'Pearl. Jack Pearl.'
'Good. He did my case this morning. He's a little on the weird side, I think, sort of like a character out of a Gothic horror novel. But he sure as hell knows what he's doing in the O. R. And the surgeon?
' Suzanne sighed. 'It's your friend from this morning, ' she said.
'Jason Mainwaring. Whatever you might think of him, Zack, he's by far the best technician around.'
'So I've heard. Well, I only hope his skill in the O. R. is more highly advanced than his skills in interpersonal relations.'
'Oh, it is.'
'In that case, ' Zack said, 'we've only got one thing to worry about, right?'
CHAPTER SIX
Frank Iverson's office was a spacious two-room suite on the ground floor of the west wing-the newest addition to the hospital. From his spot in one of three leather easy chairs, Zachary watched his brother's two secretaries go about their business with prim efficiency. One of the women was dark, with an air of sophistication and polish. The other was blond and wholesome. Both were young, well built, and remarkably good-looking-far beyond the run-of the-mill in any setting, but near goddesses by Sterling's standards. Gorgeous secretaries, a plush office, big-money business deals, a Porsche 911, a spectacular hillside A-frame-the man certainly had style, Zack mused. And while that particular style was not one Zack had ever really wished for himself, Frank had clearly come a hell of a long way from fraternity beer blasts.
Fifty percent identical. With each passing year, it seemed, the two of them were becoming less and less a validation of that genetic truth.
Still, there was a time, Zack knew, when their drives and their goals were not nearly so divergent, a time when the two brothers careened through their world along virtually parallel tracks, guided only by the beacons of early success, trophies, ribbons, medallions, and adulation.
It had become something of a game for him-a recurring daydream — to imagine his life had he not fallen that winter day, had the ligaments of his young knee not shredded. Accidents. Illness. The violent, uncaring acts of others. The daydream, as always, led him to acknowledging how fragile life was-how totaily beyond control. A patch of ice, the fraction of an inch, and suddenly, in one agonizing instant, the blinders were stripped away from his protected view of life, his unswerving track was transformed into a twisting, rutted path negotiable only one uncertain step at a time. Zack's eyes closed as he drifted back to that day. He was in a perfect spot, racing after Frank. Three seconds was a lot, but nothing he couldn't have made up-especially with his brother being so uncharacteristically cautious on his second run. And he wanted it. He wanted it more than he would ever admit to anyone-even, he reflected, to himself. The colors, the packed snow, the sudden disappearance of the steady crosswind that had been blowing all day-it was a moment frozen forever in his memory. The conditions were perfect for an upset, for a demonstration to all that Zachary Iverson had suddenly come into his own. The Judge, their mother, and most of the town, it seemed, were gathered along the slope, anticipating his run.
Waiting beyond the red and blue pennants marking the slalom course was a wonderful trophy, a savings bond, a trip to the Junior Olympics, and a huge piece of the praise and newsprint that he had watched being heaped on his older brother over the years. It was time. It was, at last, his moment, his run. He checked the course below. No problems. A few final seconds to mentally chart his line, and he lowered his goggles and glided to the electronic starting gate. Then, suddenly, he stopped.
Something was wrong. Something simply didn't feel right. His boot?
The wax? No, he realized at the last possible second, it was his ski-his right ski. Somehow, the binding on it had come loose. He backed away and made the necessary adjustment on the screw, cursing himself for not being more meticulous in his preparation in the first place. The oversight could have been ruinous. But now there was nothing to stop him. It was his run, and there was nothing but two minutes of skiing between him and Colorado. Nothing, that was, except a small patch of ice. Zack shuddered and sensed his body recoil and stiffen as he relived some of the pain and helplessness of that fall, the bouncing and tumbling over and over again down the matted slope. The loose binding, while never a factor, had certainly been an omen. 'Dr. Iverson, can I get you something? Some coffee? ' It was one of Frank's bookend secretaries-the blonde, scrubbed and sensual. The prototypical farmer's daughter. The impotence and anguish lingered for a moment, and then drifted away. Unconsciously, Zack rubbed at the still-hypersensitive scar that ran along his knee. 'No, ' he said hoarsely. 'No, thanks.'
He checked the time. Just four o'clock. Three forty-five, Frank had said, he had been quite specific about the time. Zack had a consultation waiting and a small stack of paperwork in his office. Suzanne was due to sign herself into the hospital in less than two hours. The last thing in the world he needed at that moment was a meeting with Frank. However, the invitation had been couched in words that made it difficult for him tobeg off, even for a day. The fifteen-minute wait, while very annoying, was hardly surprising. Frank had never been one to pay too much attention to the schedules of others. 'Excuse me, ' Zack said to the secretary, 'do you have any idea how much longer he's going to be?'
The woman smiled blandly. 'No, Dr. Iverson, I'm sorry, I don't. But it shouldn't be too much longer. Mr. Iverson is on the line with the Ultramed mainframe computer in Boston. He talks to it every day.' She sounded very proud to be working for someone who regularly talked to a mainframe computer. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like a cup of coffee? Or a Coke?'
Zack shook his head. 'What I'd like, ' he said, standing, 'is to reschedule this appointment for a time when he's able to keep it. Just tell my brother to have me paged when he's through, okay?'
'That won't be necessary, old shoe, ' Frank's voice boomed from the intercom on the blonde's desk. 'I was just calling Annette to have her send you in. The door's open.'
No explanations, no apologies. Zack wondered how long the intercom had been turned on. The notion of being eavesdropped on did not sit well with him at all. 'Sit down, sit down, ' Frank sang as Zack closed the door behind him. 'Are you sure you don't want the girls to get you something?
A drink? Something to eat?'
'No, thanks, but go ahead if you want to.'
The office was richly paneled. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase, complete with a built-in bar and sound system, covered one wall, and a huge aerial photo of Ultramed-Davis filled much of another. A computer keyboard and screen occupied only a portion of the massive mahogany desk that Frank had once proudly described to him as 'a one-of-a-kind honey.'
Frank himself, seated in a high-backed, brown leather chair, and dressed in a tan linen suit, silk tie, and custom-tailored shirt, looked as if he had just stepped off a page of Gentleman's Quarterly. 'So, ' he said, sliding a box of slim cigars across the desk, 'how goes Zack slid the box back. 'It goes fine, Frank.'
'The office okay?'
'Perfect.'
Zack's office, supplied and paid for by Ultramed for one year ('With the strong possibility of a second year, if all goes well'), was a neat, three-room space on the top floor of the Ultramed-Davis Physieians and Surgeons Clinic. 'Word has it you've been doing a hell of a job in the operating 'That's nice to hear.'
'Nice for both of us. It's not too many hospitals the size of this one that can claim a full-time, Harvard-trained neurosurgeon. And, of course, I come off looking like some sort of health-care Iacocca for recruiting you.'
'Frank, you didn't exactly beat down my door to get me to come.'
'Nonsense. I just had some… some early misgivings, that's all. But the Judge and the Ultramed people helped me see the light, and now I'm really happy with the way things are turning out. You've been a real shot in the arm for the morale in this place.'
'I haven't encountered any morale problems, ' Zack said, sensing the word was something of an introduction to the real business at hand.
'Well, we do our best to see that there are none, ' Frank replied.
'And as you say, we do pretty well at it. But every once in a while, something or someone pops up that threatens to polarize our Ultramed-Davis family-turn brother against brother, as it were. And you know what they say about a house divided, right?'
