The Face Transplant Page 2

  Mr. Glock moves to within two feet of the operating table. Amanda notices the thick black dirt under his fingernails. Matthew makes a smooth turn. Before Mr. Glock realizes it, the 10 blade scalpel stabs smoothly through his neck. There is no blood splatter, just a gurgling sound.

  Matthew made sure that his strike severed both carotid arteries, the two main arteries in the neck that carry blood to the brain. The blood from the cut drains into the trachea and into the lungs. A clean, quick exit.

  Matthew senses relief in Mr. Glock’s pale gray eyes when he finally understands what has happened. As if he knew, sooner or later, it would end this way. Mr. Glock slumps to the floor. Amanda and Matthew catch him and gently lower the body to the ground. Matthew takes the Glock and puts on the safety.

  The titanium canister holding the face to be transplanted falls to the ground and makes a loud clatter as it rolls to the entryway. It finally comes to a stop and the room is dead silent.

  Amanda rips off her operating room mask and pulls out her cell phone.

  “Amanda, what are you doing?” says Sarah.

  “We have to call the police,” Amanda screams.

  Matthew pulls the cell phone out of her hand. “No.”

  Amanda says, “What?”

  “No, let’s just . . .”

  Before Matthew can finish his sentence, a large pizza delivery van screeches up to the front door. Matthew, Sarah, and Amanda hide in the little used storage closet at the back of the operating theater. From this vantage point, they can see the entryway and the operating room. Old operating room equipment blocks the storage closet.

  The pizza delivery crew go to the side room beside the surgical suite. The large pizza bag they open holds an array of equipment and supplies. The two women and one man immediately remove the pizza delivery uniforms and put on white overalls with head covers and latex gloves. The women are in their late twenties, both lean and muscled. They strip their clothes off with practiced speed. Sarah, Matthew, and Amanda can see they are each very different in body types. The short woman has very thin thighs. She looks like a long distance marathoner. Lithe, taut, an endurance athlete. Strapped to her left inner thigh is a revolver with a silencer attached. The other woman is tall and voluptuous. Curvy, but hard curves, curves made of muscle wrapped by skin. She has thick thighs. The muscles in her back stand out like ropes. In the small of her back and the left inner thigh are two weapons, silencers attached. She has very full lips with a wide mouth.

  The man is obviously in command. He has a nondescript appearance. He has brown, medium length hair. Not out of shape, not particularly fit. Average build. He wears an ear piece. He is in constant communication with someone, giving them real-time updates on the situation. Although he can’t hear the words, Matthew can tell the situation is tense and the person on the other end is not happy. The man relays instructions to the two women and they begin to work with calm purpose. Matthew worries. If they are ordered to search the operating room, this group will find them. This is a professional team. Matthew looks around their tight space and finds an old screwdriver. He holds it tight. The cleanup crew will find them and kill them without much effort, but if he has to go down, he will go down swinging.

  The cleanup crew begins to systematically cleanse the scene. Mr. Glock and the patient are placed in body bags. They grab the titanium canister that holds the face to be transplanted. The commander takes the canister. They cleanse the room and replace everything. Surfaces are wiped down. The blood is removed, suction hoses replaced. In the space of twenty minutes, there is no trace of any of the night’s events. Before they leave the commander takes the hard drive out of the anesthetic machine and replaces it with a new one. Matthew, Sarah, and Amanda watch with eyes wide open as the crew silently change back into the pizza delivery uniforms, carefully avoiding the security cameras. The tall muscular woman bends to pull up her pants. As she buttons her pants, she looks right in Matthew’s direction. He gets a good look at her face—the full red lips. The process is quick but unhurried. The pizza delivery truck drives off into the night.

  Chapter Two

  The parking lot behind the hospital is empty except for a few cars belonging to the main hospital’s late shift. No one is working in the research facility at this hour. The constant roar of the highway off in the distance punctuates the conversation of Sarah, Matthew, and Amanda.

  Amanda says, “We’re lucky to be alive.” She keeps looking behind her and walking back and forth.

  Sarah says, “I think they were in a hurry. That’s the only reason we’re alive.”

  Matthew breathes deeply, taking slow breaths.

  Matthew says, “The night is cool; it feels good.” He leans on the hood of his car.

  Amanda says, “Did you see how they left that place? No chance of fingerprints, no blood, no fibers, no nothing. Professionals.”

  “King Kamehamehaaaa.” The words are screamed out of a passing car.

  “I don’t know who did this,” says Matthew.

  “Precisely, that’s why we call the police,” says Sarah.

  “You guys don’t know the full story. I’m part of a special group, TWG.”

  Amanda and Sarah look at each other.

  Sarah, “TWG?”

  Matthew says, “The Transplant Working Group. TWG is a group of three centers of excellence in facial transplant surgery in the United States. One in Palo Alto, one in Houston, and the third is right here. Liam Rasulov probably mentioned it to you when he recruited you for the transplant team.”

  Sarah says, “Yes, Liam mentioned you were part of a group of transplant centers.”

  Matthew says, “What he didn’t tell you is that we receive some covert funding from the US government. The military has a long tradition of funding robotics or other medical research that may have applications for them.”

  Amanda asks, “Is this a university program?”

  Matthew says, “Some of our research is funded by the US government. We report directly to people in the military. The university is not aware of some of our actions.”

  Sarah asks, “How high up is this thing?”

  Matthew says, “Transplant Working Group reports directly to Secretary of Defense. Some of our research is classified.”

  Sarah says, “You can’t get any higher than that. They are obviously interested in transplanting a face of one person onto someone else for spying.”

  Matthew says, “If we can perfect the technique to transplant a face from one to the other with no scars, it would have many possibilities. We’re far from that at this stage.”

  Amanda says, “So who came in here tonight?”

  Sarah adds, “That’s a very good question.”

  Matthew says, “I thought the guy with the gray eyes was some street hood who heard about the transplants and wanted a friend disguised with someone else’s face.”

  Amanda says, “That’s what I thought.”

  Sarah adds, “But that cleanup crew was not a group of street goons. That was special ops or someone in government.”

  Matthew says, “That’s what I can’t figure out. We are working for government, so what were they doing?”

  Sarah asks, “Liam is the director of the facial transplant program here, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Sarah says, “Liam might know if something’s going on.”

  “He might.”

  Amanda says, “This is crazy.”

  Matthew says, “I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  Amanda says, “The cleanup crew was an elite military squad. It’s the government.”

  Sarah asks, “But who would authorize this, and why?” She bites her lower lip. “I’m with Amanda now; we need to call the police.”

  Amanda says, “We need to call the police. They can get to the bottom of this. Our lives may be in danger.”

  Sarah says, “She’s right. They could be waiting for us at our homes right now.”

  Matthew says, “I’m not sure we wa
nt to go to the police right now.”

  Sarah says, “So when you invited me tonight you had no idea of this?”

  “Michael Coulson, the head of the Transplant Working Group lab in Houston, called me on short notice to do him a favor, meet with this guy. He told me to assemble a few people. He said the guy was an Italian facial transplant surgeon who wanted to discuss some aspects of setting up a program of his own. He was leaving to go back home in the morning and was only flying in tonight to New York. Mike said he wanted to meet me, my transplant anesthetist, and scrub nurse. I had no idea, and I’m sure Mike had no idea this was what was planned.”

  Another car rushes by and they hear, “King Kamehamehaaaa.”

  Matthew, “What are they yelling?”

  Sarah says, “King Kamehameha, it’s a hot new club that’s opened up. It’s not bad.”

  Amanda adds, “Wasn’t the King Kamehameha club a spot in a really, really old action television show set in Hawaii?”

  Matthew says, “It was, a very old detective show.”

  Amanda pulls out her car keys. “So what do we do?”

  “We need to figure out who did this, to figure out what to do.”

  “Could it be someone in government acting alone?” says Amanda.

  “Someone acting without authorization, that would make sense. It would explain a great deal.” Matthew continues, “But the fact remains they took great trouble to cover their tracks.”

  “As we’ve seen tonight, these guys play pretty hard,” says Sarah.

  “Exactly. What I think we should do is go home and think about everything. Tomorrow we can make a plan.”

  Amanda says, “I don’t feel comfortable not calling the police.”

  “If we go to the police with our story, we all lose our jobs.” Sarah stares at Matthew. “I lose my license.”

  Matthew says, “Sarah’s right—we all lose our licenses. We were involved in the murder of a man.”

  Sarah says, “We can argue that it was self defense, but bottom line, we have a lot of explaining to do. It would get messy. We tried to do a transplant on someone we did not know. It would take a few years to sort out. In the meantime, we would not be able to practice.”

  “We were forced,” says Amanda.

  Sarah says, “The state licensing body would suspend us at best, pending the outcome of a thorough investigation.” She pulls on her hair hard. “Matthew would have to tell them about the military involvement in the research. Do you think anyone would believe we were not part of Dr. MacAulay’s team? The university would have more than grounds for dismissal.”

  Matthew says, “I had no idea this is how it would all turn out tonight. But Sarah’s right, the university would not want this kind of press. I’d go down, but I’d take you both with me.”

  Matthew continues, “Go home. We’ll see each other at work tomorrow. If anyone asks, say you went to the lab to help me answer a few questions from an Italian surgeon who is setting up his own program in face transplants. Try to stick to what I told you to get you to come in. The best lies start with the truth; try to stay with the truth as long as possible.”

  Amanda looks at Matthew in silence as if she is seeing him from a fresh angle. She reluctantly gets into her car and drives off. He isn’t sure if she will follow his advice. At this point, he doesn’t really care. Sleep is what he needs now.

  Sarah watches Amanda’s car leave the lot.

  The force of the slap twists Matthew’s face. Sarah’s open hand connects with his cheek squarely. She turns abruptly and hops into her electric car. She silently drives away.

  Chapter Three

  Matthew is happy to see his brownstone in the Meatpacking District of Manhattan. It is a three-level, detached home. He loves the architectural detail; the original brown brick still covers the exterior. He lives on a tree-lined street with a series of these detached homes, very rare for this part of New York. He parks in the garage and puts his head on the steering wheel.

  Matthew hears a loud, constant ringing. It is coming from the left. He turns to his left and realizes nothing is there. At first he thinks it is his alarm system, or an intruder. He laughs hysterically. The ringing noise is coming from his left ear. Tinnitus. A constant ringing in his ears, a high-pitched buzz usually with no known cause. But not tonight, tonight the cause is known. A powerful slap to the left ear and face. Sarah hit him so hard his ear is ringing. The laughter just keeps coming. While he was a resident in surgery, he never had a symptom of any of the diseases he studied. For some reason he took pride in that fact. Well, tonight he has tinnitus. Patients always asked, “Have you ever had this?” Matthew always said no and waited for the standard response, “Then you don’t know what it feels like.” He is not sure why that is so funny tonight, but he just can’t stop laughing.

  The interior of his home is a study in contrast from the simple brick exterior. It is decorated in a contemporary style. Sleek and modern. However, the design is warm; many of his photos from travels are on the walls. When the laughing subsides, a deep feeling of unease takes hold of Matthew. He lies on top of his bed and closes his eyes, but he cannot sleep. He begins to think about the night’s events. Matthew turns from side to side. He closes his eyes and opens them again. Finally, he picks up the phone.

  The hospital dispatcher answers. “Hello.”

  “This is Dr. MacAulay. Can you give me Dr. Larsson’s telephone number?”

  “Dr. MacAulay, I can’t give you Dr. Larsson’s number, but I can connect you to her home.”

  “Do it. “

  Matthew waits.

  “I’m sorry. I reached Dr. Larsson and she said she doesn’t want to take your call.”

  “Try again. Tell her it’s important.”

  Matthew waits.

  Sarah says, “What is it?”

  “I couldn’t go to sleep.”

  “You think you’re the only one? None of us can sleep. I’m sure Amanda’s up right now. What did you call me for?”

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wait, don’t hang up.”

  “What else?”

  “Give me a chance. I wanted to explain myself.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. It’s the middle of the night of the worst night of my life. Forgive me if I’m not interested in explanations.”

  “I really want to explain.”

  “If it’ll get you off the phone, go ahead. But I’m warning you, I may hang up at anytime. Don’t call back.”

  “I just wanted to make a new contact in the face transplant world.”

  “How did Transplant Working Group come about?”

  “Tom Grabowski, Liam Rasulov, and Michael Coulson were initially all working together in a lab down at Stanford. When they split, the three centers each created became the Transplant Working Group. TWG shares research. Liam set up in New York. Tom stayed in Palo Alto. Michael Coulson set up a lab in Houston. When they went to their own centers, they continued doing research in facial transplantation. It was not until later that the government approached them. The military applications of being able to transfer one face onto another was too big for the government to ignore.”

  Sarah lies on top of her bed, fully clothed. She goes to her dressing table and begins to undress. She puts Matthew on speaker phone.

  “You don’t have to justify what you did to me.”

  “Maybe I’m justifying it to myself.”

  “Are you going to tell Liam? I read a lot of his research when I was learning how to give anesthesia to transplant patients. Much of what we do in transplants is based on Liam’s work. He seems like a smart guy.”

  “His early work in neurotubules enabled a great deal of the transplant work done today. It’s very interesting.”

  Sarah puts on her flannel pajamas and plops onto her bed. “Wasn’t it Tom Grabowski down in Palo Alto that developed the Steriazol?”

  Matthew says, “That’s right. He helped formulate the compo
und that helps the neurotubules join to allow the transplanted face to heal.”

  Sarah leafs through a travel magazine on her bedside table.

  “Why did the three split up?”

  “I’m not really sure. There were rumors, nothing specific.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Some say Tom and Michael turned on Liam. It just all of a sudden ended.”

  Sarah asked, “Were they jealous?”

  “Liam was the real driving force. He was the star. Who knows?”

  “They were probably jealous.”

  “Liam met with endless people to push face transplants back then. He was doing a great deal of basic research and all the administrative stuff. Liam got all three labs up and running. But I can’t believe they were jealous. Tom is not the jealous type.”

  “I heard Liam is rich?”

  “Rich and connected. Liam’s family has been in the oil and gas business for generations. His family knows presidents, heads of state in foreign places. When the government took an interest in face transplants, they reached out to Liam. He smoothed the project along.”

  “So that’s why you came to New York. You followed the money?”

  “I wanted to be in the Big Apple. Enjoy the New York life. But eventually, I see myself in Palo Alto with Tom.”

  “Why did they get in bed with the military?”

  “They just offered so much money TWG couldn’t refuse. Right now the big problems are the thick scars and long-term stability of the face transplant. We’re all working on the Steriazol compound to fix these things. It’s really much better than the original, but it has a long way to go. We’re about twenty-five years away. With the extra funding, we’ll probably get there in fifteen.”

  “It makes that much difference?”

  “Money is a big factor in research; most people don’t realize it.”

  “The military is interested because they want to put someone else’s face on their man for spying. Anyone can see that.”

  “It’s true I meet with Quentin Taylor to update him on our progress, but we can help a lot of trauma patients with our research.”

  “Is that supposed to impress me that you meet with the Secretary of Defense to update him?”