Patient One Read Online Free PDF Page A

replied unhappily.
    “What’s the holdup?”
    Wells gestured with his thumb to the young resident. “He’s a little slow following orders.”
    “Well, let’s see if we can speed him up,” Warren said in a neutral tone, but his temper was rising. He turned to the resident. “I want you to listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. We need a safe ward for the President and we need it now. If necessary I can have a fleet of ambulances outside this hospital in a half-hour with a doctor in each one. We’ll pick a floor and have the chief of service meet us there. Then we’ll roll out the patients and put them in ambulances which will take them to other hospitals. And we’ll end up with a safe ward for President Merrill. So the choice is as follows—either you do it or we’ll do it for you.”
    The resident swallowed nervously. “But, sir, I can’t just …”
    “Let’s get those ambulances,” Warren instructed Wells. “Twenty-five should do.”
    “What about the doctors?” Wells asked.
    “Get a list of all the physicians who live within a ten-mile radius of the hospital and have the police …”
    “Aaron,” an agent at the first row of barricades yelled out, “there’s another doctor who wants to see you.”
    The resident peered over and said hurriedly, “That’s the director of the emergency room. Maybe he can do what you want.”
    “An ER specialist isn’t going to be of much help,” Warren groused.
    “He’s also a senior staff member at the medical center,” the resident informed him. “When he gives an order, people jump.”
    Warren briefly studied the doctor by the barricades. “So he has a lot of pull, eh?”
    “And a lot of push,” the resident added. “He runs a tight ship down here, and knows how to move patients out. Nobody stays for long.”
    Warren looked over to Wells and nodded. “Let’s see what he has to say.”
    Wells waved the doctor in and watched him approach, keeping his eyes on the new arrival’s hands and making sure they were always in sight. “Are you in charge of any of the wards?”
    The doctor shook his head. “Just the ER.”
    Wells groaned to himself. Shit! This guy isn’t going to be any help. “Who’s in charge of the beds?”
    “No one person,” the doctor replied. “Each specialty controls its own ward.”
    Shit! Wells thought again.
    Warren stepped forward and introduced himself. “I’m William Warren, the President’s physician.”
    “And I’m David Ballineau, the staff physician on call tonight.” He was tall and lean, in his mid-forties, with an angular face, close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, and pale blue eyes that seemed to be fixed in place. His clean-cut good looks were marred by a jagged scar across his chin. “The nurse notified me that you need a special area for the President.”
    “I need more than an area,” Warren told him. “I need an entire ward cleared so that the President can be protected. Can you help us with that?”
    “I can certainly try,” David said. “But first, I have to know the President’s diagnosis.”
    “That’s not your concern,” Wells blurted out.
    “Yes, it is,” David answered, standing up to the powerfully built agent. “We have special wards for specific illnesses. If he has just food poisoning, he can go to a general medicine ward. If he’s had a myocardial infarction on top of it, he’ll need to be in the ICU.”
    “He has straightforward food poisoning,” Warren said. “He’s got nausea and vomiting, and is throwing up some blood.”
    David looked at Warren oddly. “People with garden-variety food poisoning don’t throw up blood. Never. You’d better look for another diagnosis.”
    Warren hesitated. He did not want to discuss the President’s medical history with anyone, not even with another doctor—who might turn out to be loose-tongued. But he knew there was no getting around this conversation, if they were to make the necessary arrangements for