Flashback

'You mean they treated LSD psychoses with LSDT' Zack nodded. 'A neurologist in Europe. Scotland, I think.'

'Successfully?'

'Successfully enough to be encouraging.' This time, it was Walsh who stood and gazed in at their patient. The crow's feet by his eyes deepened with what he saw. 'Dangers? ' he asked. 'Given the disaster you're observing in there, ' Zack said, 'I don't see how giving the child some anesthesia can do much harm, as long as the anesthesiologist is standing by to intubate him if necessary.'

'Will Jack Pearl go along with it?'

'That, my friend, may well turn out to be the sixty-four-dollar question. He and I haven't exactly seen eye to eye on this anesthesia business.'

Owen Walsh nibbled at the edge of one fingernail. 'Perhaps we should present this to the boy's parents, and get their consent, ' he said. 'I can do that, provided his mother is still stable.'

'And maybe your brother ought to know what's going on, too. He's a good man, and an excellent administrator, but he doesn't like surprises.'

Zack felt the prickle of irritation and impatience. He reminded himself that one of the reasons he had opted to become a surgeon, while others, like Walsh, had chosen pediatrics or internal medicine, was the speed with which they went about making decisions. More often than not, the primary care people and the surgeons ended up at the same spot. They simply arrived there by different routes. He motioned toward Toby's cubicle. 'Owen, ' he said, 'we don't exactly have a lot of time to play around with this thing. I can understand your reluctance, but we either do this or we don't.' Again, the man hesitated. 'Okay, Zack, ' he said finally. 'You deal with Pearl and Barbara Nelms, and I'll take care of alerting Boston, getting the helicopter people on standby, and notifying your brother. We'll meet back here at, say, six-thirty.'

'Six-thirty it is. And, Owen?'

'Yes?'

'It's the right decision.'

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Long before his wife had become pregnant, he had selected the names of his sons, and once suggested to her that, should the unimaginable come to pass, that they consider naming their daughter Ruth after Rutherford B. Hayes. Despite his pride in describing himself as 'an emerging liberal' on the subject of women's rights, the Judge still had difficulty taking women seriously in any business dealings of substance.

And with no woman was that difficulty more intensely manifested than with Leigh Baron. Evening had settled in around the farm, bringing with it a persistent, windswept drizzle. The Judge sat with Leigh in his study, sharing coffee and some of Cinnie's apple pie and talking in only the vaguest terms about Ultramed and its plans for the future.

It was nearing eight o'clock. The conversation with the woman was, in his opinion, becoming somewhat tedious. In addition to Ultramed, they had touched on the stock market (her ideas were innovative, but charmingly naive, he thought), children (she and her husband, who spent most of his work week in New York, had decided not to have any!), criminal justice (her notions about the issues surrounding capital punishment were rather simplistic and poorly substantiated), and sports (she had the temerity to compare golf to croquet, and to state that she would consider taking up the game only after she was physically no longer able to play tennis!). 'So, my dear, ' the Judge said, completely ignoring a question from her about the differences between putting greens in various parts of the country, 'I assume that the powers that be in Ultramed didn't send someone as bright and charming as you are just to pass the time with this old north woods war-horse.'

'No, ' she said, smiling at him curiously. 'No, they didn't.'

The Judge waited for her to continue. 'Well, then, ' he said finally, clearing his throat. 'I suppose they wish you to lay some of the groundwork for tomorrow's board meeting.'

'In a manner of speaking.'

'Are you always this evasive and… and mysterious, Mrs. Baron?'

'Judge Iverson, ' she said, 'exactly who do you think I am?'

'That's a rather strange question, don't you think? I certainly know who you are.'

'Do you?'

There was a firmness in Leigh Baron's voice-a steely brightness in her eyes that Clayton Iverson had not noticed before. Still, the ploy of asking questions rather than answering them was an amateurish tactic, and one she would have to improve upon if her aim was to control their conversation. 'Okay, ' he said after some thought, 'I'll play. You're Leigh Baron, vice president of the Ultramed Hospitals Corporation. Your division is, correct me if I'm wrong, operations.'

'Judge, I hope this doesn't come as too much of a shock, but I haven't been a vice president at Ultramed since, oh, just a few months after I negotiated our arrangement with Davis Regional. We were restructured by our parent company. My formal title now is Managing Director. That translates into CEO.'

Startled, the Judge pulled from his briefcase the Ultramed organizational chart Guy Beaulieu had compiled. 'Well, then, who'sum…

Blanton Richards?' Leigh smiled enigmatically. 'Judge Iverson,' she said, 'Blanton Richards hasn't been part of Ultramed for several years.

I don't know who put that list together Dr. Beaulieu, I presume, he was always putting lists together-but whoever it was didn't do his homework.

I know how much you expect to be dealing with the good old boys on matters such as this, but I'm afraid that as far as Ultramed is concerned, I'm the good old boy.'

'Now just a minute, young lady-'

'Young lady…' Leigh Baron's expression was not a little patronizing.

'Judge Iverson, I appreciate the compliment-really I do. But I think it will make things easier for both of us if you understand that my young lady days are well behind me. I'm thirty-seven years old. I was second in my MBA class at Stanford more than a decade ago, I spent two years studying economics at Oxford, and I managed several smaller operations for RIATA International before I was brought into Ultramed. My income last year-not counting bonuses and stock options — was slightly over half a million dollars. Now, if that little misunderstanding is taken care of to your satisfaction, I would suggest we get down to work. You and I have some important business to attend to.'

'Yes, ' he said, clearing his throat again. 'Yes, I suppose we do. How about some more coffee first?'

The Judge suddenly felt edgy, and anxious to do something-anything-that would disrupt the woman's rhythm. What he had anticipated would be a preliminary sparring match with Ultramed had turned out to be the main event. 'No, thank you, ' she answered. 'But go ahead if you want.'

'I think I will.'

He walked to the kitchen, poured himself a cup, laced it with a stiff slug of brandy, and took a long sip. The warm, velvet rasp had a calming, reassuring effect, reminding him that, although Leigh Baron had him back on his heels, this was the sort of game he loved to play-the one in which he held all the trump cards. He was still the chairman of the board of the hospital. And in the end, regardless of who Leigh Baron was, how much she earned, or what she had to say, he was the one who controlled the votes. His next swallow drained the cup. He poured himself another before returning to the den. 'Okay, Ms. Baron, ' he said, with ever-so-slight emphasis, 'what's your pitch?'

'No pitch, Judge. Simply put, I would like to know what your plans are for the meeting tomorrow.'

He tried for a bemused expression, but sensed that he missed. He held all the cards. She knew that as well as he did. And yet she continued looking at him as if whatever he had to say really made no difference.

He sought another taste of his brandied coffee, but realized that he had once again drained his cup. 'You have my letter, ' he said. 'In it, I stated that it was quite possible the board and Ultramed would be able to work things out.'

'Judge, we have reason to believe that the situation up here, at least in your eyes, has changed since you