Harvest

To that table with its straps.

Less than an hour ago, Lundquist had traced the building's ownership to the Sigayev Company-the same New Jersey company to whom the freighter was registered. That Russian mafia connection again. How deep into Bayside did it reach? Or were the Russians merely allied with someone inside the hospital? A trading partner, perhaps, in black market goods?

Lundquist's beeper chirped. He glanced at the readout, and reached into the car for the cellular phone.

Katzka remained in front of the building, his thoughts shifting back to Abby, and where he should look next. Every room of the hospital had already been searched. So had the parking lot and the

HARVEST

surrounding areas. It appeared that Abby had left the hospital on her own. X;here would she go? Whom would she have called? It would have been someone she trusted.

'Slug!'

Katzka turned to see Lundquist waving the telephone. 'Who's on the line?'

'The Coast Guard. They've got a chopper waiting for us.'

Footsteps clanged on the stairway.

Abby's head snapped up. In her arms Yakov slept on, unaware. Her heart was thundering so hard she thought it would surely wake him, but he didn't stir.

The door swung open. Tarasoft, flanked by two men, stood looking in at her. 'It's time to go.'

'Where?' she said.

'Only a short walk.' Tarasoft glanced atYakov. 'Wake him up. He comes too.'

Abby hugged Yakov closer. 'Not the boy,' she said. 'Especially the boy.'

She shook her head. 'Why?'

'He's AB positive. The only AB we happen to have in stock at the moment.'

She stared at Tarasoft. Then she looked down atYakov, his face flushed with sleep. Through his thin chest she could feel the soft beating of his heart. Nina Voss, she thought. Nina Voss is AB positive…

One of the men grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. She lost her grip on the boy; he tumbled to the floor where he lay blinking in confusion. The other man gaveYakov a sharp prod with his foot and barked a command in Russian.

The boy sleepily stumbled to his feet.

Tarasoffled the way. Down a dim corridor, then through a locked hatch. Up a staircase and through another hatch, to a steel walkway. Straight ahead was a blue door. Tarasoft started towards it, the walkway rattling under his weight.

Suddenly the boy balked. He twisted free and started to run back, the way they'd come. One of the men snagged him by the shirt. Yakov spun around and sank his teeth into the man's arm. Howling in pain, the man slapped Yakov across the face. The impact was so brutal it sent the boy sprawling.

'Stop it!' screamed Abby.

The man jerked Yakov to his feet and gave him another slap.

Now the boy stumbled towards Abby. At once she swept him up into her arms. Yakov clung to her now, sobbing into her shoulder.

The man moved towards her, as though to separate them.

'You stay the fuck away from him!' Abby yelled.

Yakov was shaking, whimpering incomprehensibly. She pressed her lips to his hair and whispered: 'Sweetheart, I'm with you. I'm right here with you.'

The boy raised his head. Looking into his terrified eyes, she thought: He knows what's going to happen to us.

She was shoved forward, across the walkway, and through the blue door.

They passed into a different world.

The corridor beyond was panelled in bleached wood, the floor was white linoleum. Overhead glowed a haze of softly diffused light. Their footsteps echoed as they walked past a spiral staircase and turned a corner. At the end of the passage was a wide door.

The boy was shaking even harder now. And he was getting heavy. She set him down on his feet and cupped his face in her hand. Just for a second their gazes met, and what could not be communicated in words was now shared in that single look. She tookYakov's hand and gave it a squeeze. Together they walked towards the door. One man was in front of them, one behind them. Tarasoft was in the lead. As he unlocked the door, Abby shifted her weight forward, every muscle tensing for the next move. Already she had released Yakov's hand.

Tarasoft pushed the door and it swung open, revealing a room of stark white.

Abby lunged. Her shoulder slammed into the man in front of her, shoving him against Tarasoft, who stumbled across the threshold to his knees.

'You bastards!' yelled Abby, flailing at them. 'You bastards/' The man behind her tried to seize her arms. She twisted around and swung at his face, her fist connecting in a satisfying thud. She spied a flash of movement. It was Yakov, darting away and vanishing around the corner. Now the man she'd shoved was on his feet again, coming at her from the other direction. Together the two men trapped her between them and lifted her from the floor. She didn't stop fighting and thrashing as they carried her through the doorway into the white room.

'You've got to control her!' said Tarasoft.

'The boy-'

'Forget the boy! He can't go anywhere. Get her up on the table!'

'She won't hold still!'

'Bastards? Abby screamed, kicking one leg free.

She heard Tarasoff fumbling in cabinets. Then he snapped, 'Give me her arm! I need to get at her arm!'

Tarasoft approached, syringe in hand. Abby cried out as the needle plunged in. She twisted, but couldn't break free. She twisted again, and this time her limbs barely responded. She was having trouble seeing now. Her eyelids wouldn't stay open. Her voice came out barely a sigh. She tried to scream, but could not even draw the next breath.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I move?

'Get her in the next room!' said Tarasoft. 'We have to intubate now or we're going to lose her.'

The men carried her into the adjoining room and slid her onto a table. Lights came on overhead, searingly bright. Though fully awake, fully aware, she could not move a muscle. But she could feel everything. The straps tightening around her wrists and ankles. The pressure of Tarasoff's hand on her forehead, tipping her head back. The cold steel blade of the laryngoscope sliding into her throat. Her shriek of horror echoed only in her head; no sound came out. She felt the plastic ET tube snaking down her throat, gagging, suffocating her as it moved past her vocal cords and into her trachea. She could not turn away, could not even fight for air. The tube was taped to her face and connected to an ambubag. Tarasoft squeezed the bag and Abby's chest rose and fell in three quick, lifesaving breaths. Now he took off the ambubag and connected the ET tube to a ventilator. The machine took over, pumping air into her lungs at regular intervals.

'Now go get the boy!' snapped Tarasoft. 'No, not both of you. I need someone to assist.'

One of the men left. The other stepped closer to the table. 'Fasten that chest strap,' saidTarasoff. 'The succinylchotine will wear off in another minute or two. We can't have her thrashing around while I start the IV.'

Succinylcholine. This is how Aaron died. Unable to struggle. Unable to breathe.

Already the drug's effect was starting to fade. She could feel her chest muscles begin to spasm against the insult of that tube. And she could raise her eyelids now, could see the face of the man standing above her. He was cutting away her clothes, his gaze flickering with interest as he bared her breasts, then her abdomen.

Tarasoft started the IV in her arm. As he straightened, he saw that Abby's eyes were fully open now, and staring at him. He read the question in her gaze.

'A healthy liver,' he said, 'is not something we can take for granted. There's a gentleman in Connecticut who's been waiting over a year for a donor.'Tarasoffreached for a second IV bag and he hung it on the pole. Then he looked at her. 'He was delighted to hear we've finally found a match.'

All that blood they drew from me in the ER, she thought. They used it for tissue typing.