Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

would get an answer, along with the plane’s availability. He turned to look through another Plexiglas window into the morgue to see his colleague waiting. They exchanged a silent look. They would know soon.
    Turning back, he saw the surgeon peeling his gloves and gown off and tossing them into a waiting hamper. The rest of the team were performing a count of all their instruments before two of them would close the boy’s chest. The surgeon pushed his way through the door, only to find the Major waiting.
    “How’s it look?”
    “Well, there was a lot of damage. I’m amazed he lasted the night up on that mountain. But the kid seems to have a strong heart. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was at least sixteen. We managed to sew everything up, and as long as the aorta holds, I think he’ll make it. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
    “Okay, I’ll go talk to his father. What’s the kid’s name?”
    “Khalid.”
    The doctor turned to leave and the Major looked through the morgue window again to shake his head at his partner. The man silently picked up his blades and put them away. Perhaps tomorrow.
    Despite his disappointment, the Major forced a smile on his face before he went outside to talk to the boy’s father.

 
    In early 2011, more than 110,000 people were on the nationwide
waiting list for an organ. An average of
nearly 20 of them dies each day while waiting.
NIH News in Health
    —THREE—

    D r. Matthew Dayo picked up the chart from the desk in his small office and tucked it under his arm. The chart was thick, as were most of his patients, and he held it under his arm with a practiced motion while reaching for his coffee. He savored the rich brew as he left his office. Coffee at work was a rarity for him as he was usually in surgery on most days and could not afford the slightest tremor in his hands from the caffeine.
    Days without surgery were few and far between and he felt odd when not in scrubs. Not one for worrying about appearances too much, he had thrown his white coat on over a golf shirt and a pair of jeans that morning for a day spent in the office pushing paper. But after a few hours he needed to move around and decided to visit a patient or two. As he rounded the corner and stepped from the carpet to the tile floor, his Nike’s squeaked loudly, drawing a few looks from passing staff. He ignored them, as his mind was on his patient.
    A short walk down the corridors of Johns Hopkins’ cardiac wing brought him to a series of glass-walled rooms. He nodded to the charge nurse who was on the phone and got a smile in return. The fifth room held Mr. Hernandez and, as usual, his wife in a chair nearby.
    “Good afternoon.”
    “Hello, doctor.”
    Dr. Dayo’s eyes automatically rose to check the monitor hanging from the ceiling. His patient was still showing a wide rhythm with no signs of improvement, and his blood pressure was lower than he would have liked. He flipped the chart open to the trending graphs and confirmed what he saw. His patient was deteriorating. Despite his poor color and obvious weakness, he managed to put on a show of strength for the doctor. He straightened up in bed and in defiance of his shortness of breath, spoke forcefully, with an attempt to hide his South American accent.
    “No news today?”
    “I’m afraid not. You’ve only been on the list a short time. I know telling you to be patient sounds rather foolish, but that’s what I need you to be. I have your name in every database there is. Your new heart will come, you must have faith.”
    “I understand. But . . . I have always been . . . a man of action. This waiting . . . it’s not in my nature.”
    “I can understand that. Just one day of paperwork is about all I can stand. A businessman like you, I would never survive. I don’t know how you do it.”
    “I get out . . . as much as I can. My company . . . has many branches. Travel is the . . . boss’s prerogative, no?”
    Dr. Dayo had to smile at