Fever Dream

'Among other things, it partially tore the aortic valve as well as blocking the blood supply to part of the heart. Right now we're trying to fix the valve and keep the heart going.'

'What are his chances of... of survival?' she asked.

The surgeon hesitated. 'Every case is different. The good news is that the patient did not lose too much blood. If the bullet had been even half a millimeter closer, it would have ruptured the aorta. It did, however, do significant damage to the heart. If the operation is successful, he has an excellent chance of a full recovery.'

'Look,' said Hayward, 'I'm a cop. You don't have to beat around the bush with me. I want to know what his chances are.'

The surgeon looked at her with pale, faded eyes. 'This is a difficult and complex procedure. We have a team of the best surgeons in Louisiana working on it as we speak. But even under the best of circumstances, a healthy patient, no complications... well, it's not often successful. It's like trying to rebuild a car engine--while it's running.'

'Not often?' She felt suddenly sick. 'What do you mean by that?'

'I don't know that any controlled studies have been done, but my best guess as a surgeon would put a successful outcome at five percent... or less.'

This was followed by a long silence. Five percent or less.

'What about a heart transplant?'

'If we had a heart, all matched up and ready to go, it would be a possibility. But we don't.'

Hayward felt around for the arm of the chair and sank down into it.

'Does Mr. D'Agosta have any relatives who should be notified?'

Hayward didn't answer for a moment. Then she said, 'An ex-wife and a son... in Canada. There's no one else. And that's Lieutenant D'Agosta.'

'My apologies. Now, forgive me, but I need to get back to the OR. The operation will continue for at least eight more hours--if all goes well. You're welcome to stay here, but I doubt there will be any more news until the end.'

Hayward nodded vaguely. She couldn't wrap her mind around it all. She seemed to have lost all power of ratiocination.

She felt the surgeon's light touch on her shoulder. 'May I ask if the lieutenant is a religious man?'

She tried to focus on the question, finally nodding. 'Catholic.'

'Would you like me to ask the hospital priest to come?'

'The priest?' She glanced at Pendergast, unsure how to answer.

'Yes,' said Pendergast, 'we would very much like the priest to come. We would like to speak to him. And please tell him to be prepared to administer extreme unction, given the circumstances.'

A soft beeping went off on the doctor's person and in an automatic motion he reached down, detached a pager from his belt, and looked at it. At the same time the public address system chimed and a smooth female voice sounded from a hidden speaker:

'Code blue, OR two-one. Code blue, OR two-one. Code team to OR two-one.'

'Excuse me,' said the surgeon, a faint hurry in his voice, 'but I have to go now.'

44

THE PA SYSTEM CHIMED, THEN FELL SILENT. Hayward sat where she was, suddenly frozen. Her mind reeled. She couldn't bring herself to look at Pendergast, at the nurses, anywhere but at the floor. All she could think of was the look in the surgeon's eyes as he had hurried away.

A few minutes later a priest arrived carrying a black bag, looking almost like a doctor himself, a small man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked from her to Pendergast with bright bird-like eyes.

'I'm Father Bell.' He set his bag down and extended a small hand. Hayward took it but instead of shaking her hand, he held it comfortingly. 'And you are--?'

'Captain Hayward. Laura Hayward. I'm a... a close friend of Lieutenant D'Agosta.'

His eyebrows rose slightly. 'You're a police officer, then?'

'NYPD.'

'Was this a line-of-duty injury?'

Hayward hesitated, and Pendergast smoothly picked up the flow. 'In a way. I'm Special Agent Pendergast, FBI, the lieutenant's associate.'

A crisp nod and a handshake. 'I'm here to administer the sacraments to Lieutenant D'Agosta, specifically one that we call Anointing the Sick.'

'Anointing the Sick,' Hayward repeated.

'We used to call it the Last Rites, but that was always an awkward and inaccurate term. You see, it's a sacrament for the living, not the dying, and it's a healing sacrament.' His voice was light and musical.

Hayward inclined her head, swallowed.

'I hope you don't mind me explaining these things in detail. My presence can sometimes be alarming. People think I'm only called in when someone's expected to die, which is not the case.'

Even though she wasn't a Catholic, Hayward found his directness steadying. 'That code we just heard.' She paused. 'Does that mean...?'