He could not let this opportunity pass. He'd never have another like it.
He would impose a symmetry on this madness . . . he would close the circle with the president. But Gin Panzella was going to ruin it. He could see it in her face, feel it in his bones. She was going to meddle again. And he could not allow that. Not this time
The VCR whirred and ejected the tape. Duncan pulled it out and stared at it.
Why, Gin? Why do you have to keeping sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong?
His fury rose, a pressure in his head, his chest, threatening to explode. She was leaving him only two choices, either back down or somehow neutralize her.
He groaned. She had backed him into a corner, and the only option left was to strike out at her. He might have to harm her.
And he loathe himself for it.
With a cry he hurled the videocassette to the floor and smashed it under his heel.
"Damn you, Gin! ' WEDNESDAY ' WE BEEN KEEPING SOMETHING IMPORTANT FROM YOU, Gin, " Duncan said.
"But I decided this morning I'm going to confide in you. ' Gin sat across his desk from him, sipping a late-morning cup of one of his exotic coffees, Jamaican Blue Mountain, she thought he'd said, but she'd been feeling too tense and wary to pay much attention. She'd been up most of the night brooding about the president's surgery. Should she be as worried as she was? Should she do anything? Should she call Gerry about it?
Again, she'd decided not to call Gerry. She had even less to go on this time than the last. He already thought she was distraught. Why add fuel to that particular fire?
She'd still been debating her next step when Duncan had called her in, told Barbara he did not want to be disturbed, and shut the door. He'd handed her a cup and asked her to be seated.
So now she sat, tense and rigid in her chair, the coffee warming her cold hands as she anxiously waited to see what was up.
"Since you are a physician in this facility, what I'm about to say falls under physician-patient privilege. Is that understood? " "Of course."
"Good." He leaned back and steepled his fingers. "You might be wondering why I gave the staff off this Friday. The reason is extraordinary, I'm operating on the president of the United States that day." Gin felt her jaw drop open. Duncan was actually telling her.
He smiled. "I can see by your expression that this was the last thing you expected to hear. Good. That means our security measures are working." He went on to tell her most of what she had learned from Oliver yesterday, the nature of the procedure, the rationale behind it, the reasons for all the secrecy. Not wanting to get Oliver in hot water, she pretended it was all new to her.
All the while her mind was racing, searching for a reason why, if he was planning to harm the president, he would tell her this.
"You must be very proud, " she said when he paused.
"Well, much as I dislike the man's policies, I have to admit it's an honor to be selected as his surgeon."
"Honor aside, " she said carefully, "I'm a little surprised you'd do anything to help him get reelected. I mean, knowing how you feel about him." Duncan waved his hand dismissively, as if physically brushing aside her words. "It's all media-consultant nonsense." His smile was laconic. "As if his eyelids could in any way make or break an election."
"You know what they said about Nixon's five-o'clock shadow in that television debate back in 1960."
"I saw that debate. Nixon's five-o'clock shadow was the least of his problems."
"So you are going to help him look younger." '"No. Actually, I'm going to remove his eyelids completely so he'll have this ghastly bug-eyed look." Her heart jumped. He wasn't serious . . . was he?
"Dun , .
can, don't even, " "Only kidding. Look, the president himself wants me to do it, so I'm doing it. As a rule I don't correct a single-feature defect like this, but the rest of his face is fairly younglooking, so I'm making an exception." He grinned. "And trust me, this is not a freebie."
"Who's assisting? " Oliver had already told her it would be Dr. VanDuyne, but she thought she should cover for him by asking .
Duncan leaned forward. "That's why I called you in here. I'd like you to assist." Gin blinked. The words rocked her. What in heaven was going on? " Me? " "Yes, you. VanDuyne, the president's personal physician, has offered to assist. He'd probably be okay, but the more I think about it, the more I want someone who's worked with me. You've done dozens of these lid lifts with me. So, if you haven't already made plans for Friday . . . " "No . . . no plans."
"Good. I'd also like you to handle recovery. VanDuyne was going to, but again you're more experienced. I'd feel better if you were on hand to watch over things.
" "Sure, ' Gin said, still off balance. She struggled to get her bearings, fought not to be awed. "I'll be glad to."
"Excellent. I intend to add a fat surgical assistant's fee to the bill which will go directly to you." Gin was going to be assisting on the president of the United States, and be well paid for it. Talk about having your cake and . . .
But even more disorienting was that Duncan had asked her to assist him.
How could he be planning any harm if he wanted her right there in OR and in recovery?
Had all her suspicions been for nothing?
No, not all. That vial of TPD still loomed in the background, but Gin began to feel the tension uncoil within her, felt her neck and shoulder muscles relax as if the weight of the world had been lifted from them.
She half listened as he went on about the anesthesiologist from Bethesda, the security measures, and the need for absolute discretion.
"You can't tell anyone, not your best friend, not your parents, not even your boyfriend in the FBI."
"We're just friends, " she said.
Although even that might be pushing things at this point.
"Whatever. Only the Secret Service and the four doctors in OR-1 on Friday morning will know about this. We're scheduled for seven-thirty.
The president and VanDuyne will arrive at six-thirty. You, Oliver, and the anesthesiologist will be here at six. I'll come at five to open up for the Secret Service so they can secure the premises, I believe that's the expression they used. Any problem with that? " "None at all. " "Wonderful. Oliver, by the way, is nearly delirious about this. Wants to celebrate in advance. I think it's rather silly but if we don't do something to mark the occasion he just might explode. Since we all have to be up early on Friday, and since Oliver loves Italian food, I've reserved us a table at Galileo tonight. Oliver and I would both very much like for you to join us." Galileo. God, the four-star restaurant where the president took his Hollywood friends when they were in town. Gin was beginning to get excited herself.
"How could I say no to Galileo? " "I'll pick up Oliver and we'll be by at half past seven to pick you up." He rose. "And now, unless you have any questions, I suggest we both get back to work." Feeling slightly dazed, Gin nodded, rose, and made her way to the hall.
Life was certainly full of surprises.
Duncan watched Gin go, then poured himself another cup of coffee.
That went rather well, he thought grimly. Too well.
Under different circumstances he might find this sort of cat-and-mouse game stimulating. But not with this particular mouse. Plus, everything was rigged in his favor, he knew what she knew, but she hadn't the slightest notion that he was on to her.
Gin was beginning to trust him again. And he was going to use that to cut her off at the knees.
He didn't much like himself today.
He spotted a sliver of black plastic and plucked it from the carpet. A remnant of the videocassette he'd smashed last night. After that little tantrum, he'd picked up the pieces, discarded them, and slipped a new cassette into the camera. Then, with his emotions locked away where they could not interfere, he'd sat down, assessed the cards he'd been dealt, and worked out the best way to play his hand.