Rabbit in the Moon Read online

  Satisfied that Trenton’s expression had not yet registered disapproval, Lili proceeded. “EKG on admission showed marked bradycardia, low amplitude QRS complexes, prolonged QT interval, and flattened T waves. Lab studies confirmed markedly reduced thyroid function. Within several hours of starting IV levothyroxine, the patient became fully alert.”

  “Way to go, Quan,” one of the first-year residents whispered. “Sharp diagnosis.”

  Lili smiled her thanks. Then, as if on cue, the frail looking woman who had appeared to be sleeping, opened her eyes. “Has Kennedy been buried yet?” she asked.

  Lili stiffened. Don’t blow it now.

  “Did I miss the funeral?” the patient persisted.

  “By about twenty-six years,” Ed Baxter quipped. “Dallas, 1963, the grassy knoll.”

  Lili avoided Trenton’s gaze. She threw Baxter a look of reproach.

  “Poor Martha Mitchell. She should never have married that bastard.”

  “Patient’s a real loon,” Baxter said sotto voce.

  And you’re a real pain in the butt, Lili would have liked to tell the resident. Instead, she removed the hammer from the pocket of her white coat and pulled up the bed covers to reveal the patient’s feet. “As you can see,” she said, tapping along each Achilles tendon, “the reflexes are now brisk.”

  “I have to make poo-poo.”

  “It’s okay, Margaret. We’ll call the nurse.”

  “Poo-poo now!”

  “Dr. Quan, what is your patient’s name?” Trenton demanded, edging closer.

  “Uh, Margaret Manley, sir.”

  Trenton snatched the chart from her hand and flipped through the pages. “This patient is from the Cook Nursing Home — the same patient we discussed last week. Isn’t that right, Dr. Quan?” he asked, his growing displeasure unmistakable.

  “Why yes.”

  “And unless I’m becoming demented, doctor, I distinctly remember telling you that the patient had an untreatable disease.”

  Even if Baxter hadn’t rolled his eyes, Lili knew a confrontation was now inevitable. She also knew from the uncomfortable fidgeting of her colleagues, that she was on her own. She stared directly at the chief, converting fear to defiance. “Are you saying that just because Mrs. Manley has Alzheimer’s disease, she is not entitled to the same level of medical care as any other patient?” Lili’s voice quavered.

  Trenton’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Dr. Quan,” he said, his tone cold, “your emotionalism is entirely out of place and unprofessional. In these cases one must recognize when a specific diagnostic workup or therapeutic modality has exceeded its usefulness.”

  “You’re talking about rationing care.”

  “I’m talking about reasonable and prudent care, doctor. If we did a brain biopsy on Mrs. Manley today, what do you think we would see under the microscope?”

  Knowing where the discussion was leading, Lili reluctantly responded. “The cerebral cortex would show atrophy with wide sulci and dilated ventricles.”

  “And?” Trenton prompted.

  “And the senile plaques and neurofibrillary tangles typical of Alzheimer’s disease.”

  “Exactly,” Trenton said, nodding. “This unfortunate lady has structural changes in her brain that doom her to progressive deterioration of personality and intelligent behavior.”

  “But what about her hypothyroidism? If I hadn’t treated her, she would have died.”

  “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

  “Isn’t that playing God?” she persisted.

  “Young lady, physicians make medical decisions affecting patients’ lives all the time.”

  “Dr. Brotwell would never have —”

  “Dr. Brotwell is no longer chief of this division,” Trenton responded. “And it was precisely because of his inattention to the economics of medicine that he was replaced. Now I suggest you discharge Mrs. Manley back to the nursing home. The rest of you,” he said to the other young doctors, “get down to the clinic. Dr. Baxter will precept. We’ve got a full schedule today.”

  Grateful for an excuse to flee the uncomfortable scene, everyone scattered within moments. Only Lili, Trenton, and Margaret Manley were left in the hospital room. Trenton had reached the door when he turned. “Dr. Quan, you know I could have you dismissed from the program for your behavior this morning.”

  Before Lili could respond, Trenton had vanished through the door.

  For a few moments after he’d gone, Lili simply stood in silence.

  “I made in my pants,” Margaret whined.

  “Great,” Lili sighed, reaching for the nursing call button. “That’s just great.”

  Seoul, Korea

  David Kim hurried from his father’s penthouse office suite to his own smaller office several floors below. His secretary was not in yet, so he dialed the airport himself. “Book me on the evening flight to Beijing.”

  “How long will you be staying, sir?”

  “I don’t know,” David replied, hoping Lee Tong would have the news he’d promised so they could consummate their deal quickly. He had only three months to convince his father that he was the man to take over Kim Company.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Newport Beach, California

  5:45 p.m.

  Charlie Halliday lounged on a chaise nursing a Dewar’s over ice as he watched Walter DeForest complete his fifteenth lap across the length of the Broadmoor Hotel pool. Each stroke sliced neatly through the water. Five more laps and he’d quit. No more, no less. It was a routine from which the old man had not deterred for most of his adult life. In fact, when DeForest had recently moved his business from Houston to the West Coast, he’d bought this hotel just to have a place to work out close to his office building across the street.

  Halliday looked down at his glass, twirling it in his hands. Funny how things had turned out. Twenty years before he’d thought Martin Carpenter the fool for joining a two-bit company called Aligen. Now Carpenter was one box away from the top of the organizational chart at one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the country. And Halliday? Here he was, a forty-fifth birthday looming, and behind him two decades of pushing papers across a metal desk in a company no less bureaucratic than the post office. Not exactly what he’d had in mind when he joined the CIA.

  Halliday drained his drink, picked up a towel, and waited for DeForest to pull himself from the water.

  “Thanks, son.”

  At seventy-three, Walter DeForest was an imposing figure — tall, straight backed with cool, clear eyes, and a robustness that came from a lifetime of discipline mixed with more than an occasional medium-rare steak and the best Honduran cigars money could buy.

  “The reunion is four months away and I’ve only got to drop ten more pounds,” he said, patting his still sizable paunch. “One ninety-five. That’s what I weighed when I graduated Wharton fifty years ago. I’ve got fifty grand riding on this.” He motioned to the poolside waitress. “Gin and tonic, dear.”

  “Certainly, Mr. DeForest.” Her obsequious tone evidence that his reputation had preceded him.

  “Did I tell you how I retired five different times in my life?”

  Yes. And how you made and lost vast fortunes. And how you were on the board of seven of the largest companies in the country. And how you are probably the richest man in America today.

  Halliday had heard it all many times, but he shook his head. He knew everything DeForest said to be true. Including the fact that he’d started with just five dollars in his pocket fifty years ago and turned it into fifty million as a wildcatter in Midland, Texas. From there he’d formed and sold several corporations, moved on to mergers and acquisitions, and finally real estate development.

  “Lost more than one fortune, that’s for sure. But I always managed to land on my feet. I’m not afraid to take risks.” He winked at the waitress who’d returned with his drink. Affecting a Texas drawl: “Hell, I ain’t afraid of nuthin’.”

  If that were true, Halliday thought,
he wouldn’t be here. The fact was, there was one thing DeForest did fear and that was dying. And for all his wealth, Walter DeForest couldn’t buy longevity. Until now.

  Los Angeles, California

  Lili shed her hospital whites in the locker room, pulled on a pair of Levis and a T- shirt, and hurried out to the hospital lot. She stopped to tuck her thick black hair under her helmet before straddling her Enduro 250.

  An unexpected March inversion formed a thin veil of smog and humidity over the L.A. basin. Accumulated heat radiated from sidewalks and buildings so that at six o’clock, it was as hot as midday. Still, she revved up slowly, snaking her way carefully around parked cars and out onto the main street. The hospital administration frowned on anything bigger than mopeds and Lili knew her 250 XLE was intimidating.

  So she followed the rules — at least until she left the university campus. Then, if she hadn’t been late, she’d have headed north, away from her apartment. It was something she did most every evening after work — riding on Mulholland Drive just before sunset. Here she could fly along the edge of the world, deftly maneuvering her bike at sixty miles an hour, the wind screaming against the sides of her helmet like a wild animal. On these nightly rides she experienced the exhilaration she imagined a bird must feel soaring just above the clouds. Tonight, though, she hurried to get home.

  It happened in a split second. The Yellow Cab careened down Gayley as Lili’s bike entered the intersection of Le Conte. She had the green light, but the cab raced toward her. She gunned the throttle, shifted her weight to the back of her seat and pulled up on the handlebars, perfectly balanced on the back wheel. With expertise born of years of practice, she flew across the intersection.

  Never stopping, the cab disappeared down Gayley. Just ahead of Lili a bus left the curb. Jesus, she thought, she was going to slam into it! Instinctively, she extended her left leg and angled her bike outward, producing a controlled slide-out that stopped her dead, narrowly avoiding a collision.

  She pulled herself up, uninjured, though shaken. The bus had stopped and a small crowd was gathering.

  A policeman who’d been on foot patrol nearby appeared. “You okay?”

  “You shouldda watched where you were going, bud!” the bus driver shouted through his open window.

  “As it happens, I saw everything, bud,” the officer snapped at the driver. “The fault was yours.” He opened his pad and started writing. When he finished, he handed a ticket to the man. “This is a warning. Next time, look before you pull away from the curb.” The officer turned to Lili who had just removed her helmet and was shaking her long hair free. “Luckily she handled that bike of hers like a pro.”

  The gawkers concurred.

  “Sue him,” an older woman carrying groceries in a string bag advised. Her heavy accent suggested Russian origins.

  “I’m fine,” Lili insisted.

  The woman nudged her as if a confidante. “Come on, it’s American way.” She lowered her voice. “Perhaps your neck or back hurts tomorrow. You will have lost opportunity.”

  Lili shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

  “All right, folks, let’s clear out. Show’s over.” The officer approached Lili. “I hate to say it, but the old lady’s right. These days everybody’s suing.”

  Lili tucked her hair back into the helmet. “Not me.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “You know you really are a hell of a biker.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You should consider entering some of the cycle races out here.”

  Lili smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

  He waved as she headed home.

  By the time Lili turned off Wilshire onto Tenth Street and pulled into her narrow underground parking space, she was exhausted. She needed a cool shower before her date with Dylan. Checking her watch, she realized she probably should have called him, but she’d been on the phone for hours dealing with nursing homes.

  Not surprising, it was easier getting Mrs. Manley out of the home than back in. The son and daughter both refused to take her. They had their own families, their own lives. “She’s got MediCal. Isn’t the state responsible?” They never even came to see her in the hospital. Yes, Mr. Gould. Family was everything in this world. If you were lucky. Well, Lili thought, she’d deal with it tomorrow. Tonight she’d try to relax.

  Digging into her pocket for her key, she cursed the fact that she couldn’t afford a high-rise with valet parking and better security. As it was, the best thing she could say about her living situation was its location in rent-controlled Santa Monica, just five minutes from L.A. Medical. Otherwise, what the real estate agent had called “cozy living near the ocean” was actually a six-hundred-square-foot box on the third floor with a view of an all-night Taco stand. In fairness, except for her books, some mementos, and a few photos on the walls, Lili had made no attempt in the two years she’d lived there to convert the tiny space into home. For her it was merely a convenient place to store her things and sleep between clean sheets on the nights she was not on call.

  Hurrying inside, she pushed the elevator button. Two minutes. Three. Damn, where was that elevator? She decided to take the stairs. When she came up on the third floor landing, she had a clear view of her apartment at the opposite end of the hallway. A crack of light seeping out onto the hall carpet from beneath the front door caught her eye. Something was wrong. She distinctly remembered pulling down the shades yesterday morning to keep the heat out.

  Heart racing, she slowly turned her key in the lock, quickly snapped the door open, and pressed her back against the wall as it swung noisily on its hinges. She held her breath. Nothing. Bright sunshine spilled out, filling the hallway. No shadow played across it. She listened to the silence.

  Cautiously, Lili tiptoed through the doorway. Inside everything appeared exactly as she had left it — except for a half-filled glass on the coffee table. White wine.

  Dylan was staring at her. “You all right?”

  “All right? Jesus Christ, Dylan,” she breathed, “you nearly scared me to death.” She slammed the door, her heart still beating wildly. “You moonlight as a cat burglar?”

  “On the contrary. When I got here, it was after six. I knocked. No answer. Then I noticed your door unlocked.” His eyes were so direct. “I thought someone had broken in.”

  “But I’m sure I locked it,” Lili stammered, feeling foolish. Nothing looked out of place. “At least I think I did.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Single girl — alone in the city. You’ve got to be more careful. Here,” he said pouring her a glass of wine, “you look as if you could use this.”

  Lili was nonplussed. She knew she ought to be angry with this strange young man who simply walked in and made himself at home. Yet something about the way he made it all seem so natural charmed her. He did say the door was unlocked. He was concerned about her safety.

  Finally, she accepted the wine, then excused herself to shower and change.

  Newport Beach, California

  “So,” DeForest said, staring down at his veined hand, crisscrossed with the delicate lines of age. “Did he go for it?”

  “Hook, line, and sinker,” Halliday reported. “Just like you said.”

  “Good.” DeForest pulled an alligator cigar case from his pocket, unwrapped a Hoyode Monterrey and held it under his nose, inhaling the rich aroma. “Then Carpenter suspects nothing.”

  “Nothing. As far as he’s concerned this is a covert CIA operation.”

  “Well, that’s almost true,” DeForest chuckled, his whole belly shaking. “And you,” the old man’s eyes bore into Halliday’s, “any second thoughts?”

  Halliday returned the gaze. He’d had plenty of time for second thoughts. When he’d met Walter DeForest at a business school reunion two years ago, the man had sized him up with that same look. Never work for a company you can’t own. “No,” he said. “None at all.”

  Los Angeles, California

  As Lili
entered her building, a man, ostensibly snoozing in a rented white Ford parked just outside, sat up. He stared at the doorway for a moment, making certain she wasn’t coming back. Then he stretched and exited his car, crossing to the Taco stand on the opposite corner.

  At a pay phone he dialed a special number the GTE system couldn’t trace. He listened for the ring on the other end, humming “Imagine” to himself.

  “Yes?”

  He recognized the voice. “Found her.”

  “Good. Don’t lose her.”

  The connection was abruptly cut and the man sauntered back to the Taco stand, hungry for a burrito.

  When Lili emerged from her bedroom fifteen minutes later, Dylan was examining the trophies on the hall mantel.

  “American Motorcycle Association #1 Junior and Senior Champion; first place, Motocross, Southern California Championship, June, nineteen eighty-seven; and another in nineteen eighty-eight. Pretty impressive.”

  Lili thought of the policeman suggesting she take up racing and smiled. “I guess I’ve done all right.”

  “Are you going for a win in eighty-nine?”

  Her smile flattened. “With every-other-night and weekend call schedules Trenton just introduced, I’ll be lucky to get in an hour or two of riding this year.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just as well. Racing can be a pretty expensive hobby.”

  “Not to mention a dangerous one.”

  Her dark eyes flashed. “Only if you’re not good.”

  “Self-confidence doesn’t hurt either,” he countered. “Tell me, why did you take up racing?”

  “My way of rebelling.”

  “Against what?”

  Lili cocked her head. Maybe it was just the wine, but suddenly she wanted to talk, to tell someone how she really felt. “Mostly against what I thought my parents represented — all the old ways they’d brought from China. They wanted me to be a good Chinese daughter, to study hard during the day, take Chinese classes in the evenings, marry a nice Chinese boy. I didn’t want anything to do with their traditions. When a couple of all-American types from school took up cycling, it seemed a perfect opportunity to belong.”