“You realize this is only half? The other half is payable immediately before the transplant?” asked Ibrahim.
“Yes,” said the old man, who had sold off his wife’s jewelry in order to pay for his only son’s operation. The previous year, the boy had been diagnosed with alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency, an absence of a vital enzyme in the liver. They had tried every possible treatment until the doctors had eventually advised a liver transplant.
“Where should I admit my son?”
“Check him into Delhi Memorial Hospital and sign him up with Dr. Pankaj Arora as the doctor on record. We have identified a donor. Inshallah, your son will get a new liver tomorrow. You are lucky there is no foreigner in the queue for this one. I make them pay twice what you are paying!”
Chapter 51
THE SENIOR NURSE felt inside the pocket of her starched white uniform. The syringe containing epinephrine was right there. Every fiber in her body wanted to run away. But then an image of Arora would appear before her. It was the fear of Arora that kept her there.
Epinephrine, also known as adrenalin, was a hormone that could be used as medication for a number of conditions. The common side effects included anxiety, sweating, increased heart rate, and high blood pressure. The amazing thing about epinephrine was that it could make the vitals of a patient appear as though a heart attack was being experienced.
She walked past the nurses’ station and the janitors who were mopping the floors of the long corridor. She stopped only when she reached the door of room 303. She opened it gently and entered the dimly lit room. The sole occupant appeared to be asleep on a bed that was slightly elevated toward the head. An IV line ran into the patient’s hand while a bedside monitor mapped the patient’s vital signs. He had been in a persistent vegetative state for the past four years.
The nurse took a deep breath, knowing she was crossing a line, for it was one thing when paired organs were taken from a living donor; people could live on a single lung or a single kidney. Similarly, blood, bone marrow, and parts of livers could be taken, knowing that they would regenerate eventually.
But it was quite another when it came to organs such as the heart.
The problem was that harvesting organs without getting the patient into the operating room was impossible. Epinephrine would do the trick by simulating a heart attack.
She held the IV port and inserted the needle into the lumen of the IV line. She prayed to her god as she slowly pressed the plunger, knowing that she was no longer a mere accomplice but a killer in Arora’s perverse plans.
He had convinced her that the vegetative-state patient was dead by acceptable medical criteria and that harvesting his useful organs would be a service to humanity.
Nonsense! the alternate voice in her head said. What they were doing was wrong. Beyond wrong. It was monstrous.
Chapter 52
SANTOSH HAD LEFT his cane behind for this particular expedition. He was walking through the underground tunnel, sloshing through a foot of water, wearing a black plastic coat and pants. On his feet were gumboots and on his head was a miner’s helmet with a battery-powered light. He wore a charcoal filter mask around his mouth and nose to avoid methane poisoning.
He trudged through the water, oblivious to the stench of sewage. In his hand was a laminated map. It showed the major arteries that ran under the streets of Delhi as well as access points. He had marked his destination in red and the route in blue.
It was mostly quiet inside the tunnel, but every drop of dripping water seemed to be amplified and echoed, and was punctuated by the squealing of rats. He kept walking but he had a nasty feeling he was being followed. He stopped for a minute and strained his ears to check for the sound of footsteps. There were none.
He looked at his watch. He had been down there for over thirty minutes. He sped up and took a final turn. And above him he saw the manhole. A rusted iron ladder snaked up from the drain to the manhole and he carefully climbed it, ensuring that he tested each rung before actually using it.
At the top of the ladder, he examined the manhole cover. He could see his scarf—now soiled and stained—hanging from the underside handle. Just to make sure his theory was right, he held on with one hand and used the other to nudge the cover. It did not require too much effort. A single arm was sufficient to nudge open the cover and slide it away with minimal noise. Switching off the light beam of his helmet, he popped his head above ground in the darkness and
pulled himself out. He looked around to ensure that it was the house that he had estimated on the drainage map.
Satisfied that it was, Santosh headed back into the drain, closing the manhole behind him. He had proved his hypothesis: it was indeed possible to access Kumar’s house by following a drainage map obtained from the Irrigation and Flood Control Department.
Now, if only he could find who were the people who had bought similar maps. Unfortunately, the list provided by the superintendent engineer had been useless. Anyone could provide a fake name and the department would accept it at face value.
Chapter 53
HYPERION HOSPITAL IN Delhi looked more like a five-star hotel than a hospital. Each patient enjoyed a luxurious private room with a flat-screen television and a room service menu. The lobby downstairs featured a waterfall and a vertical garden. The hospital was the brainchild of the scion of a pharmaceutical conglomerate. It was specifically targeted at delivering efficient—and luxurious—services in the health care sector at a fraction of the amount they would cost in America. All of the design, planning, and equipment had been supplied by Patel’s company, Surgiquip.
The couple from Minneapolis were dropped off in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz van. Their “relationship manager” waited at the entrance to greet them. Every detail had been taken care of for them. This included procuring Indian visas, arranging business-class travel, blocking rooms at the Imperial Hotel for the first night, arrangements at the Joint Commission International-accredited hospital, doctor consultations, diagnostic tests, postoperative care, and even leisure travel in India after recovery.
The husband sat in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse provided to them from the moment they had landed in Delhi. Their relationship manager greeted them as they entered the lobby of the hospital.
“When will you operate?” asked the wife.
“I have been in touch with the Delhi Memorial Hospital,” replied the relationship manager. “The matching kidney will become available tonight.”
Chapter 54