coagulate her?”
Moran hesitated. “That could be very dangerous. She may be having some bleeding around the clot. And if that’s the case, anticoagulation could cause a massive hemorrhage.”
“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Mark Be lios pondered aloud.
“Tell us what you’d do, Mark,” Moran ordered. “You make the call.”
Belios weighed the matter carefully, then said, “I believe in the Hippocratic oath, which says, “First, do no harm.” I think we should wait and watch.”
“Too risky,” Bondurant said at once. “She already has a positive Babinski sign, which means she’s got brain damage. If we do nothing, it will only get worse.”
A streak of fear flooded through Lori. This was the first she’d heard that Joanna had a positive Babinski sign. It was an ominous sign in which the big toe suddenly extended when the sole of the patient’s foot was scratched. It signified big-time brain damage.
Lori glanced over at Joanna, who was lying perfectly still, an IV running in her arm. There was a small shaved area in the side of her head where stitches had been placed to close the gash she had suffered in her fall.
Joanna’s left hand suddenly twitched, then went motionless again. The same thing had happened on the way to her second MRI. They didn’t know whether it was the start of a seizure or not, so as a precaution they had started Joanna on Dilantin and
Valium. And those medications made her coma even deeper.
Seizures, Lori thought miserably, on top of everything else.
Her ears pricked up suddenly. Now the consultants were talking about Karen Crandell’s catheter device that dissolved intracerebral blood clots.
“It could really work well in this case,” Bondurant was saying. “We could determine firsthand if any bleeding was present.”
“And dissolve the clot at the same time,” Belios added. “Assuming there was no bleeding.”
“And who is going to work this contraption?” Moran argued. “Remember, Karen wouldn’t involve anybody else in her projects. Nobody else knew the ins and outs of this device.”
“It can’t be that difficult to manage,” Bondurant insisted. “It’s nothing more than a catheter with a camera, like a sophisticated endoscope.”
“It’s not that much different from coronary angiography,” Belios said.
Oh, yes it is, Lori wanted to yell over to the group. You’ll be threading a catheter into a thin cerebral artery, which is something you’ve never done before. One wrong step and a whole segment of brain will be destroyed.
Moran was mulling over the problem, trying to come to a decision. “If we encountered trouble, we could always back out.”
“And if things went sour, no one could blame us for making the attempt,” Bondurant encouraged. “It’s the only chance Joanna has.”
“Let’s do it,” Moran said firmly, then turned to Belios. “Call the Angiography Unit and get things set up.”
Lori quietly arose from her chair at bedside and walked out into the corridor. The uniformed police guard on duty nodded to her.
“Is Lieutenant Sinclair around?” Lori asked.
The policeman’s face tightened. “You got a problem?”
“No,” Lori said. “I just need to talk with him.”
“I think he’s still questioning the twins in the lounge. Do you want me to get him?”
“Please.”
Lori watched the policeman stride down the corridor as she tried to decide what to do next. Every decision seemed to put Joanna’s life more on the line. Lori wished she had another consultant to turn to. But at Memorial, Christopher Moran was king. No one would dare challenge him.
Jake hurried over to her. “Is anything wrong?”
“A lot. And I think it’s about to get worse.”
Lori described the new findings in Joanna, and then told Jake what the neuro surgeons planned to do. “Threading that catheter into a narrow brain artery can be dangerous as hell,” she said. “That’s why nobody other than Karen Crandell has ever done it up to now.”
“Are you telling me they don’t have any experience with this damn device?” Jake asked incredulously.
“That’s what I’m telling you,” Lori said, keeping her voice down. “And they can get away with doing it, too. They’ll just say it’s another form of angiography. And of course it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that.”
“Do you think it’ll work?” Jake asked nervously.
Lori shrugged. “I’d feel better about it if Karen Crandell was doing the procedure.”
“And you think this procedure could really be dangerous for Joanna?”
“It could,” Lori said. “This isn’t something for amateurs. One slipup and she could be dead.”
Jake began to pace back and forth in front of Lori. “We need someone with experience. We need someone who has done this procedure before.”
“There is no such person.”
Jake grumbled to himself, knowing they were caught between a rock and a hard place. The procedure had to be done. It was Joanna’s best chance. But he didn’t like the fact that Christopher Moran would be doing it. Moran was still at the top of the suspect list. And if he wanted Joanna dead, he’d have the perfect opportunity to kill her. And get away with it.
“I guess I could go to the Angiography Unit with Joanna,” Lori suggested. “It’s too bad Karen didn’t have an assistant who worked with her,” Lori thought aloud. “You know, like another doctor who—”
Jake abruptly spun around and stared at Lori. “There was another doctor in the Angiography Unit with Karen Crandell the night she was murdered.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. And maybe this guy has some experience with the damn device.”
Jake took out his notepad and quickly thumbed through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. “Here we go. The other doctor in the unit was Todd Shuster.”
Lori sighed dispiritedly. “He’s just a resident in neurology. He was probably assisting Karen.”
“But he’s got some experience,” Jake persisted.
“He’s just a resident,” Lori repeated. “They’d never allow him to do it.”
“Shit!”
Jake started pacing again, desperately trying to come up with a way to sidestep Moran. Any bastard who would crack open a skull with an oak cane would have no problem shoving a catheter into some place where it didn’t belong.
Jake concentrated on the problem in front of him. The only person with real experience was Karen Crandell, and she was dead. And the person who assisted her was only a resident who was being taught-Jake stopped in his tracks and turned to Lori. “Get Todd Shuster on the phone!”
Lori waved away the idea. “I can guarantee you they won’t let a resident do this procedure.”
“That’s not what I’m after,” Jake said quickly. “Call him and see if he’s ever assisted anybody else doing this procedure.”
Lori nodded. “Or maybe he was present when Karen showed another physician how to use the catheter device.”
“That, too.”
Lori hurried over to the phone at the nurses station and dialed the hospital operator. It was ten thirty Friday night, and Todd Shuster wasn’t on call. The hospital operator found him at home. Lori spoke with Shuster for several minutes, then rushed back to Jake.
“There was someone else,” Lori said breathlessly.
“Who?”
“A neurosurgeon from UCLA named Alan Ship man,” Lori told him. “And he’s done a few cases using Karen’s new device.”
“Let’s get him,” Jake said, his spirits soaring.
“There are some problems,” Lori warned. “First, he’s done only two cases.”
“Well, that’s some experience.”
“In both cases, Karen Crandell was watching over his shoulder. And Moran will say that Shipman’s experience is not any better than the resident’s.”
“Goddamn it!” Jake growled, showing his frustration.
“And to make matters worse,” Lori went on, “Moran and Shipman dislike each other intensely. I’m talking about real hatred. Moran would never ask him for a second opinion. And without Moran’s consent, Shipman couldn’t get within a block of the neurosurgery I.C.U at Memorial.”
Jake walked away, muttering under his breath, thinking that if Joanna were here she would handle everything in a split second. But she isn’t here. Only I’m here. It’s all on my shoulders. And I’m fucking it up.
“Jake!” Farelli yelled out, running down the corridor toward him.
“What?”
“I found Kate!”
Jake felt like hugging Farelli. “How did you find her so fast?”
“Got lucky,” Farelli said modestly, and held out a cell phone for Jake. “We located the rental-car agency the husband used. On the application form you’ve got to give an address you’ll be at in Southern California. It’s a hotel near Disneyland.”
Jake grabbed the phone. “Kate, this is Jake. Listen carefully and don’t interrupt. Just listen. Joanna has been hurt in a fall, and she needs some surgery. You’ve got to tell the surgeon in charge you want a
second opinion stat, and you want me to pick the consultant. Have you got all that?”
Jake listened as Kate began to cry. “Now, you sniff those tears back,” he ordered. “We’ve got a lot to do to get Joanna better. I want you to tell the surgeon exactly what I told you, then hang up. I’ll send a police helicopter to Anaheim to pick you up and bring you to Memorial.”
The doors to the I.C.U suddenly swung open. The gurney carrying Joanna was rolled out into the corridor, a nurse at each end, Moran just behind.
Jake moved into their path, blocking it. “We want a second opinion.”
Moran’s face turned a deep red. “Get out of the way or I’ll have you removed from the hospital altogether.”
Jake held up the cell phone. “Talk with Kate Fonteneau, Joanna’s sister. She’ll tell you what she wants done.”
Moran took the phone and spoke into it, formally introducing himself to Kate. But that was as far as he got. Kate did exactly as Jake had instructed. She requested a second opinion and told Moran she was on her way in. Then she hung up on him.
Moran handed the phone back to Jake, staring at him with obvious dislike. “I hope you understand what you’re doing, Lieutenant. I hope you realize that you’re putting Dr. Blalock in terrible danger.”
“Is that right?” Jake asked, unconvinced.
“Oh, yes,” Moran went on, his temper under control. “It’s been at least three hours since her accident. And with each passing minute the clot grows bigger and kills more brain cells. Another hour’s delay with no treatment and Dr. Blalock could end
up a neurological disaster with no quality of life at all. If that happens, the blame won’t be mine. It’ll be yours.”
Moran reached for the gurney and pulled it back into the I.C.U. The swinging doors closed behind them.
27
“Lovely out here, isn’t it?” William Buck asked.
“Beautiful,” Jake said flatly, and lit an unfiltered cigarette. “You pick the damnedest places for us to meet.”
“That’s because you pick the damnedest projects for me to dig into.”
They were at a beachfront park in Santa Monica overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Buck was seated in his wheelchair, Jake on a park bench. Before them was a stretch of white sand that was illuminated by a full moon. Behind them was Buck’s driver, who made sure no one came within earshot.
“I had to step on some toes to obtain the information you wanted,” Buck began. “And they were very sensitive toes that don’t like to be stepped on.”
“Are you talking about NASA?” Jake asked.
“NASA has nothing to do with this,” Buck told him. “The group running this project used the NASA name as a front.”
“Then who’s behind it?”
“The CIA.”
“Shit,” Jake growled under his breath. How was he going to pry anything out of an organization that
prided itself on keeping secrets? “How deep were you able to dig?”
“Deep enough,” Buck said, and then waited for a squawking gull to pass over. “What do you know about the CIA?”
“They spend a lot of time spying on other countries.”
Buck nodded. “Well, they’ve been branching out. Since September eleventh, they’re now spying on their fellow Americans.”
“I thought that was against the law.”
“It was, but all that’s changed now.”
Jake spat a bit of tobacco off his lip. He disliked dealing with the government’s secret agencies, particularly those that made up their own rules. “So what does the CIA want from the researchers at Memorial?”
“They want those scientists to show them how to get inside people’s minds.”
“What?”
“You heard me correctly.”
Jake scratched his ear. “I’m way over my head here.”
“I’ll try to explain to you as it was explained to me,” Buck continued. “Let me preface my remarks by saying this information is for your ears only. The people involved like to keep their business hidden. But if you have to make the information public to crack your case, then fuck ‘em. Do it.”
Jake nodded gratefully to his friend, an old-time cop who had once walked a beat in Los Angeles. Buck was tough as iron. “Fire away.”
“It goes something like this,” Buck said, trying to recall the
explanation. “All of the brain’s activities DEpend on electrical impulses that travel from neuron to neuron. These impulses control a person’s thoughts and intentions as well as his memory. Its similar to a computer in which the electrical circuits dictate what the computer says, does, or remembers.” Buck glanced over at Jake. “So far so good?”
“I’m with you.”
“Well, some woman scientist at Memorial had apparently learned how to take the electrical impulses in a brain and make them flow into a computer.”
The woman scientist had to be Karen Crandell, Jake thought. She was the only female researcher at the BRI. “How did she make the electrical impulses go from the brain to the computer?”
Buck smiled wryly. “They call it neuronal-computer interfacing. Which of course is a bullshit term for making the impulses go from brain to computer. Anyhow, you asked how they managed to do it. Apparently they can inject tiny devices that go right to the brain and act as relay stations.”
“They’re called nanodevices,” Jake said.
Buck’s jaw dropped. “You know about those?”
“Yeah. And I know the two assholes at Memorial who are working on them.”
Jake puffed on his cigarette, thinking about the obnoxious Rudd twins. He nodded to himself as most of the pieces fell into place. The CIA had played it smart. They recruited Karen Crandell and the Rudds to do the necessary research without telling them what they were really getting into. Each group thought they were working independently for NASA, but there had to be somebody who coordinated the work from inside. Probably Evan Bondurant. He would have to
know. “So they get electrical impulses to go from the brain into a computer. So what?”
“So these neuronal impulses go to an external computer and the computer figures out brain language,” Buck told him. “In essence, these electrical impulses can be translated into thoughts.”
Jake slowly digested the new information, trying to grasp its full meaning. “It’s like making the brain impulses speak?”
“Exactly.”
“And the CIA could plug it into anyone they wanted,” Jake went on. “They’d be able to listen to your thoughts.”
“But they’re not there yet,” Buck informed him.
“But I’ll bet they’re trying like hell.”
Buck nodded. “With expert help from Memorial.”
Jake mashed his cigarette out in the ground. “One thing doesn’t fit here. The researchers at Memorial are primarily interested in the memory mechanism. How does that fit here?”
Buck shrugged. “That I don’t know. They probably don’t care about that. What they want is to make people spill what they’re hiding.”
Jake stood and breathed in a lungful of fresh ocean air. “Those bastards are going to end up controlling the whole world.”
“That’s their plan, Jake,” Buck said, signaling to his driver. “And from what I can see, they’re right on schedule.”
28
Evan Bondurant checked all the offices and laboratories in the BRI. Everyone had left for the night. The cleaning crew had come and gone. The institute was deserted.
A phone rang and kept ringing. Nobody answered it.
Bondurant looked up at the floor indicator atop the elevator. All the cars were on the first floor and not moving. He glanced at his watch, then at the wall clock in the corridor. Both read 10:32. He could take his time. No one would return until morning.
Bondurant entered Karen Crandell’s laboratory and walked across it into her darkened office. After switching on the desk lamp, he reached into his coat pocket for a folded sheet of paper and quickly read the instructions Karen had typed up. Then Bondurant moved over to the machines on the side table. Carefully he pushed buttons and turned dials, and watched as images appeared on the screen. Well dressed people were walking down a wide sidewalk. On the adjacent avenue he saw black taxicabs and double-decker buses. He stared transfixed at the film.
Incredible, Bondurant thought. So incredible. The
DIScovery of the century. Easily worth a Nobel Prize. And now I know how she did it.
The air-conditioning unit in the adjacent laboratory abruptly came on and for a moment startled him. He thought he heard another sound as well, so he listened intently. But all he could hear was the hum of the air conditioner.
Bondurant switched off the machine and began making plans. The police investigation was drawing to a close, and soon Karen’s laboratory space would be freed up. Although Christopher Moran had asked for the space, Bondurant had other ideas. He would take over the laboratory, with all of its machines and equipment and data books. And he would arrange for Ann Novack to get another position, far away from the BRI. There would be no connection between him and Karen Crandell. The discoveries made in the lab would be his and his alone.
